A Literary Life Starting from the First Year of High School

November 1st, Tuesday, 7:40 AM.

Old Chen stood at the hotel entrance, holding the iconic folder in his hand. He glanced at his watch, then at the direction of the elevator.

"Lin Shubai, hurry up, stop dawdling."

Lin Shubai stepped out of the elevator, his scarf covering half his face, leaving only his eyes visible. He walked up to Old Chen, who looked him up and down, then reached out and tugged at his scarf, exposing his nose.

"How are you supposed to breathe like that?"

"There's no other way, it's too cold in the capital."

"Just bear with it, we'll be fine once we get to the competition venue."

Lin Shubai pulled his scarf down, revealing his entire face. Old Chen nodded and turned to leave. Lin Shubai followed, glancing back at the lobby as he reached the door—Chen Xiaobei hadn't come down yet, and Lin Wanqing was nowhere to be seen.

"Teacher Chen, wait a minute, my two friends..."

Old Chen didn't even turn his head. "They have their own teachers, so you don't need to worry about them. Just take care of yourself."

The two left the hotel. The morning in Beijing was hazy and overcast, with no sun or wind, just a dry, chilly chill that made your nose feel cold with every breath. Old Chen walked ahead with long strides, while Lin Shubai followed behind, almost having to jog to keep up.

"Teacher Chen, please walk slowly."

"What's so slow about it? We'll be in the exam room at 8:30 and it starts at 9:00. It takes 20 minutes to walk from here to the Affiliated Senior High School of National Taiwan Normal University, and then we have to go through security, find the exam room, and go to the restroom. The timing is just right, not too fast or too slow."

Lin Shubai felt that the phrase "neither too loose nor too tight" sounded familiar—Wang Xiulan often used it too. It seems that all teachers and parents use the same time-counting system.

After walking for about five minutes, as we passed an intersection, I heard hurried footsteps behind me, accompanied by a familiar voice: "Wait for me! Wait for me!"

Lin Shubai turned around and saw Chen Xiaobei running up from behind, his windbreaker zipped up only halfway, his backpack bouncing back and forth on his back like a running tortoise. He reached him, bent over, and took a few breaths.

Old Chen stopped ahead, turned around and glanced at Chen Xiaobei: "Where's your team leader?"

"He said he'd go check out the exam venue first and told me to get there by myself." Chen Xiaobei straightened up, patted his backpack, and said, "I know the way; I walked there yesterday."

Old Chen frowned, but said nothing, and turned to continue walking. Chen Xiaobei followed, walking beside Lin Shubai, and immediately started talking.

"Let me tell you, I had a dream this morning. I dreamt that the exam topic was 'My Cellphone,' and I wrote a whole essay about how Nokia phones are drop-resistant. I wrote 800 words, and when I woke up, I found drool on my pillow."

"Did you dream about an exam or about your cell phone?"

"Both. Do you think dreaming about the exam questions counts as leaking the questions? Could it be that I really will have a 'my phone' test today?"

"Won't."

"Why are you so sure?"

"Because the National Middle School Students' Essay Competition wouldn't come up with such a low-level topic."

Chen Xiaobei thought for a moment and said, "You're right. So what do you think will be on the test?"

"have no idea."

"Guess one."

"I won't guess."

"Just guess, it won't cost you any points."

Upon arriving at the entrance of the High School Affiliated to the Normal University, the crowd noticeably increased. Students, accompanying teachers, and parents completely surrounded the school gate, which was already packed with people. Lin Wanqing and her accompanying teacher were already waiting at the gate.

Several reporters carrying cameras weaved through the crowd. A female reporter in red was interviewing a boy wearing glasses. The boy said to the camera, "I am confident," but his hands were shaking.

"Reporters!" Chen Xiaobei's eyes lit up. "Won't they take pictures of me?"

"You're not a celebrity."

"If I win an award, this interview will be a valuable historical record."

"You haven't taken the exam yet."

"Prepare in advance."

Old Chen stopped ahead, turned around, and looked at Lin Shubai. He pulled a slip of paper from his folder and handed it to him.

"Read the exam rules again. Don't make any silly mistakes."

Lin Shubai took the note and glanced at it—no cell phones, no whispering, no writing names on the essay paper, three-hour exam—these were all common sense. He returned the note to Old Chen.

"Got it?"

"I've got it."

"ID card, admission ticket, pen."

Lin Shubai patted his pocket: "I brought them all."

Old Chen nodded, then glanced at Chen Xiaobei, "Where's your team leader?"

Chen Xiaobei looked around and said, "I didn't see her. She's probably already inside."

Old Chen was somewhat helpless. Chen Xiaobei's team leader was too irresponsible. "Then after Lin Shubai finishes reading the exam rules, you should also read them carefully."

