Xu Yin

Perhaps it was because her period had started, but Lin Xia did not sleep soundly that night. Fortunately, she had a carefree nature; when she saw the bright sunlight streaming through the window the next morning, the previous day’s discomfort and embarrassment seemed to fade a little as she stretched lazily. Of course, that was provided she didn’t run into the person involved.

Chen Qing emerged from the bathroom and, seeing that Lin Xia was already tidied up, grinned. “Ah, to be young—so full of vitality.” As she spoke, she twisted her neck and stretched.

Lin Xia was packing her bag, pulling out some spare clothes to leave in the cabinet. She laughed at Chen Qing’s words, “Sister Miao, you’re being funny. No one at twenty-two should call themselves old.”

Seeing the way Lin Xia looked and behaved, like a little grown-up, Chen Qing walked over and pinched her cheek. Smiling, she said, “Compared to you, a fifteen-year-old little girl, I really am old. Are you ready? Let’s go find Qin Mo, Wanwan, and the others.”

Lin Xia nodded, locked the door, and stepped out of the room.

“Sister Miao, are they staying on the twelfth floor too?” Lin Xia asked with curiosity.

“No, they’re in Qingdao.”

Lin Xia pursed her lips. The air pollution was worst on the ninth and tenth floors, slightly better on the eighth. But since they weren’t staying long-term, just a few days in a hotel wouldn’t matter much.

She didn’t know about the other editors’ writers, but the five under Chen Qing’s wing were quite close, having booked adjacent rooms, 0811 and 0812.

When Lin Xia and Chen Qing arrived, the door to 0812 was open. Before stepping inside, they heard a loud female voice coming from within: “Wanwan, hurry up! If Miao Miao comes and finds you still in the bathroom, she’ll probably break down the door and skin you alive.”

Then, another voice replied, faintly muffled, “Haha, I know you need the bathroom. I just won’t come out. Come in if you dare! Haha!”

“You little—” And then came a series of loud knocks on the door.

Hearing this racket so early made Lin Xia uneasy, especially after her restless night; her brow furrowed.

Their humorous exchange made Chen Qing laugh as she strode in.

Lin Xia followed but didn’t join in, instead standing on the balcony, watching the bustling traffic and soaking in the unique atmosphere of B City.

Inside, the knocking stopped abruptly and a surprised female voice called out, “Oh, Lady Miao, what wind brought you here? Why didn’t you let us know in advance so I could welcome you properly?”

Amused by her antics, Chen Qing replied, “Alright, enough. It’s already eight o’clock. We need to get going. Let’s go downstairs for breakfast.”

She then called toward the bathroom, “Wanwan, hurry up. We’re heading down for breakfast.”

The bathroom door opened. Wanwan, toothbrush still in her mouth, mumbled, “Sister Miao, wait for me…”

Just then, Qin Mo rushed in. “I can’t wait any longer—I really need the bathroom.”

Chen Qing laughed, “You two really shouldn’t share a room—such a pair of troublemakers.” Shaking her head, she headed for the door. Turning to Lin Xia, she said, “I’m going to call Xiaoyu and Hei Bai. Want to come?”

Lin Xia shook her head. “No, I’ll wait here. Just call me when you’re ready, Sister Miao.”

Chen Qing nodded, relieved that Lin Xia, the youngest, was so easy to manage. Otherwise, she would be even busier these days.

When the six of them arrived at the restaurant, it was just past a quarter after eight.

Looking at Qin Mo and the others’ bare faces, then at Chen Qing’s delicate makeup, Lin Xia sighed inwardly. Writers really were homebodies—no one bothered with makeup.

She had watched Chen Qing transform her fresh face into something even more radiant and captivating in just five minutes. As for herself and the others, none had put on makeup; even if she were old enough, she didn’t have those skills.

Makeup, she thought, was an art.

Lin Xia mused that, even if makeup wasn’t the healthiest, and even if she didn’t particularly like it, having the skill was still a good thing. After all, in their profession, no matter how low-key, there would come a day to attend a book launch or promotional event. Knowing how to apply a little makeup was a way to enhance life.

As the advertisements say: Women, you should be good to yourself. Not for others, but for yourself.

Wear good underwear, own a quality pair of shoes, and live comfortably whenever you can. Make yourself a work of art, not just another piece of clothing to be tried on, discounted, and left unsold.

After breakfast, the six of them piled into Chen Qing’s car and set off for *Fine Rain* magazine’s office.

