Chapter 6: "To Live"

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The novel "Abandoned Capital" is Lao Jia’s masterpiece. How to put it—this work is renowned, profoundly influential, highly welcomed by the market, and has won numerous international awards. He felt somewhat tempted.

But shortly after, he dismissed the idea.

Because the content of this book was simply too explosive; many people bought it back then as a kind of risqué reading.

Keep in mind, he was only seventeen now. To have produced such a seasoned work, what would others think?

Well, these concerns didn’t really bother him much.

Throughout history, both domestically and abroad, literary geniuses have never been in short supply. There have been countless prodigies.

So, why couldn’t he be one?

At twenty-six, Wang Bo was able to compose the eternal classic "Preface to the Pavilion of Prince Teng." In theory, he could do the same; no one can rigidly define the title of “genius.”

Yet his main worry lay with Chen Zijing.

If he became famous overnight because of "Abandoned Capital," then those intrusive reporters would inevitably dig up their past.

Right now, he had no power or influence to suppress such scandalous news.

If reporters started chasing him with questions like: “Mr. Li, did you sleep with Chen Zijing?”

How could he answer?

“Yes.”

“No.”

“None of your business!”

Whichever answer he chose—or whether he responded at all—it would inevitably inflict a second wound on Chen Zijing.

Those unscrupulous media, in their pursuit of sensationalism, might even attribute the various intimate scenes in the book to her, claiming he gained practical experience and inspiration from her.

In an era that valued reputation greatly, Chen Zijing had barely escaped the whirlpool of public opinion in Shangwan Village, and he had already hurt her once in his youth.

Born again, he could not hurt her again.

He gave up on "Abandoned Capital" and soon shifted his focus to "Life Sea" and "To Live."

Both novels were excellent pieces he liked a lot; in his previous life, he had read each at least five times.

Especially "To Live," kept on his bedside table, which he could praise endlessly—he remembered every detail vividly.

Both were close to his heart, making it difficult to choose.

This was a matter of “whoever he chose, the other would suffer,” and he felt reluctant; after all, he once loved both writers.

He even started to investigate if his ancestors had any grudge against families named Yu or Mai.

But the result was obvious—his forebears were all farmers. The only official in the family was Comrade Chen Jianguo, who barely warmed his seat before reverting to farming life.

With such a background, they could never rival those families; where would the conflict come from?

After much thought and weighing, Li Heng finally made a difficult decision—to write "To Live."

They say art springs from life and surpasses it. No matter how far-fetched, the content of a work should at least brush against one’s own growth trajectory, right?

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Seven years as a civil servant had made him a relatively disciplined thinker. He allowed himself some flaws but not too many.

Otherwise, no one is a fool; too many cracks would one day be discovered by someone with ill intent.

Even though if discovered, they would have no way to harm him, it would still be troublesome, wouldn’t it?

And he was exactly the kind of person who disliked trouble.

In his previous life, he once read a report explaining that Yu Hua wrote "To Live" because he had heard an American folk song called "Old Black Slave."

The song told of an old black slave who endured a lifetime of suffering, outliving his family, yet still treated the world kindly without a single complaint.

Coincidentally, Comrade Li Jianguo owned a cassette tape of this song.

Though the tape was a pirated copy, he had listened to it many times—it was the perfect excuse.

Moreover, "To Live" tells the tragic life of Xu Fugui. While such a prototype is nearly extinct in later times, it was not hard to find in this era.

His own second uncle was a fitting subject.

In the old days, his second uncle was the son of a landlord, indulging in gambling and taking concubines.

But after enduring war and humanitarian catastrophes, he ended up with a broken family, lost wife and children, becoming a well-known welfare recipient.

Despite this, he lived tenaciously, drinking a little every day or fishing in the river. Li Heng’s fishing skills were learned from him since childhood.

The song "Old Black Slave" plus his second uncle—wow! Writing ingredients complete, simply perfect.

Yu Hua, are you worried yet?

Just as Li Heng lit an oil lamp and began writing fervently, Yu Hua, attending a literary workshop at the Lu Xun Academy in the capital, suddenly felt dizzy and nearly collapsed.

The floor was hard, and the fall was painful.

Holding his backside and groaning, Yu Hua looked up at the dark night sky, suddenly gripped by an inexplicable anxiety, as if something immensely important was slipping away from him.

