Xinfeng Garden Bay Complex.
With a three-day break from school, Li Luozhi returned home from Tieshikou Middle School.
"Sigh…"
Letting out a quiet sigh, Li Luozhi set down her backpack and pulled out a folded piece of paper from the inner pocket.
"Behind you, scattered on the ground,
My friend, those are not petals,
They are my withering heart."
Yu Bin had delivered the poem, but he hadn't written it.
Li Luozhi had already suspected as much, but after confirming it with Yu Bin today, she still felt deeply moved.
At the age of ninth grade, it was the season of youth, especially for a girl.
Despite her cold, aloof exterior, Li Luozhi wasn't truly like that inside.
In fact, once someone cracked open her heart, her passion ran even deeper than most.
"Who would've thought a boy could have such delicate thoughts?"
"Could it be… was this written for me?"
She couldn't help but laugh at herself, feeling a bit silly.
Clearly, the poem had been ghostwritten by Huang Yifan on Yu Bin's behalf. Even if it was meant for her, it hadn't truly been written for her.
A bit regretful, she carefully folded the page and returned it to her bag.
"Li Luozhi, you guys should be on break these few days, right?"
Feeling bored during the three-day break before the exams, she logged onto TT.
That's when she received a message from an account labeled "Youth Daily Editor, Sun Zaian."
"Uncle Sun, yeah, we've got three days off."
"Three days to relax isn't bad."
"Relax? There's no such thing. The high school entrance exam is right after, I'm totally stressed."
"I don't buy that. With your grades, what is there to stress about? Don't lie to your uncle. By the way, what about that thing we discussed earlier? Have you thought it over?"
"Um… I think I'll pass."
"Pass? Come on, Luozhi, think it over again. You should know that chances like this are rare. You've got the talent. After the exam, all you'd need to do is send in a 1.000-word essay every day to Youth Daily. You know this already, but the two now-famous authors, Guo Cheng and Han Jin, both got their start with us. Sure, you're not on their level yet, but you're only 15; your potential is huge. This is your chance to get your name out there."
"Uncle Sun, I'm really sorry. A lot has happened lately, and I've been doing a lot of self-reflection. I even went back and reread my old essays. And looking back… I can't believe how bad they were. I want to take some time to really study and improve my writing."
"Self-reflection is great, Luozhi. But you're growing, that's the point. The fact that your old work feels subpar now just proves you've improved. And writing essays while studying is doable too."
"That's not it, Uncle Sun. I think you misunderstood. What I mean is, I don't think I've even reached the point where I'm ready to graduate, so to speak. I still have a lot to learn. And I don't want to churn out immature work just to chase false vanity. That kind of pride could stop me from ever getting better. So I want to spend the summer seriously working on my writing. Besides…"
"Besides what?"
"Besides… I've realized there's a classmate who's much better than me."
"Better than you? Luozhi, you're joking. I'm not saying this to flatter you; your writing is already at the top of your age group. No, actually, you're better than a good chunk of high schoolers too. If that weren't the case, I wouldn't have approached you about this in the first place."
"I'm serious, Uncle Sun."
"Really?"
"I swear. Why would I lie to you? Oh, actually, I have a modern poem he wrote. Do you want to read it?"
"A modern poem? You sure are all over the place."
"Uncle Sun, why don't you ever believe me? I'll send it now. But you can't publish it! I didn't write it; my classmate did. I haven't gotten his permission. If he finds out it was printed, he'll never forgive me."
"Relax. I've got enough professional ethics for that. But come on, Luozhi, don't try to fool me with some modern poetry."
"Just read it before you judge."
With that, Li Luozhi sent the poem 'A Blossoming Tree' to Sun Zaian. Meanwhile, on the other side of the screen, Sun poured himself a cup of tea and grumbled to himself.
"This kid… what's going on in her head? She doesn't even want an opportunity like this? I should probably give her parents a call later."
Taking a slow sip of tea, he finally looked back at the screen after ten minutes.
By then, Li Luozhi had already sent 'A Blossoming Tree' via TT.
"Modern poetry, huh. Don't tell me a ninth grader actually wrote this."
He wasn't taking it seriously at all.
Forget middle school; most university professors couldn't write a decent modern poem. Honestly, modern poetry has become awkward in recent times.
Back in the early Republic era, it was born alongside the rise of vernacular Chinese.
But while prose, novels, and drama all flourished, poetry lagged.
One reason was that modern poetry hadn't produced many timeless classics in over a hundred years.
Another was that its structure was too "modern" and lacked defined rules; how could good poetry come from that?
Rolling his eyes, Sun Zaian glanced at the poem titled 'A Blossoming Tree.'
"How can I make you meet me
In the most beautiful moment of my life?"
That was the opening line. He read it once, nothing special.
He read on.
"For this
I have prayed before the Buddha for five hundred years
Begging him to let us form a fleeting bond."
"So the Buddha turned me into a tree
Planted by the roadside where you must pass."
Still pretty average. Just everyday language. This is supposed to be modern poetry?
Truthfully, Sun had little interest in modern poetry. To him, these unrhymed, free-form poems were just long sentences broken into lines. Or worse, split a sentence into separate stanzas and call it art. Of course, that was an exaggeration, and he could still appreciate a well-written modern poem when he saw one. But most of them were hard to write and hardly meaningful; he didn't find them worth the effort.
"Blossoming solemnly in the sunlight."
"Every flower
Was a hope from my past life"
Now this… this started to feel different.
He sat up straight, no longer slouching.
The poem was starting to develop a poetic flavor.
Then.
"When you walk by
Please listen carefully
The trembling leaves are my passionate longing"
"And you pass me by, without a glance."
By now, Sun Zaian was visibly moved.
The poem's artistry was thickening. The imagery and emotion were painting a vivid, romantic scene.
He could feel that poetic elegance breaking through the page.
It was the kind of feeling he only got when reading the classics.
And to think, it was emerging from a modern poem.
Then, he read the final lines:
"Scattered behind you on the ground,
My friend, those are not petals,
They are my withering heart."
A shiver ran down his spine.
This 'A Blossoming Tree', had pierced straight through him.
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