*Fine Rain* magazine was founded in 2000 and had been around for four years. Since the debut of the prodigy Liuyan, whose delicate, dreamy, and refined writing style made *Fine Rain* quickly stand out in the youth literature market, the magazine had rapidly risen to rival the perennial leader *Blaze*.

After its 2004 relaunch, shifting its audience from girls aged fifteen to twenty to a broader, more sophisticated, and fashionable urban white-collar readership aged fifteen to twenty-five, the magazine’s reputation soared. In the realm of youth magazines, it became a match for *Blaze*. In the sphere of intellectual and emotional writing, it became a leader.

Among the writers who excelled in intellectual writing, Qin Mo was one. Her sharp, biting prose was a stark contrast to her real-life persona, which had surprised Lin Xia when they first met.

The magazine’s office was in a high-end building in Haiding District, B City, occupying the entire twenty-fourth floor—hundreds of square meters dedicated to *Fine Rain*’s operations.

They took the double-decker elevator straight to the top. Lin Xia gazed at the cubicles, the busy editors, and the authors trailing behind them, and felt as though she had returned to her own days working tirelessly in such an office.

Time seemed to fold over itself; seeing their shadows, Lin Xia thought of her younger self, aimless on the outside but deeply insecure within.

Following Chen Qing, the six entered the conference room.

It was a large hall, similar to a university lecture theater in size, though the tables and chairs were much more elegant and comfortable. The chairs were soft, easy to sit and lean back in. Two large projectors—one at the front, one in the center—cast images onto big white screens, clearly visible even from the corners. There were four speakers on the walls so that everyone could hear the speaker clearly.

While Lin Xia was taking in her surroundings, Chen Qing led the group to their seats. “These five seats are for my group. Sit here. I’ll go find the editor-in-chief and see if there’s anything else we need to do. I’ll come back when I’m done.”

“Go ahead, Sister Qing,” Lin Xia replied obediently.

The others echoed her and found their own seats.

Having chatted in the group before, everyone was somewhat familiar with each other’s personalities. Except for Lin Xia, who was younger and often offline, the other four could be considered old friends.

Qin Mo and Wanwan’s homes weren’t far apart; they had even met up a few times in private.

Lin Xia sat in the innermost seat, wearing a baseball cap pulled low over her face, cradling her stomach as she reclined in her chair to rest. After a sleepless night, she expected to learn a lot from today’s lectures, so she took advantage of the free time to close her eyes and recharge.

Meanwhile, Qin Mo and the others whispered among themselves, discussing the things they had bought while shopping the day before.

Such boundless energy.

On every desk was a nameplate with each person’s pen name. Even before Lin Xia and her group arrived, Liuyan’s name had already attracted considerable attention.

The magazine didn’t plan to release author photos, and before the training session, every editor had been instructed to keep this information confidential and inform the attending writers of this rule.

So when people saw Lin Xia in her cap, they just assumed she was being discreet. Of course, some enthusiastic fans quietly snapped a photo of her from afar with their cameras or phones.

But since everyone was cultured and well-mannered, nothing untoward happened.

Thinking of the teacher who would be lecturing today, the writers felt a surge of excitement. No matter how popular they were with readers, they were still just trend writers; those giving the lectures were true literary masters whose depth of knowledge and literary foundation commanded everyone’s respect.

A stellar reputation usually lives up to itself.

Anyone in literary circles knew Xuyin’s name. Though Lin Xia had read mostly online fiction in her previous life—light entertainment with little to do with literary depth—she understood the thrill. People just wanted a bit of fun: after a long workday, they’d check for new chapters from their favorite authors, maybe throw in a reward if they could afford it, or read pirated versions if not.

Those who had worked knew how hard it was; they respected authors’ efforts and would support the official versions if they could, or at least acknowledge the authors’ hard work.

Lin Xia understood this well. In college, she was a broke student, so she read pirated books to satisfy her cravings. Later, once she started working and realized how hard it was for authors to update thousands of words every day, constantly brainstorming new plots while enduring the health issues of sitting at a computer all day, she paid to support her favorite writers.

By rights, someone who mostly read light fiction wouldn’t have known about Xuyin, a master of documentary literature. But eight years later, in 2012, Xuyin, whose rise was rooted in rural literature, became the first Chinese author in history to win a Nobel Prize in Literature.

His award-winning works, marked by a rare religious sensibility, set him apart from his Chinese peers and brought him into the ranks of world literature.

Though he didn’t yet have the fame he would earn eight years later, the prospect of hearing his lecture today was enough to fill Lin Xia with excitement.