The next morning, after a sleepless night, Yu Hua impulsively stopped by a roadside stall and asked a blind fortune teller to read his fate.

The blind man said, “You’ve encountered a malevolent star; your ‘Hua Gai’ luck has been taken.”

Yu Hua was startled and hurriedly asked if there was a way to fix it.

The blind man spun his finger, signaling for money!

Yu Hua reached into his pocket and quietly slipped away.

...

Though usually lazy and fond of leisure, once Li Heng made a decision, he transformed instantly into a different person, taking strong action.

Unscrewing the ink bottle cap, he dipped his fountain pen nib inside, gently squeezing the pen barrel with thumb and forefinger, instantly filling it with ink.

He found a new notebook and laid it open. Just as he was about to write, he noticed the neighbors across the street still making a ruckus with their noisy rituals, drums, and gongs, incessantly disturbing the peace.

He tried several times but couldn’t concentrate.

Fortunately, he had been used to the harsh rural study environment since childhood and wasn’t irritated enough to curse.

He set down the pen, took several deep breaths, slowly closed his eyes, and began to cultivate the right creative mood.

As the saying goes, sharpening the axe won’t delay the cutting of wood. About ten minutes later, Li Heng opened his eyes again, fully blocking out the outside noise, immersed in his own world.

That night, he wrote 5,000 characters by hand in a grid-style notebook, from half past six until just after midnight, his wrist aching a little.

If not for Li Yan’s sudden interruption, he wouldn’t have realized how late it had become—and that he could still keep writing.

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Li Heng turned his head in frustration. “Big sister, what are you doing here at this hour?”

Li Yan brought a large bowl of sauced noodles to him, beaming with delight. “Brother, eat quickly! I snuck this back, no one saw.

Look, here’s lamb meatballs, and here’s beef meatballs—delicious! I just ate three bowls myself.”

Hearing the word “sneaked,” Li Heng couldn’t help but laugh and cry at the same time. So his big sister knew about the feud between the Chen and Li families.

Yet, if she knew, why would she eagerly go to watch the commotion?

But despite this thought, he didn’t blame her. In his eyes, as long as his big sister was happy, he could let anything else go.

Li Heng said, “I’m still full. Big sister, why don’t you take the noodles to second sister? She eats more than me and often gets hungry at night.”

Mentioning second sister made Li Yan feel a bit wronged. “I already gave her some, but she refused and even scolded me for having no backbone.”

Li Heng was momentarily stunned and fell silent.

That was indeed second sister’s style—she would rather starve than eat anything from the enemy. In this respect, he was deeply influenced by her.

Li Yan urged again, “Brother, eat quickly! If the noodles burn, they won’t taste good.”

“Okay, okay,” he replied, but shifted the noodles aside and said to his sister, “I’m writing an essay, almost done. I’ll eat once I finish. It’s late, so you go back to sleep first.”

His big sister had little education. She had dropped three grades in a row by second grade and, humiliated by her peers’ mockery, never returned to school.

So she couldn’t understand what Li Heng was writing at all, only seeing neat rows of fountain pen characters and thinking it was impressive.

Their parents were educated, but she was almost illiterate, knowing only a few large characters. Li Yan greatly admired and respected education.

Hearing her brother’s words, she obediently exited the room quietly, careful not to disturb his studying.

After her interruption, Li Heng felt a bit stifled, losing his writing mood.

Leaning over the old desk, he looked through the window bars at the Chen family across the way.

People coming and going, eating noodles, shouting and laughing—so lively.

This familiar scene stirred many memories. Once upon a time, he was a regular visitor to the Chen household, with Chen Zijing and Chen Zitong clinging to his heels, calling out “Brother! Brother!”

But now...

The last time they met, Chen Zitong’s face was full of unfamiliarity—everything had changed.

As he sank into childhood memories, his drifting gaze accidentally landed on a corner of the second-floor window opposite.

His eyes sharpened, locking with Chen Zitong’s.

He didn’t know when she had appeared, but clearly, she saw the bowl of sauced noodles on the desk.

They stared at each other for three seconds; expressionless, Chen Zitong suddenly pulled the curtain hard.

With a swift whoosh, the curtain snapped shut.

Well, she obviously did not welcome him.

That bowl of noodles needed no explanation.