Chapter 10

### Chapter 10: A Little Interlude

At 1:45 PM, the first class was a dull mathematics lesson. The bright sun shone outside, and the occasional breeze that blew in through the window was also warm. The cicadas chirped incessantly, and the frogs in the pond croaked from time to time.

Feng Yiping felt his eyelids growing heavy. He habitually propped his chin with his left hand and held a fountain pen in his right, trying to focus on the teacher who was lecturing and writing on the blackboard. However, the teacher's voice seemed to drift from far away and then close by, fluctuating between distant and near. His eyes drooped involuntarily. But his subconscious kept emphasizing, "Don't sleep, don't sleep." So, perhaps in just a few seconds, his chin wobbled slightly, as if it were about to slip from his hand. For the drowsy Feng Yiping, it felt like an eight-magnitude earthquake with the epicenter just a few kilometers from the surface. He jolted awake instantly.

For the rest of the time, he alternated between being very sleepy, dozing off, and waking up abruptly. By the time the class ended, he couldn't resist and laid his head on the desk to sleep.

The second class was Moral Education. Feng Yiping flipped through the book and saw that Feng Haitao had already underlined the key points. He put the book aside, planning to memorize these points during the evening self-study session.

He took out an old exercise book from his desk, thinking about what he could "recreate." At 12 years old, in the first year of junior high, he could rule out the web novels he had read before and probably the TV dramas as well. What about movies? There didn't seem to be any suitable ones. Could he rely on jokes? That wouldn't guarantee him 10 yuan a month, and it was unlikely that *Storyteller* would use his jokes every issue.

What about Wang Guozhen's poetry? No, it was probably already widespread by then, and a few poems wouldn't be enough. Yu Qiuyu's essays were excellent! He had bought a few rare genuine copies, especially the first volume, *Cultural Odyssey*, which he had read multiple times. He could probably piece together a few essays, but could a 12-year-old have such a broad knowledge base? Such a deep sense of patriotism and literary flair? And he remembered that Yu Qiuyu's essays were published in the early 1990s. To avoid ridicule, he had to give up.

So, could he try writing a short story for *Storyteller*? That would be very difficult. It had to appeal to both the refined and the common, which was not easy. He also had to write a complete, humorous, and thought-provoking story within a very limited space. He wasn't a professional, and he couldn't pull it off with just a few hours of effort.

After being influenced by online literature, his strength now was in long-form writing, at least a million words or more. He could condense the works of famous authors, combine their strengths, take the essence, and discard the dross, piecing together the most exciting parts into a single work. The effect would definitely be good.

But he was too young! Even if he were in high school, at 15, he would have many more options.

He gazed blankly at the teacher on the podium, his mind wandering to things unrelated to the class. His right hand unconsciously tapped the pencil on the exercise book. Feeling a moment of reflection, he wanted to write down, "The most distant distance in the world is not between the rich and the poor, but knowing the money is there and not being able to earn it." Just as he finished writing "The most distant distance in the world," the bell rang, and he didn't bother to continue. He closed the exercise book and prepared to put it away.

At that moment, he heard someone calling, "Hey, Feng Yiping."

He turned his head and saw Huang Jingping. "What's up?"

Huang Jingping's deskmate, Wang Jinju, leaned over her shoulder, grinning. Huang Jingping said, "Why weren't you paying attention in class? What were you writing in that notebook?"

Hearing this, Feng Yiping remembered that the Moral Education teacher, Mr. Huang, was her uncle. She was probably standing up for her uncle, who made the class interesting with many stories, and was loved by all three first-year classes. Feng Yiping had been distracted for the entire class.

He easily deflected the question, "No, I was paying attention the whole time. I like Mr. Huang's class the most. Look, I even took a lot of notes." He showed her the notes that Feng Haitao had made.

From a distance, Huang Jingping couldn't see clearly, but she noticed the writing in the margins and assumed it was Feng Yiping's.

Just as she was about to say something, Feng Wen snatched the exercise book from Feng Yiping's hand and pushed Wen Hong in front of him. "Let me see what you wrote." He quickly saw, "The most distant distance in the world," and asked, "What's this? Are you writing a poem?"

With that, the conversation veered off course, and no one cared if he had been daydreaming during class. Wen Hong leaned in to look, "Hey, it looks like a poem. Why just one line? What's next?"

Huang Jingping was surprised. Her deskmate, Wang Jinju, ran over, "What poem? Let me see. Oh, just one line!"

