Chapter 74: A Century-Old Classic, It

Living room.

Song Yu first wiped the water droplets from her hands with a dry handkerchief beside the coffee table, then sat down and picked up the red receiver.

“Hello, who’s this?”

“Song Yu, it’s me.”

As she had suspected, it was indeed Zijin’s call; Song Yu asked with concern:

“You’re a week late this month—are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Chen Zijin said, glancing back over her shoulder as she spoke. “Lately I’ve been busy and had little free time, and Mom seems to have noticed something—she’s watching me much more closely than before. I couldn’t find an opening until today, when I bribed my little sister to cover for me.”

Seeing her sister look over, Chen Zitong, who was keeping watch in the corner outside, held a banana in her left hand and raised her right hand high, giving a thumbs-up gesture.

Song Yu paused, then asked: “Does your mom really have such low opinion of Li Heng?”

This was the most sensitive issue for Chen Zijin—it struck directly at her soul.

After a long silence, she spoke with deep disappointment: “These days, no one in the family dares mention anything related to him in front of her—not even Uncle and Aunt.”

The “uncle and aunt” Chen Zijin referred to were naturally Li Jianguo and Tian Rune.

Song Yu asked: “So what are you going to do? Keep dragging it out like this?”

Chen Zijin didn’t answer right away; after a long while, she replied sadly: “I know dragging it out isn’t a solution, but I don’t have a better one.”

Song Yu thought for a moment and said: “I’m sitting next to him now.”

Chen Zijin froze, then blurted out: “Did he come to you first?”

Song Yu fell silent for several seconds, then quietly replied, “Mm.”

Chen Zijin grabbed a sheet of paper, crumpled it tightly in her hand out of frustration, and after a long while said: “Looks like Manning and Maisui still favor you.”

This seemingly ordinary remark revealed the full depth of their relationship—and Li Heng’s true feelings.

Song Yu remained silent, listening quietly to the breathing on the other end of the line.

As if sensing Song Yu’s state through the phone line, Chen Zijin suddenly let out a bitter laugh:

“Actually, I already knew—my aunt visited No. 1 High School a while back and told me you two are desk partners.”

Hearing this, Song Yu wasn’t surprised; she asked: “Do you know who your aunt went to see at No. 1 High School?”

Chen Zijin worried: “Did she go to see Li Heng?”

Song Yu said: “Probably— I saw them together at the school gate.”

She longed to tell Chen Zijin about Li Heng’s successful submission, but remembering Li Heng’s request for secrecy, she swallowed the words before they could leave her mouth.

Chen Zijin hurriedly asked: “Did my aunt give him trouble? Has he been studying well lately?”

Song Yu replied: “I don’t know what happened during their meeting, but Li Heng has made great progress recently—he won the top scholarship this time.”

Chen Zijin’s tone rose slightly, sounding somewhat delighted: “Really?”

“Yes.”

“Who did he replace?”

“Maisui was 0.1 point behind.”

Chen Zijin asked hopefully: “Do you think he’ll come to Jingcheng? Can he get into Qingbei?”

Song Yu couldn’t answer this question—she had no way of knowing Li Heng’s true intentions.

The two girls then chatted as usual about daily matters—studies, exams, and events around them.

As they talked, Chen Zijin suddenly asked: “After I come to Jingcheng, has he been seeing Xiao Han?”

She had never mentioned Xiao Han to her high school friends before.

First, she didn’t want to.

Second, she wasn’t afraid of Xiao Han.

But today—

Now that Song Yu had finally confessed to being Li Heng’s desk partner, Chen Zijin let down her guard and brought up the girl who was both friend and rival.

Xiao Han?

The name made Song Yu instinctively recall the day recently at the cafeteria entrance, when Xiao Han had bumped into her right arm.

At the time, she hadn’t thought much of it—but now, with Zijin’s hint, and recalling Li Heng’s reaction that day, she suddenly realized something.

Since Zijin had been so open, Song Yu, putting herself in her shoes, gave no concealment: “There wasn’t any before, but this semester there seems to have been some contact.”

“I knew it! I knew it!” Hearing her friend’s reply, Chen Zijin bit her lower lip and repeated the words twice, with slightly heavier emphasis.

These two repeated phrases confirmed Song Yu’s suspicion.

Chen Zijin asked: “Who initiated contact? Was it Xiao Han?”

