Chapter 26: The Literary Girl's Pen

A quiet night, dim streetlights.
The whistling traffic pushed against the gentle breeze.
A girl with short hair stood alone on the edge of the pedestrian bridge, her body leaning slightly forward. One hand held a gorgeous fountain pen, the other a notebook.
In Zhai Da’s eyes, a jagged line seemed to extend from the pen in her hand.
Zhai Da stood beneath the bridge, observing in secret, careful not to enter her line of sight too abruptly.
Judging by the school uniform she wore—the same as his—she must have been the one he caught a fleeting glimpse of outside the classroom door earlier.
A girl from the honors class, then.
But...
Standing alone on a bridge in the dead of night, leaning forward at such a precarious angle—that was a bit subtle.
In this setting, the atmosphere was saturated with melancholy; one couldn't rule out the possibility that she was brewing up a spontaneous, wingless flight.
Zhai Da observed for a moment, an idea already forming in his mind.
He had to find a way to get his hands on that "gear"... it was exactly what he needed.
To buy it, to ask for it, or even to trick her into it—anything would do.
The problem was, he didn't know her at all. Though he had nearly four thousand in savings—even after setting aside what he’d promised Lu Wei, he had three thousand left—walking up to her and saying, "Miss, would you sell your pen?" would likely earn him nothing but a roll of the eyes, making the situation infinitely more complicated, raising the difficulty from a 1 to a 10.
Especially since Zhai Da noticed that if he wasn't mistaken, the watch on her wrist was a Longines New Moon. Even as the brand’s most basic model, it still cost ten thousand...
Seeing that on a high school girl’s wrist meant her family was well-off, which drastically lowered the chances of simply buying it with money.
He would need to be strategic.
Fortunately, the answer was hidden in plain sight: she was a literary girl.
Zhai Da remained silent, walking to a spot five meters to the girl's right. He stood there with her, gazing out at the distant lights and the fading glow beneath the bridge.
He pulled out his own pen and paper, appearing as if he, too, were preparing to write something.
"Breaking the ice" isn't about rushing to announce your presence; it’s about blending into the other person’s mood and scene, waiting for your own sense of intrusion to dissolve before speaking.
Of course, if you were blessed with a handsome face, an opening line like "Let me take a look at your legs" might work too.
The girl clearly felt Zhai Da’s presence; her movements faltered slightly. Reality isn't a manga; when someone suddenly approaches... a normal person thinks of "safety" before "romance."
But because Zhai Da maintained a reasonable distance and wore the school uniform, she seemingly found no reason to turn and leave.
Furthermore, she was successfully distracted by Zhai Da pulling out his own paper and pen.
Zhai Da didn't even turn his head. He didn't know what she looked like, and for five minutes, he just stared at the night view with a melancholy expression.
His pen didn't move either.
Only when he felt the timing was right did he speak in a deep, brooding tone, as if to himself: "So hard to write..."

