My Years as a Copyist in Taiwan

The aroma of wine mingled with the smoky scent of home-cooked dishes filled the entire wooden house. Zhao Wen and Wu Deng sat on the sofa, their arms around each other's shoulders.

Today, the whole room was filled with people genuinely celebrating for him. He quietly squinted his eyes, and the sense of alienation he felt from the world suddenly dissipated.

Throughout the year, he carried the memories of his past life deep within him, always keenly aware that he was an outsider. Walking the streets of Tainan, listening to the unfamiliar Hokkien Mandarin, no matter how much money he earned, there was always a thin layer of alienation in his heart, and he always felt that he did not belong here.

But in his slightly tipsy state, the real voices around him made him realize that the so-called sense of belonging was never built with wealth, but with the people in this room who were willing to care about him.

At this moment, he was no longer a passerby detached from the times, and for the first time, he truly had a thought—it seemed that he had truly taken root in this land of the 1980s.

...

On the plane from Kaohsiung to Tokyo, the first-class cabin was softly lit. Zhao Wen was flipping through the newspaper he had bought when he boarded the plane. Wu Deng sat next to him, smoking a cigar and tilting her head as she read the newspaper with him.

Last night, Brother Deng lamented, "Gatherings and partings are fleeting, and good times are hard to come by." Zhao Wen then invited him to go to Tokyo together so that they could spend a few more days in Japan after the autograph session. Brother Deng immediately agreed.

The female bodyguard, known as "Silly Auntie," is actually under surveillance and prohibited from obtaining a passport! No one knows what kind of trouble this simpleton got into a few years ago, so the only option is to let her continue answering phone calls at home.

Suddenly, Wu Deng's eyes widened, and she cursed, "You bastard! Look at the utter nonsense she wrote!!"

Zhao Wen had already seen it; the top half of the newspaper was filled with commentary articles signed "Phoenix," with righteous and stern titles—"How can filthy words of rampant lust poison the minds of young people?"

The article vehemently criticizes "Norwegian Wood," condemning the book's descriptions of love as "immoral and obscene," and accusing the author of using vulgar content to attract attention. It claims that the book's circulation would only corrupt young people and degrade social morality, placing a series of heavy accusations on Mr. Snail's head.

Wu Deng grew increasingly angry as he read on. He turned to Zhao Wen and whispered in a low, menacing voice:

"Awen, this old lady never learns a lesson! Her neighbor has a German Shepherd..."

He was only halfway through his sentence when Zhao Wen interrupted him with a smile. He put down his newspaper and comforted Brother Deng:

"Brother Deng, we are cultured people, we should have a broader perspective. You used these methods before because of your interests, to provide for your brothers, which is understandable."

Zhao Wen pointed to the author's name in the newspaper: "To deal with her, we have to completely defeat her in what she does best. That's what real sophistication is."

Wu Deng seemed to be deep in thought, while Zhao Wen raised an eyebrow and smiled:

"Besides, the reason she's so angry today is definitely because the sales of my 'Norwegian Wood' are crushing her new book. The fiercer she curses now, the more it shows she's really hurt. Brother Deng, don't you think that's sophisticated?"

Brother Deng finally burst into loud laughter: "Ah Wen, you're right! I'm too rudimentary. Your killer move is more effective than throwing ten dog heads!"

Zhao Wen was the first to step off the plane. There was even a red carpet on the ground. In front of four black Duke cars, Mr. Wicker Chair and several well-dressed men and women held flowers and applauded to welcome him.

Looking at this scene, Wu Deng cheered inwardly. His little brother's entourage was much more sophisticated than his own foolish underlings lined up in all-black suits!

Moreover, Deng Ge noticed that the airport shuttle bus only arrived slowly after his group had boarded the car, picking up other passengers from the plane.

But no matter how prestigious you are, or how fast you go through the immigration channel, you still have to get off the bus and go to the VIP window to have your passport and ferry certificate checked.

The inspection was over in just a few minutes. Zhao Wen looked out the window at the sparse number of passengers and thought to himself that he was not even one or two orders of magnitude behind the diva! If she came to Japan, a thousand or two people would be welcoming her at the airport, and that would be considered low-key. Dozens of media outlets would be there!

This year, the Japanese novels that competed with his "Love Letter," "Totto-chan" and "The Devil's Feast," would have just as much of a spectacle if their authors attended public gatherings as the diva.

To be honest, Zhao Wen was somewhat resentful about his treatment...did Kodansha not explain things clearly to the book fans...?

Unbeknownst to Zhao Wen, just seconds later, around the corner he would encounter a welcome he would never forget—

At the very front of the arrivals area at Haneda International Airport, cameras and microphones were already set up, belonging to dozens of media outlets of all sizes in Tokyo.

Behind these reporters were more than two thousand Japanese book and music fans whose ID cards had been verified, and many others were kept far away outside the airport passage because they did not carry their ID cards with them.

The police and Kodansha clearly underestimated the enthusiasm of Zhao Wen's fans when he entered the country. It wasn't until this morning, when they received an emergency call from Haneda Airport and discovered that a large number of people were holding signs in both Chinese and Japanese and were stranded at the airport, that the police and Kodansha hurriedly deployed more police and security forces!

Today in Tokyo, the weather is foggy, a little humid but not too hot.

Zhao Wen stepped out of the car looking refreshed and radiant, wearing a sky-blue blended suit with white trim, a purple shirt, straight-leg trousers, and Derby shoes. He calmly waved to the dense crowd of fans, mimicking the big stars he remembered, and greeted them in three directions to make it easier for reporters to take photos.

Instead of getting into the car and leaving a few minutes later, he walked slowly, letting the car move forward at a snail's pace.

When Zhao Wen got out of the car, he finally understood what a thunderous roar from his fans was...

「カタツムリ様、Hondōにハンサム!!」

"Karaikaru..."

"The talent is high, the young man is young, and the young man is young!"

Zhao Wen has been flipping through Japanese textbooks on and off for the past year and can speak a little Japanese, but his listening comprehension is completely unaffected.

He knew that what these little neon girls were saying were things like "You're so beautiful, so talented and beautiful," but he didn't take it too seriously. He kept smiling and even let a cute girl who almost broke through the barrier touch his hand.

Until he saw a sign.

The sign read, "Death is not the opposite of life, but exists eternally as part of life," written in Chinese.

Zhao Wen paused for a moment. The person holding the sign was a handsome young man with a slightly sickly pale face, dry lips, but bloodshot, fanatical eyes.

Seeing that Zhao Wen had indeed noticed him, the young man shouted, "Mr. Snail—you are my god!"

It was still in Mandarin, albeit in a very awkward way.

Zhao Wen took two steps forward, but two security guards nervously blocked his way. Zhao Wen had no choice but to stretch out his arm as far as possible and shake hands with the Japanese youth who spoke Mandarin.

Having retreated to a safe area, he waved again, intending to get into his car and leave. Suddenly, however, he froze.

The young man was staring at him, breathing rapidly with small, shallow breaths. His chest barely rose and fell, but the muscles in his collarbone and neck were taut, and his nostrils were flapping rapidly.

"Asthma! Hold him up! Don't let him lie down!" Zhao Wen's fear of asthma was innate, because his father had abandoned them, a widow and her children, at a young age because of asthma.

The young man hunched forward, slowly approaching the ground, when a security guard who understood Mandarin stepped forward to support him.

"Unbutton his collar, feel his pockets for the spray! Yes..."

Before Zhao Wen could finish speaking, seven or eight men in black suits suddenly emerged from behind the young man, each holding an emergency inhaler!