Chapter 20: A Sister Can Be a Legend Too

Opening the complimentary issue of the magazine sent back along with her manuscript fee, Lin Xia could not deny the delight stirring in her heart.

Though she had lived her life anew, she possessed neither exceptional talent nor beauty—she was still the same clueless little girl she had always been. At most, she was a shade more vigilant than her peers, aware of the need to plan early and look ahead. For her, there had been no sudden windfall at home, no mysterious influx of funds. She was no prodigy; given a second chance, she still needed to read diligently and earnestly, tackling an English reading comprehension each day and working through three extracurricular math workbooks. Her grades had always been the result of honest, hard effort.

Her achievements, though hard-won, inspired no envy among those around her, for they knew well the price she paid. To Ren Jie, Lin Xia’s improvement was a stroke of fortune: now, whether homework or exams, as long as she could copy Lin Xia’s answers, she could secure a respectable score.

Lin Xia hoped Ren Jie would study in earnest, but the girl’s ambitions lay elsewhere. With the distance between their homes, Lin Xia’s influence could only reach so far. She tried persuading her twice, but when nothing came of it, she let the matter drop. After all, there are countless paths to success; studying is but one. Later, the three childhood friends married young, their lives—by some measures—far happier than Lin Xia’s own.

Lin Xia, having pursued her studies, found herself dismissive of the local boys, intent instead on finding someone compatible, someone with whom she could share her thoughts. Yet, as she grew older, her situation became awkward. Those she loved belonged to others; those who loved her were simply unbearable.

Everyone had their own life to lead, and no one could help another. All she could do was offer support to those around her, and as for Ren Jie and the others, she had done all she could. After all, she was no deity.

With a sigh, Lin Xia turned the pages of the current issue of "Fine Rain."

As expected, all the pieces were in the vein of youthful literature. This was the era when the New Concept Composition Competition was all the rage—no wonder, since it offered a fast track to elite universities.

At the end of 1998, Sprout Magazine, together with Shandong University, East China Normal, Nanjing University, Peking University, Fudan, Nankai, and Xiamen University, hosted the first New Concept Composition Competition. This event mobilized talent from all corners, and Sprout Magazine soared in popularity, becoming a leader among youth publications.

Yet Lin Xia had never entertained the thought of entering the New Concept Competition, although she too longed to attend a top university. China, since ancient times, has been a society of connections. Who sponsored the competition? Who were the organizers? All manner of tangled relationships lay behind it.

Lin Xia had no connections—on that alone, even first place would likely remain out of reach.

Unless, of course, she were the reincarnation of Lu Xun or Cao Xueqin; perhaps then, with overwhelming skill, she might claim the crown. But she was not. In her previous life, she had been a science student with a casual, non-professional love of literature. Writing for small magazines was one thing; entering a prestigious contest with little chance of reward was simply a thankless endeavor.

She casually picked out an article—sure enough, it bore the marks of the post-80s generation: poignant, hazy, beautiful, and exquisitely dreamlike. Walking through such words felt both transcendent and intimately familiar.

Lin Xia, able as she was, would not let herself be led by the nose by such writings. Instead, she studied their content, learned their techniques, absorbed their ways of thinking, and took diligent notes.

Indeed, she treated writing as a craft.

In her former self, she would never have thought to do these things. Only after years in the working world did she realize: a diploma is not everything, but without one, there isn’t even a chance. With her third-rate degree, what good company would take her in? She was left dangling, neither here nor there.

Precisely because of these experiences, she could write a serial like "Girl, Don’t Cry"—a work with style, thought, and substance. The content was a blend of her own experiences and the stories of those she had met, infused with the popular, angst-ridden, lyrical style of youth literature, embellished with ornate, hollow phrases.

For example:

—Hmm, what is that?
—Isn’t it about to snow?
Looking up, deep gray, pale gray, flaxen gray—the sky is crowded with clouds, mass upon mass.
How many winters has it been since I left you?
Since I left you, I have been just fine.
Every morning I wash my hair, walk the camphor-lined road, from the first tree to the last, from my house to yours.
Every day I see the tree we once carved our names on—now covered with more marks, our words buried, shallow and deep.
I’ve learned to smile, to be like you: wearing earphones while waiting for the bus, sitting in the last row when the bus is empty, squinting at the sky on foggy mornings, fighting sleep in the drowsy afternoons.
I have learned to dream dreams without you.
Hey—
My dear, are you well, over there?

After carefully reading through "Fine Rain," Lin Xia read it again from the beginning, comparing her own work with that of other writers. She gained new insights and quickly recorded them in her notebook.

Indeed, for her, writing was more than a hobby.

She was, at heart, an ordinary person. Before she could secure her basic needs or muster any financial backing, writing remained merely a means to make a living.

Her guiding principle echoed the words of Oscar Wilde, the British wit who rivaled Shaw in the nineteenth century:

"I don’t want to earn a living, I want to live."

Yet, among the multitude, how many can truly live as they wish?

After finishing the magazine, Lin Xia wrote another chapter of "Girl, Don’t Cry," revised it, sent a private message with her bank card number to her editor Miaomiao, and then began working on her practice exercises.

Just like that, by the end of the semester, Lin Xia’s account balance had grown to ten thousand yuan.

And paralleling the growth of her little treasury was the steady rise of her grades. This semester, her marks soared as if powered by a rocket, and everyone could see it.

It was like the advertisement for "Jin Si Li" said: "With Jin Si Li, studying and exams are easy!"

In every single-subject test, she was almost always in the top three. There were other star students in her class, but none so steady and well-rounded as Lin Xia. Her results were balanced across the board—she had almost no weaknesses.

But Lin Xia knew well her own shortcomings in science. Even if junior high didn’t make it evident, high school would reveal them in a flash. So she worked even harder, hoping to solidify her foundation in the sciences.

Thus, at the end of her first year, Lin Xia’s strengths became clear—her overall score was untouchable, and she emerged as the top student in her grade.

She had dethroned Liu Qingyun of Class Three, who had long dominated the charts, and in one leap became a legend at Creekwater Middle School, even throughout the entire town of Creekwater.