Song Yu shook her head: “I didn’t pay close attention.”

Hearing this, Chen Zijin looked up at the ceiling for a moment, then asked: “Has he asked about me?”

Song Yu replied calmly: “Yes. This morning he asked me for your return address and phone number—I haven’t given it to him yet.”

At this point, their conversation fell into a mutual, unspoken pause—silence settled between them.

After a long while, Chen Zijin weighed her options and suppressed her inner urge:

“Don’t give it to him yet—wait a little longer. When the time is right, I’ll contact him myself. Don’t misunderstand—it’s for his own good.”

“Alright,” Song Yu replied.

Chen Zijin didn’t explain why she wouldn’t give the information.

Song Yu didn’t ask.

Just before hanging up, Song Yu, feeling a pang of pity, hinted: “If Li Heng becomes someone important someday, what about the two of you?”

Chen Zijin smiled bitterly: “You know my mom’s temper—harder than a stone in the latrine. A typical ‘important person’ won’t do.”

“She once swore before the ancestral tablets that she’d rather kill me than let me marry Li Heng. And—”

Song Yu stayed silent, waiting.

Chen Zijin paused briefly, then continued: “And the whole family sides with Mom—they constantly whisper poison in her ear, saying nothing but bad things about Li Heng. I… sigh!”

Song Yu fell silent. Everyone has their own hard-to-solve family problems; as an outsider, she had no right—or ability—to judge Chen’s family.

At that moment, Chen Zitong, who had been keeping watch outside, suddenly widened her eyes—she hadn’t even looked away for a second, and now her mother had appeared right beside her. Terrified, she shrank back and turned to run.

As she ran, she still shouted to her benefactor sister: “Grandpa! Grandpa! Mom’s going to beat me— Wuwu , come help me!”

Hearing the desperate cries from outside, Chen Zijin turned and saw her mother’s icy face. “Song Yu, I have to hang up.”

“Wait,” Song Yu quickly said.

Chen Zijin paused, then brought the receiver back to her ear.

Knowing time was short, Song Yu spoke in one breath: “If you have time, check out the magazine ‘Shouhuo’—look for a writer with the pen name ‘Shi’er Yue’…”

In this final urgent moment, for her own peace of mind, she broke Li Heng’s confidentiality request and revealed the pen name “Shi’er Yue.”

In truth, Li Heng hadn’t explicitly told her to keep it secret from Chen Zijin—he’d only said generally not to tell anyone.

Since he told me about the writer, shouldn’t Zijin be included in those who should know?

Song Yu thought so.

After ending the call, she placed the receiver back, sat quietly on the sofa for a while, reviewing the conversation, then rose and went outside to the courtyard to help her mother pluck duck feathers.

“Who was that on the phone?” Jiang Yue asked.

Song Yu rolled up her sleeves, preparing to work: “Chen Zijin.”

Jiang Yue asked: “How’s she doing in Jingcheng? I heard it’s easier to get into Tsinghua and Peking there.”

Song Yu replied: “She’s probably doing fine. She didn’t say specifics, so I didn’t ask.”

As the mother and daughter chatted, Jiang Yue suddenly said to her daughter: “Go pour your father a cup of tea—I’ve seen him reach for his empty cup several times.”

“I wonder what article he’s reading—he’s so absorbed he won’t even move.”

Song Yu rose and brought out a thermos, filling the empty cup while glancing at the magazine her father held—“Shouhuo.”

When she saw he was reading “To Live,” she couldn’t help asking: “Dad, is the author of this story ‘Shi’er Yue’?”

Song Shi kept his eyes fixed on the page, replying vaguely: “I think so.”

Seeing her father’s state, Song Yu didn’t disturb him further and quietly slipped back to help.

Around 5 p.m.

Jiang Yue finished stir-frying the duck and prepared three other dishes; when she brought the three dishes and soup to the table, she called out to the door:

“Lao Song, dinner’s ready.”

No response came from outside—not even the usual vague reply.

Jiang Yue called again: “Daughter’s going to school soon—eat first, then read.”

“Oh, okay,” Song Shi finally uttered two words—but still didn’t lift his head, let alone move from his seat.

Jiang Yue raised an eyebrow and said to her daughter: “Go pull your father in—I’ll serve the rice.”

Song Yu didn’t want to do this, but since childhood, their family always ate together—whenever someone was delayed, everyone waited.

