A Literary Life Starting from the First Year of High School

Chapter 136 Award Ceremony

July 31st.

Lin Shubai was awakened by the sunlight shining outside his bed.

He sat up, barefoot on the carpet, took off his suit jacket, put on a shirt, and stood in front of the mirror.

The boy in the mirror was a bit taller and had broader shoulders than when he first traveled here last year. The suit fit his shoulders perfectly, but his waist was a little loose. The shop assistant said, "Young people are still growing, so we're leaving some room for him."

At eight o'clock sharp, my phone rang. It was Allen.

"Are you up?"

"Get up."

"Come down, I'm downstairs, let's go have breakfast."

When I came downstairs, Allen was standing in the hotel lobby, holding a cup of coffee, talking to the receptionist.

"Let's go." Allen gestured with his chin toward the door.

The two left the hotel.

"What would you like to eat?"

"casual."

"There's a bakery in Bath that's been around for over a hundred years. Their cinnamon rolls are the best in the entire Southwest. I'll take you there," Allen said, already walking in that direction.

Lin Shubai followed, "You know Bass very well?"

"I've been here many times, every year for the awards ceremony, sometimes with authors, sometimes alone."

The bakery was at the end of a narrow alley, its facade dark green with the words "Sally" written in gold.

"Lunns" displays a variety of breads and pastries in its shop window.

"This shop has been open for over three hundred years," Allen said, turning to him. "Over three hundred years ago, a girl named Sally Lunn fled from France and came here. She worked in a bakery and brought her hometown recipe with her, which is how this bread came to be."

"You know about this too?"

“Richard told me that he always comes here to buy bread whenever he comes to Bath, saying it’s the soul of Bath.” After saying this, Allen glanced at the shop window. “He told me before that I absolutely had to bring you here.”

Lin Shubai was stunned for a moment. Richard—that old man with gray hair who sat at the front desk reading books every day.

"Why is Richard so good to me?"

Allen thought for a moment, "Who knows? Maybe he thinks you have potential, or maybe it's fate? In your words, it's about having a connection."

When it was their turn, Allen bought two cinnamon rolls and two cups of coffee, and the two of them carried them to a bench on the street and sat down.

Lin Shubai took a bite of the cinnamon roll. The bread was soft, the cinnamon aroma was strong, and it was sprinkled with powdered sugar, sweet but not cloying.

"How is it?"

"tasty."

"How does it compare to the English breakfast you had last time?"

"It tastes better than that."

Allen smiled, picked up his coffee, and took a sip.

"Allen," Lin Shubai suddenly spoke.

"Um?"

Are you still nervous?

Lin Shubai had asked Allen this question before, and Allen's answer at that time was "somewhat." He wanted to know Allen's answer now.

Allen stared at him for two seconds, then smiled. "I am a little nervous, but my nervousness is different from yours. You are nervous because you don't know the outcome, but I am nervous because I know too much—I know Caroline Ollie will be looking at the final round of judging records this morning, I know the publisher will be there tonight, and I know The Bookseller magazine will be reporting on it tomorrow morning."

Lin Shubai picked up his coffee and took a sip. "So, do you think I'll win?"

Allen didn't answer immediately. He finished the last bite of his cinnamon roll, dusted off the icing on his hands, and looked at Lin Shubai. "To be honest, I didn't know. Your draft was the most unique of the six, but being 'unique' doesn't necessarily win. Sometimes judges will choose the 'safer' one."

Lin Shubai did not ask any further questions.

After breakfast, Allen said, "You can wander around by yourself. I'm going back to the hotel to take care of some things," and then left. Lin Shubai walked alone on the streets of Bath, holding the now-cold cup of coffee in his hand.

He didn't have a specific destination; he was just wandering around.

He passed the Roman Baths, the Bath Abbey, and the Pourteny Bridge.

At 2:30, he returned to the hotel.

He took a shower first, then put on his suit jacket. He then picked up his name tag and pinned it to the collar of his suit jacket. The name tag had his name printed on it—"LinShubai".

At four o'clock in the afternoon, Allen knocked on the door.

"Ready?" Allen stood in the doorway and looked him up and down.

"alright."

"Let's go."

The two went downstairs, with Allen walking ahead, a little faster than usual. After leaving the hotel and turning a corner, they arrived at the entrance of the banquet hall.

A number of people were already standing at the entrance, men and women in formal attire, gathered in twos and threes. A red carpet was laid out at the entrance, and several staff members stood on both sides, checking the list and name tags.

Allen led him to the registration area, where a young woman glanced at his name tag and invitation, then handed him an envelope containing his seat number and the dinner menu.

"Head table, seat number 3," the girl said, pointing towards the main hall.

Lin Shubai took the envelope and went inside.

The hall is more fully decorated than yesterday, the stage lights are already adjusted, and the backdrop reads "BathNovel".

The words "Award 2011" were displayed.

Allen found the main table—at the very front, directly facing the stage. Several people were already seated at the table, but Lin Shubai glanced at them and didn't recognize any of them.

"Allen!" a voice came from the side.

Lin Shubai turned his head, and a middle-aged man in a black suit walked towards them.

"Mark." Allen shook hands with him, then stepped aside to let Lin Shubai pass. "This is Lin Shubai."

Mark Hamilton—a British author, 35 years old, a media favorite. Lin Shubai had heard the name from Allen, but he didn't expect him to come over and say hello.

"You're Lin Shubai?" Mark extended his hand, his expression sincere. "I've read your manuscript; it's very impressive."

Lin Shubai shook his hand and said, "Thank you."

"I read six shortlists, and yours impressed me the most."

He had assumed that "Hot" would be an arrogant person who wouldn't bother talking to newcomers, but Mark turned out to be different.

"What about yours? What did you write?"

Mark smiled. "I wrote a story about a family, about a man who returns to his hometown to deal with his father's estate and discovers that his father had been repairing an old ship all his life."

"That sounds good."

"I hope the judges feel the same way." Mark finished speaking, patted Lin Shubai on the shoulder, and turned to leave.

Allen stood to the side, glanced at Mark's back, and then whispered to Lin Shubai, "He's a good person."

Lin Shubai nodded.

People started coming in at the registration area. Lin Shubai saw the other finalists. Six people, six stories. Only one of them would win after tonight.

At 6:45, the lights in the hall dimmed a little, and the stage lights came on. A host in a suit walked onto the stage, holding a microphone, stood in the center of the stage, and glanced at the audience.

Good evening, distinguished guests.

Applause erupted.