Longing for it, the east wind arrived, and the footsteps of spring drew near.
Everything looked as if it had just woken up, stretching lazily and opening its eyes. The mountains grew fresh and bright, the rivers swelled, and the sun's face turned red.
Huang Yifan held his pen, pausing to think one moment and writing the next, as if he were working on something.
"Huang Yifan, what are you writing?"
His deskmate, Zhang Huiping, asked curiously.
"Prose."
To be precise, Huang Yifan was imitating prose.
The piece he was imitating came from a great prose writer and poet of his previous life on Earth, Zhu Ziqing's work "Spring".
This essay had appeared in middle school textbooks in his previous life. Because it was so classic, "Spring" was often a required memorization piece for students. Huang Yifan naturally remembered it, word for word. As for why he was imitating it, that could only be blamed on a bout of his chuunibyou acting up.
That's right! Huang Yifan was definitely having an episode right now.
With countless classics in his head that he could copy, he instead decided to rewrite these famous works using his own style.
Unfortunately, how could his level possibly compare to that of true masters?
So, although it was called imitation, the result was clearly a failure.
Just like this piece, when Huang Yifan tried to rewrite it in his own style, he managed to get the words down, but the artistic conception was completely different.
That was his own fault.
Over the weekend, a few days ago, while writing 'How a Bad Guy Is Made', Huang Yifan suddenly decided not to copy anymore. He felt that with this kind of noob-style novel, even without copying, he could probably manage with his own writing. So he stopped copying and reorganized the plot of 'How a Bad Guy Is Made' using his own words. The readers' feedback was actually pretty good, at least no one noticed that the latest chapters felt different from the earlier ones.
The success of 'How a Bad Guy Is Made' undoubtedly gave Huang Yifan a strong boost.
So when Monday classes felt unbearably dull, Huang Yifan tried using his own words to imitate Zhu Ziqing's prose. Only then did he realize how difficult it was to write even a few hundred words of prose.
"Wow, prose."
For a middle school student, prose was undeniably something lofty and impressive.
Huang Yifan's writing a ghost story before had already seemed amazing to Zhang Huiping.
She never expected that now he would actually be writing the legendary prose.
Wasn't prose something only literary masters wrote?
Perhaps hearing Zhang Huiping's exaggerated tone, Jiang Weiwei, who hadn't been giving Huang Yifan much trouble lately, turned around again.
"Huiping, what did you say? Who's writing prose?"
"Huang Yifan."
"Ah…"
Just like Zhang Huiping, when Jiang Weiwei heard that Huang Yifan was writing something even she didn't quite understand, prose, her interest was instantly piqued.
"Huang Yifan, let me see it. What kind of prose did you write?"
"Sorry, why should I show it to you?"
Huang Yifan closed his notebook, clearly unwilling to let Jiang Weiwei see it.
"What, is it badly written, so you're afraid of embarrassing yourself?"
"I don't really care whether it's good or bad. I'm just afraid some classmate might read it and then run to the homeroom teacher again to report me. The last ghost story was apparently an attempt on my part to scare you all. So this prose… Who knows, maybe you'll make up some excuse and say I'm pretending to be a fake literary youth to win your favor."
"You…"
Hearing this, Jiang Weiwei naturally felt a little awkward. Still, she couldn't stand Huang Yifan's behavior, especially a poor student like him occasionally writing things and somehow completely captivating her good friend Zhang Huiping.
"Fine, don't show it then. But Huang Yifan, I do have a piece of advice for you."
"Please speak, Class Rep Jiang."
"Liking literature is certainly a good thing, but I suggest that when you write in the future, you read more books and build a solid foundation first. Otherwise, don't end up like last time, copying some piece from who-knows-where…"
Halfway through, Jiang Weiwei seemed to realize her words were a bit hurtful and hurriedly stopped.
But Huang Yifan clearly understood what she meant.
Still, toward this spoiled little princess, Huang Yifan didn't get angry. He replied calmly, "Thanks for your concern."
"Uh…"
Such a calm response was unexpected. Jiang Weiwei realized that lately she was finding it harder and harder to understand Huang Yifan. He seemed like a completely different person: calmer, more detached, and more profound. Vaguely, she found herself liking this version of Huang Yifan.
This feeling was nice. It made her feel peaceful and comfortable.
Yet for some reason, when Jiang Weiwei truly faced this new Huang Yifan, she felt a strange discomfort. Her pride seemed wounded, and a faint sense of inferiority suddenly surfaced. Compared to Huang Yifan, the pride she had always believed in since childhood suddenly felt like it had vanished without a trace.
No, this was an illusion.
Jiang Weiwei chased away the chaotic thoughts in her mind.
Huang Yifan was still Huang Yifan.
At most, he could write a few short pieces, and even those were copied.
In reality, he was just a poor student ranked in the forties in class.
What was wrong with me just now? How could I have such thoughts about a poor student like him?
"Anyway, I wish you well. I hope you can become one of our country's 10-star authors in the future. Keep it up."
She said this somewhat against her true feelings.
Only then did Jiang Weiwei feel better.
She must have been seeing things earlier, or maybe she had read too many romance novels lately and was overthinking.
"10-star author? What's that?"
Ignoring Jiang Weiwei's insincere encouragement, Huang Yifan suddenly became interested in the term "10-star author."
"Zhang Huiping, do you know what a 10-star author is?"
"Huh? You don't know?"
"Is this something everyone knows?"
"Not really. You like writing, so I thought you'd know. Turns out you don't."
"I really don't. Zhang Huiping, tell me, what exactly is a 10-star author?"
"I'm not too sure either, I've just seen it mentioned on TV and in magazines. They say that our country has divided writers, poets, essayists, and other literary figures into ranks: from 1 star to 10 stars, ten levels in total. Supposedly, 10 stars is the highest level. Right now, it seems no one in our country has reached 10 stars, but abroad, there's apparently one person who has."
"Who?"
"God."
"Zhang Huiping, I didn't know you liked joking."
"No, I'm not joking. The foreign 10-star author really is God! It's said that the Bible has been distributed worldwide in over two billion copies, maybe three billion, maybe even four billion. No one can actually count how many copies of the Bible exist. Because of its terrifying circulation numbers and status, God is considered the only 10-star author on this planet."
"Ah…"
==========
Glossary
1 - Zhu Ziqing's "Spring" "春" is a celebrated lyric essay in modern Chinese literature, famous for its vivid personification of spring as a new baby, a graceful girl, and a strong youth, evoking themes of vitality, beauty, hope, and new beginnings, making it a beloved piece often taught in schools for its poetic prose and deep connection to nature and life's renewal.
==========
Support the translation and help me keep the work.
patreon.com/Childish_Patriarch