“Dad, come eat first, then read later—the food will get cold,” Song Yu said gently as she approached.

“Ah!” Song Shi sighed, reluctant.

If it were his wife speaking, he might have dodged—but with his daughter, he obeyed like a child.

“Lao Song, what article are you reading? Is it really that good? You’re a professor and school leader—why are you so impressed?” Jiang Yue handed him chopsticks.

Song Shi pointed to “To Live” in the magazine and said with deep admiration: “Of course it’s good. After reading this novel, I finally understand why all the major literary journals keep rejecting me.”

“The gap is too great—I’ll never write anything like it in my lifetime.”

In decades of marriage, this was the first time Jiang Yue had ever seen her husband so humbled by something.

Curious, she set aside her meal, picked up the magazine, and teased: “What’s so great about it? You’re a professor—why do you admire it so much?”

What’s so good about it?

That’s a question worth pondering.

Still half lost in the world of the book, Song Shi pondered for a while and said, “Given my literary background, I won’t claim this book is great.

But its strength lies in how ordinary it is—so ordinary that every sentence, every fragment shook me to my core, as if it all happened right beside me.

The author has immense talent; this book is unquestionably a once-in-a-century classic. Among all the books I’ve read in these years, it ranks among the top five. You should read it when you have time.”

Song Yu knew better than anyone what her father’s character was like—he might seem friendly and easygoing in daily life.

But when it came to literature, something he loved deeply and treated with absolute seriousness, he would never speak without reason, nor would he belittle himself over some random article—unless.

There was only one answer: unless the work was truly, truly excellent!

Thinking this, Song Yu turned her head and confirmed once again that the author of “To Live” was Shiyue.

She stared fixedly at the three characters “Shiyue,” feeling dazed; Li Heng’s figure involuntarily flashed through her mind. Could this work her father admired so much really be his?

Before she could recover, Jiang Yue exclaimed: “Oh! It’s recommended by Old Ba?”

“Of course. Old Ba is a golden brand—anything he recommends is truly extraordinary.” Song Shi had once picked up a pen.

He had picked it up countless times with ambition, and the more he failed, the more he understood the power of “To Live.” He spoke these words with complete sincerity.

“Alright, I won’t read it yet. I’ll read it after dinner—I’m afraid I’ll lose my appetite like you.” With that, Jiang Yue, also a highly educated person, placed the book naturally beside her.

This move left Song Shi utterly stunned.

Watching all this, Song Yu smiled calmly and said, “Dad, after dinner I’ll go buy you another copy.”

Elsewhere, in Jingcheng.

The moment the phone call ended, Zhong Lan stepped through the door.

She approached her eldest daughter.

Their eyes locked in confrontation; Zhong Lan looked down and asked, “Who did you just call?”

Chen Zijin knew lying was useless—her mother had plenty of ways to interrogate her younger sister later—so she answered plainly: “Song Yu.”

Zhong Lan narrowed her eyes. “And you asked about Li Heng too?”

Chen Zijin wanted to deny it, but before she could speak, Zhong Lan had already seized the landline on the desk and hurled it across the room.

“Bang! Bang! Bang!”

The white phone rolled several times across the floor before stopping at the doorway, shattered into pieces.

In an instant, the room’s atmosphere plunged to freezing point.

Chen Zijin bit her lower lip tightly, silent as she watched, but tears swirled endlessly in her eyes.

She fought hard to hold them back, refusing to show weakness in front of her mother.

Outside the door, Chen Zitong had lost her earlier playfulness. She stood dumbly in the courtyard, staring at the tense standoff between her sister and mother, her face filled with worry—but she dared not step forward to intervene.

“Zitong, why are you standing outside? It’s raining—why don’t you come in?”

It was quitting time. Chen Xiaomi held a black umbrella in her left hand and a bag in her right. As she entered the Sihe Academy, she asked this.

“Shh!”

Hearing the voice, Chen Zitong spun around, pressing her index finger to her lips. She whispered, “Auntie, Mom and Sister are fighting again.”

Chen Xiaomi frowned. “Is it bad?”

“Bad. She threw the phone.” Chen Zitong pointed to the landline shattered into large pieces at the doorway.

Chen Xiaomi followed her finger, instantly understanding why they were fighting. Without another word, she rushed into the room.

PS: Don’t say March isn’t working hard—hmm, here’s another chapter!

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(End of Chapter)