Don't feel awkward; for literary youth, you have to lean into the awkwardness to be invited into their realm.
If someone says they love Lao She’s *Back View*, don't call them out. Instead, validate them, then say you love Zhu Ziqing’s *Camel Xiangzi*.
They will immediately feel that they’ve met a kindred spirit, someone on their own level.
The girl’s mind seemed to have been turning for a long while before she finally spoke, hesitantly:
"Classmate... are you participating in the micro-fiction contest, too?"
Direct hit!
Zhai Da chuckled inwardly... what the hell kind of contest was that? He’d never even heard of it!
As expected of a literary girl, her hobbies were quite niche.
Micro-fiction had become a popular literary medium in recent years, usually around a hundred words, widely loved by literary youth.
Its roots seemed to stem from short story collections like *Yi Lin*, *Reader*, and *Story Society*. While these publications would eventually become widely mocked in the future, when they were in their prime, they truly influenced almost the entire country.
In just a few years, micro-fiction had developed a large audience, allowing those who considered themselves literary but lacked the ability to write "complete stories" to gain a cheap sense of literary participation.
Aside from length, there were almost no restrictions. It was called micro-fiction, but it could be poetry, prose, or even horror stories...
Why was Zhai Da so familiar with it?
Because this could be considered the prototype for future "copywriting," as well as the origin of all "fragmented literature"—like social media statuses, microblogs, late-night emo posts, and the "I’ve carried the weight of the world alone" sentiment.
Disdainful as he was of the micro-fiction contest, he replied, "Yeah, just trying to clear my head a bit. Do you have any inspiration?"
A breeze ruffled his bangs, and for a moment, the ordinary-looking Zhai Da actually seemed a bit handsome.
Atmosphere creates attractiveness; ID photos shatter the illusion.
Turning off the lights fulfills dreams.
In the corner of his vision, the girl shook her head. "No inspiration. The theme is 'night,' but the scope of 'night' is too vast. I don't know what to write."
Zhai Da caught the keyword and his heart stirred. He looked at the streetlamp above and, for some reason, suddenly remembered the road he had walked with Lu Wei that night.
The streetlamps that night had a great atmosphere, too.
For some reason, thinking of Lu Wei, the corners of Zhai Da’s mouth curled up involuntarily.
After a brief moment of thought, Zhai Da began to write rapidly.
This action piqued the girl's curiosity.
After finishing, Zhai Da nodded with feigned satisfaction.
Still, he didn't speak. From beginning to end, he didn't glance at her once. He closed his notebook, turned, and walked away.
The girl’s gaze followed Zhai Da until he was almost off the bridge. Only then could she not help but say, "Classmate... could I... could I take a look?"
Zhai Da breathed a sigh of relief.
If you hadn't called me back, I was about to initiate Plan B.
He stood still with feigned hesitation, then turned to meet her gaze.
This was the first time he truly saw her face.
A small, oval face with a touch of childishness, her features soft and exquisite. Most striking were her large eyes, moist like a fawn’s, as if she were a young beast that had just stumbled from the forest into the city.

A carrot hair accessory was tucked into her forehead, adding a touch of playfulness.
It was a face untouched by the world’s grime. Perhaps only someone so well-protected could become a "literary girl."
Zhai Da hesitated. "Showing someone right to their face... it feels a bit embarrassing..."
The girl nodded, agreeing with the sentiment. She, too, was afraid to show others what she wrote, always feeling a sense of shame. She felt she had been too forward.
But to her surprise, the boy tore the page out of his notebook and handed it over.
"I’ve already memorized it anyway, so you can have this page. I’m in Class 8, Grade 12. Remember to return it to me when you’re done."
Zhai Da handed over the paper with his phone number on it and turned to leave without another word.
A pair of fair, delicate hands emerged from the girl’s school uniform sleeves to "cradle" the light piece of paper. It wasn't until Zhai Da had completely vanished from the edge of the bridge that she realized what had happened.
She looked down, and slowly, she covered her mouth.
...
*Streetlamps and Wine*
"I am a nameless soul on this road, struggling with all my might just to hold the most ordinary script."
"Fortunately, I have a secret best friend: the streetlamp at the corner, which clinks its glass with my weary dreams every night."
"The sunset drowns in an orange sea, and the evening breeze sinks into the city’s forest."
"Among the millions of people, I am not the only one with a glass of thin wine."
"Yet the streetlamp shines only on me. She watches me look up at the bright moon; she watches me bend down to pick up scattered silver."
"Years later, I finally saved enough silver to bring that girl named Lu home."
"With her, I count the dregs in the wine glass and wipe away the tears from the corners of her eyes."
The girl’s eyes were filled with emotion and sentimentality.
In just over a hundred words, it constructed a simple yet moving love story... the language was beautiful, the metaphors rich, and... it even rhymed!
The most critical part was...
Her last name was Lu...
————
A few hundred meters away, Zhai Da wore a smile.
In his previous life, his profession was copywriting, but he certainly didn't have any literary passion or formal training in it—it was purely a twist of fate.
Just like a veteran who never imagined he’d end up running a barbecue stand—the military doesn't teach that, either.
In advertising, everyone does a bit of copywriting besides their main duties; it couldn't exactly be called a technical specialty.
But that didn't mean he lacked the skill.
Oh, you little thing, you thought you could hold onto your pen?