"Okay, thank you, teacher."

Lin Wanqing also came over at this time.

Old Chen chatted for a few words with Lin Wanqing's teacher, then checked the time. "Alright, go in. Meet at the school gate after the exam. Lin Shubai, don't get separated from them."

"understood."

The three walked towards the school gate. Chen Xiaobei walked in front, Lin Wanqing walked in the middle, and Lin Shubai walked at the back. As they entered the school gate, Chen Xiaobei suddenly stopped, turned around, and stretched out his hand.

Come on, keep it up!

Lin Shubai looked at his hand, then at Lin Wanqing. Lin Wanqing expressionlessly extended her hand and placed it in Chen Xiaobei's hand. Lin Shubai then placed his hand in hers as well.

"One, two, three—Go for it!"

After the three finished shouting, they each laughed. Chen Xiaobei smiled broadly, while Lin Wanqing's lips merely twitched.

"See you after the exam," Chen Xiaobei said.

"See you after the exam," Lin Shubai said.

"Mm," Lin Wanqing said.

The three people separated and went upstairs on their own.

Lin Shubai arrived on the third floor and found the third examination room. There was a line at the classroom door, with two proctors standing there, checking each student's admission ticket and ID card one by one. In front of him was a boy wearing a black hoodie, holding a pencil case with the words "Tsinghua University" printed on it.

It was Lin Shubai's turn. The male teacher took his admission ticket and ID card, compared them to the photo, looked at his face, and nodded: "Go in, seat number 12."

He placed his pencil case on the table, his exam admission ticket and ID card in the upper right corner, and then sat down.

There were already more than a dozen people in the classroom. Some were resting with their eyes closed, some were twirling pens, and some were staring blankly at their desks. No one was speaking; it was so quiet that you could hear the ticking of the clock on the wall.

8:58.

The male teacher walked to the front of the classroom, picked up a brown paper envelope, held it up, and showed it to the whole class.

"These are the exam questions. They are perfectly sealed."

He tore open the seal, pulled out a piece of paper, unfolded it, glanced at it, and then placed it face down on the podium.

"Issuing official documents."

The female teacher stood up and began distributing the papers one by one, starting from the first row. The sound of the papers rubbing together was particularly clear in the quiet classroom. Lin Shubai took the composition paper and pressed down the corners with his hand.

"Draft paper." The female teacher handed out another stack of draft paper, three sheets for each person.

"You can write your exam number now. But don't start writing the essay yet. You can start writing after the exam bell rings."

Lin Shubai neatly wrote his examination admission ticket number in the upper left corner of the composition paper, and then checked it again. Then he also wrote his examination admission ticket number in the upper right corner of the draft paper.

The clock on the wall points to nine o'clock.

"bite--"

The exam bell rang.

The male teacher picked up the test paper from the podium, turned it over, and faced the whole class.

"Exam question—'Youth'."

He turned around and wrote two large characters on the blackboard with chalk: Youth.

The sound of chalk scraping across the blackboard was sickening. But Lin Shubai paid no attention to it; his gaze was fixed on those two words, and his mind was already racing.

juvenile.

The title consists of only one word, with no additional explanation. There's no fluff like "Write an essay on the topic of 'Youth'," it's just one word; interpret it yourself and elaborate on it.

Several students in the classroom began to frown; some were biting their pen caps, others were staring blankly at their draft paper. The topic was too broad, so broad that it was impossible to know where to begin. Write about your own childhood? Write about your childhood ideals? Write about your childhood troubles? Write about your childhood responsibilities? Everyone could write about it, but to stand out was incredibly difficult.

Lin Shubai stared at those two words, but the first thought that popped into his mind wasn't about those words.

He remembered an article.

It wasn't written by him; it was an article he had studied in a textbook in a previous life. No, it wasn't an article, but a speech, or rather, a manifesto. It was written by Mr. Liang more than a hundred years ago.

He still remembers the beginning of that article.

"The Japanese refer to China as either an 'old empire' or 'an old empire.' This is merely a translation of what Westerners say. Alas! Is China truly old? Liang Qichao said: Ugh! What nonsense! What nonsense! In my heart, there is a young China!"

Those words were etched into his mind, every single one clear and distinct.

Then there was that part—

"If the youth are wise, the nation is wise; if the youth are wealthy, the nation is wealthy; if the youth are strong, the nation is strong; if the youth are independent, the nation is independent; if the youth are free, the nation is free; if the youth progress, the nation progresses; if the youth surpass Europe, the nation surpasses Europe; if the youth are the most powerful on Earth, the nation is the most powerful on Earth."

The parallel sentences build up layer by layer, like waves, each one higher than the last. When I read "If the youth are strong on Earth, then the nation is strong on Earth," I felt completely lifted up.

