Back to 17, My Brother is the Cult Leader

At the end of March, Fang Yuan returned to Qingdao.

I've received my professional qualification certificates from both the Central Academy of Drama and the Beijing Film Academy; next up is the college entrance examination.

Fang Yuan put the two certificates of qualification into the drawer and began to review.

There are still three months until the college entrance examination.

He made a plan for himself.

I get up at 6:30 every morning to memorize English words and classical Chinese poems.

I do math problems in the morning, review humanities subjects in the afternoon, and do English reading and writing exercises in the evening.

One day in early April, Fang Yuan came home from school and found a letter in the mailbox downstairs.

The envelope had a US stamp on it, and the address was written in English.

Fang Yuan was stunned for a moment, then opened the package and saw that it was written by Chen Xia.

The letter was short, only three pages.

The handwriting is still the same, a bit messy, but much neater than before.

In her letter, Chen Xia said that she had been in the United States for six months.

At first, I wasn't used to anything. I couldn't speak the language, couldn't understand the lessons, and wasn't used to the food.

It's much better now; my English has improved a lot.

She has passed her high school entrance exams and is applying to universities.

She wants to study business, but hasn't decided yet.

I'm also trying to get a scholarship, but it's hard to say whether I'll be able to get it.

In the latter part of the letter, Chen Xia mentioned something.

She said her aunt works as an assistant editor at a publishing house in New York.

One day, I saw the book "Flying Colors" at her house—Chen Xia had brought it to the United States.

They said this novel is very good and they want to translate it into English and publish it in the United States.

Her aunt asked Chen Xia to ask Fang Yuan if he agreed.

In her letter, Chen Xia wrote: "If you agree, my aunt said she can help you contact a translator."

She said they'd discuss the payment later.

"It's okay if you don't agree, I'll just tell her no."

Fang Yuan read the letter twice.

He never expected that "Flying Colors" would be picked up by an American publisher.

Translating and publishing—he had never experienced anything like this in his previous life.

Fang Yuan sat at his desk, thought for a moment, then took out a letter and wrote back to Chen Xia.

He writes very quickly.

Let me first explain my situation.

I passed the art exam and am now preparing for the college entrance exam. I'm doing okay.

Then we talked about translation and publication.

He agreed and authorized Chen Xia's aunt to help make the contact.

We can translate it first, and then deal with the specific contract terms, royalties, and the review of the English version after he finishes his exams and goes to university.

He wrote in the letter: "I need to focus on my studies now and don't have time for these things."

Have your aunt translate first, and we can talk about the rest after I'm done with my work.

Thank you, and thank you to your aunt too.

Finally, I asked about her recent situation and wished her success in her university application.

Fang Yuan put the letter in an envelope, wrote the address on it, and mailed it the next day.

He stopped thinking about it after that.

Reviewing is more important than anything else.

In April, Fang Yuan went through all the math textbooks from the first year of high school to the third year of high school.

He had a poor foundation and barely studied math in his first and second years of high school.

Looking back now, many of the concepts are unfamiliar.

But he wasn't in a hurry; he read one chapter a day and worked through the example problems one by one.

The math teacher's surname is Sun. He is tall and thin, speaks quickly, and writes on the blackboard quickly as well.

Fang Yuan used to barely understand math class, but now he tries to listen even if he doesn't understand something, and asks questions when he doesn't.

Teacher Sun was quite surprised at first.

Now they've suddenly started asking questions.

"Is this question from a first-year high school student?" Teacher Sun looked at the question and then glanced at Fang Yuan.

"Yeah, I didn't learn it well before, so I'm making up for it now."

Teacher Sun didn't say anything, but explained it to him once. After she finished, she asked him, "Do you understand?"

"Understood."

"Then do it yourself."

Fang Yuan did it himself, and it was correct.

Teacher Sun nodded: "If you don't understand something, just ask."

"it is good."

From then on, Fang Yuan went to see Teacher Sun two or three times a week.

Sometimes Teacher Sun would explain the problems to him, and sometimes she would highlight the key points for him.

Fang Yuan thought Teacher Sun was a nice person, but he had never contacted him before.

In May, the subjects were humanities and English.

The three subjects in the humanities comprehensive exam are history, geography, and politics.

Fang Yuan memorized a lot, but memorization alone wasn't enough; he also needed to be able to answer the questions.

He found the past five years' college entrance examination questions and worked through them one by one.

After you finish, check the answers to see where you went wrong.

English is his strongest subject.

He scored 142 on the last monthly exam and wants to improve it further.

Do two reading comprehension passages and one cloze test every day, and write one essay every week.

In a mock exam in mid-May, Fang Yuan scored 518 points.

June marks the countdown to the National College Entrance Examination (Gaokao).

Fang Yuan adjusted his schedule.

I'm not staying up late anymore; I go to bed before 11 p.m. every day.

I still get up at 6:30 in the morning, memorize English for half an hour, and then go to school.

School was closed, and students studied on their own.

Fang Yuan goes to the school's study room every day and sits there from eight in the morning until five in the afternoon.

I'll study for another two hours after I get home.

Huang Xiaoming called to ask him how his revision was going.

"Not bad. I got 518 on the mock exam."

The minimum score for the academic subjects in the drama department of the Central Academy of Drama and the Beijing Film Academy is not high; around 450 is sufficient.

He has over 500 now, which is enough for him.

But he dared not relax, fearing he wouldn't perform well in the college entrance exam.

In mid-June, Fang Yuan received Chen Xia's second letter.

The letter said she had received acceptance letters from two universities, as well as a half-fund scholarship.

She chose the City University of New York to study finance. Classes start in September.

Regarding "Flying Colors," her aunt has already found a translator, a Chinese man who has worked in publishing in China.

The translation work has begun, and the first draft should be completed in about two months.

Her aunt said the contract wasn't urgent and they could discuss it after Fang Yuan finished his work.

At the end of the letter, Chen Xia wrote: "Come to America after you finish your exams. I'll show you around New York."

Fang Yuan looked at it and smiled.

He put the letter away and continued studying.

July, the National College Entrance Examination (Gaokao).

The National College Entrance Examination (Gaokao) will still be held on July 7th, 8th, and 9th.

July in Qingdao is hot.

The examination venue was still No. 1 Middle School, not far from Fang Yuan's home.

Fang Yuan went there by bicycle.

The school gate was crowded with parents, some holding fans and others carrying water.

Fang Yuan went by himself without asking Fang Jianguo to ask for leave.

The first subject was Chinese language.

Fang Yuan did well. He got all the classical Chinese poems and prose memorization questions right, and his reading comprehension was decent.

The essay topic was "Honesty." He wrote an argumentative essay, using two examples, one from ancient times and one from modern times, and it was written very steadily.

Mathematics in the afternoon.

Fang Yuan received the test paper and started by answering the questions he knew how to answer.

I did twelve multiple-choice questions, three fill-in-the-blank questions, and the first part of the essay questions.

Skip the ones you don't know. Finally, I went back and guessed on a few multiple-choice questions.

He felt he had done well on the exam.

English on the second day.

Fang Yuan excels in listening, reading, cloze tests, and composition.

I finished twenty minutes early and checked it once.

The Third Astronomical Synthesis.

The history, geography, and politics sections were combined into one paper. I finished the multiple-choice questions quickly, but the essay questions took me a long time.

He wrote as much as he could, including all the relevant knowledge he knew.

After finishing the last exam, Fang Yuan walked out of the exam room, stood at the school gate, and let out a long sigh of relief.

The exam is over.

Huang Xiaoming called to ask him how his exam went.

"Not bad. I should be able to cross the line."

"That's good. When are you coming to Beijing?"

"Let's wait for the results. Take a few days off first."

Fang Yuan hung up the phone and lay down on the bed.

It's getting dark outside the window. Cicadas are chirping.

He remembered many things.

Over the past year, I've spent my days waking up in the hospital, writing novels, preparing for art exams, and taking the national college entrance examination.

It seems very long, yet it also seems very short.

Fang Yuan turned over and closed his eyes.

In mid-July, Fang Yuan returned to school to collect his graduation certificate.

His homeroom teacher, Jiang Shan, handed him his graduation certificate and said, "Fang Yuan, you've made great progress this year."

No matter how you did on the exam, you didn't waste your time.

Fang Yuan said, "Thank you, Teacher Jiang."

He stood in the hallway for a while after leaving the office.

The classroom was empty.

The tables and chairs were arranged neatly, and there was nothing written on the blackboard.

Fang Yuan turned around and went downstairs.

I rode my bicycle slowly home along the road I had walked for three years.

The wind blows, hot and humid.

In July, Qingdao is filled with the smell of the sea.