Lin Shubai picked up the gold fountain pen and wrote four characters on the draft paper: "Young China".

He paused for a moment, then added two more words—"say."

"Ode to Young China"

He didn't need to copy the entire article. That piece was written in the late Qing Dynasty, and some of its content is no longer relevant today. He needed to extract the core elements—the expectations for the youth, the confidence in the future, and the logical chain of "a strong youth makes a strong nation." These would never be outdated in any era.

Moreover, the title was incredibly cleverly chosen. The word "youth" perfectly captured the core of the article. If the title had been "Youth" or "Ideals," he might have hesitated. But "youth" was tailor-made for "A Discourse on the Youth of China."

He took a deep breath, unscrewed the pen cap, and began to write.

"In my heart, there is a young China! To speak of the age of a nation, one must first speak of the age of its people. The elderly often think of the past, while the young often think of the future. Because they think of the past, they feel nostalgia; because they think of the future, they feel hope..."

He wrote smoothly, the pen tip gliding across the paper almost without pause. The gold fountain pen had plenty of ink, producing fluent and powerful handwriting.

"Looking back from today, how well-governed were the Tang, Yu, and Xia dynasties; how heroic and outstanding were Qin Shi Huang and Emperor Wu of Han; how flourishing was the literature from the Han and Tang dynasties onwards!"

"In Gong Zizhen's collected works, there is a poem entitled 'Able to Encourage the Young Man's Journey.' I have always loved reading it, and I find great pleasure in its intended meaning..."

As Lin Shubai wrote, he became more and more excited; there was no way around it, this article just had such magic.

"Therefore, the responsibility of today does not lie with others, but entirely with our youth. If the youth are wise, the nation is wise; if the youth are wealthy, the nation is wealthy; if the youth are strong, the nation is strong; if the youth are independent, the nation is independent; if the youth are free, the nation is free; if the youth progress, the nation progresses; if the youth surpass Europe, the nation surpasses Europe; if the youth are the most powerful on Earth, the nation is the most powerful on Earth."

"How beautiful is my young China, as timeless as the heavens! How magnificent are the youth of China, as boundless as the nation!"

He put down his pen, read the entire essay from beginning to end, stared at the page for a few seconds in silence, and then said to himself: Mr. Liang, may your light illuminate this world. (I apologize for any offense.)

The clock on the wall points to 10:40. There is one hour and twenty minutes left.

Lin Shubai checked his essay again, correcting two typos and adjusting one punctuation mark. Then he turned the essay over and placed it face down on the table, leaned back in his chair, and looked out the window.

11:50. Ten minutes to go.

Some students started handing in their papers early. A boy in a plaid shirt raised his hand. The proctor went over, collected his essay paper and draft paper, and gestured that he could leave. The boy stood up, picked up his pencil case, and walked out of the classroom with light steps.

Five minutes later, two more left.

Lin Shubai didn't have the habit of handing in his paper early. He checked the essay paper again, making sure that he had written the admission ticket number correctly, that he hadn't left his name anywhere else, and that his handwriting was neat and legible.

It's exactly twelve o'clock.

"bite--"

The closing bell rang.

"Everyone stand up and put down your pens." The male teacher's voice wasn't loud, but it was very forceful.

Lin Shubai stood up and put down his pen. The female teacher started collecting the papers from the first row, one by one, very quickly. When she got to Lin Shubai's paper, she glanced at his composition paper, her gaze lingering on the title for a moment, and then took it away.

Lin Shubai put his pen into his pencil case, picked up his admission ticket and ID card, and walked out of the classroom.

In the lobby on the first floor, Chen Xiaobei was already waiting. When he saw Lin Shubai, his eyes lit up and he ran over.

"Why did it take you so long to come down? I've been waiting for ages!"

"Weren't you on the second floor? You should have come down before me."

"I handed in my paper early! I couldn't sit still for the last half hour, so I checked it three times. There wasn't much left to check, so I handed it in."

"What did you write?"

"My novel, 'Teenage Troubles'."

"And you? What did you write?"

"Young China"

"Young China? What does that mean?"

"It is—the young China, and the youth of China."

Chen Xiaobei paused for a moment, then gave a thumbs up: "The name sounds more impressive than mine."

Lin Wanqing walked down the stairs, holding a file folder in her hand, her expression unchanged, neither happy nor sad. She walked over and glanced at the two people.

"What are you talking about?"

"Let's talk about writing," Chen Xiaobei said. "What did you write about?"

"Boyhood and the Times".

"Specifically?"

"Writing about teenagers should not be about being a bystander in the times, but about being a participant."

Chen Xiaobei gave a thumbs up again: "You're more generous than me."