Feng Yiping decided to write it out to avoid Huang Jingping reporting to her uncle and to amuse the girls. He took the exercise book from Feng Wen, "Do you want to see the complete poem? If you do, give it to me."

Wen Hong and Wang Jinju both said, "Give it to him, give it to him!"

Feng Yiping took the book, recalled for a moment, and continued writing in English, "Is not between life and death, But when I stand in front of you, Yet you don't know that I love you."

Why did he remember it so clearly? Because it was the first text message he sent to Zhang Yan, and he had been forced to recall it many times by Zhang Yan, so he couldn't help but remember it well.

The others were taken aback. Feng Wen hesitated, "Is this, yours?"

"Of course not," Feng Yiping laughed, "It's written by an old bearded man from India. I saw it in a bookstore."

"Oh, then why is the rest in English?"

"The first line is my random translation. I wrote the original text as well."

He added, "The furthest distance in the world."

"Oh, you have a good memory," Wang Jinju said.

"Yes, I always have a good memory." Feng Yiping didn't deny it.

"Your English is pretty good too," Huang Jingping added.

"No, at the bookstore, the salesperson was busy, and there was a Chinese-English dictionary nearby, so I looked it up." Feng Yiping continued to make up stories.

"Who are you writing this for?" Wen Hong asked with a smile, her eyes darting between Feng Yiping and Huang Jingping. "I don't understand the rest, but I know what the last three words mean!" The last three words were "I love you." Feng Yiping looked at her innocently, "I was just writing for fun, to make you think I'm cool. I don't know what it means. Can you tell me?"

With that, Wen Hong felt embarrassed. In that era and at that age, those words were too embarrassing to say aloud. She just glared at him.

"It's fine, we can copy it and ask the older students tonight." Wang Jinju chimed in.

"Sure, sure, copy it. Remember to tell me what it means tomorrow." Wang Jinju really did copy it down and, with Huang Jingping, flipped through their English textbooks. Soon, the two of them were leaning over the desk, heads together, giggling. Feng Yiping knew they had figured out the meaning of the last three words.

After dinner, Feng Yiping invited Xiao Zhijie and Wang Changning to go swimming in the river. Feng Wen also joined them. The four of them sneaked out of the school gate and went to the same spot as yesterday. They stripped down and started scrubbing with towels, being careful not to get their hair wet, as it wouldn't dry quickly, and the teachers would know they had been swimming.

Feng Yiping smelled his clothes, which were heavily sweat-soaked. Xiao Zhijie noticed, "I'll bring soap tomorrow. We'll wash our clothes every three days and change them on Saturdays."

Washing clothes twice a week was actually quite good. The school had no shower facilities, so most students either didn't wash during the week and changed on weekends, or they wiped themselves down with a basin of water in the evening. As for washing clothes, there was no place to do it, so third-year students washed their clothes by hand in the pond.

First-year students, except for the naturally vain girls and a few boys, were generally unkempt. What did that mean? For example, most boys didn't even own a comb and never combed their hair unless it was time to wash it. Feng Yiping used to be the same; even at home, he didn't bathe every day, let alone at school where the conditions were poor. Moreover, no one cared, so he didn't wash when he could avoid it.

But now, he was different. Even the sloppiest men tend to become more particular after marriage. Feng Yiping was even more so. After his son was born, he developed a bit of a cleanliness obsession, washing his hands dozens of times a day. Zhang Yan couldn't stand it, but he couldn't help it. Looking at that pink, tender little baby, how could he not wash his hands before holding him?

"Alright, we'll change tomorrow. I guess I sweated a lot from mowing the grass on the playground yesterday," Feng Yiping explained.

During the evening self-study session, Feng Yiping reviewed all the lessons from the day, memorized the key points of Moral Education, and then started thinking about his plan to get rich. This time, he had experience and flipped through the book every few minutes to avoid being noticed by his classmates.

After much thought, he decided that submitting to magazines would have to be a gradual process. He needed to explore other avenues, such as learning other skills like drawing or music.

Lying in bed that night, he mentally reviewed all the lessons from the day. The other subjects were fine, as it was only the first day and the content was shallow. Moral Education required memorizing a few key points, which took some time. He planned to review them again during the morning self-study session the next day to solidify his memory.

Many people knew this method, but few stuck with it. During his three years at the technical college, Feng Yiping persisted, and it worked well, keeping his grades consistently in the top one or two in his class.

After reviewing everything, Feng Yiping felt very sleepy. He hadn't slept well the previous night and hadn't taken a nap at noon, so he quickly fell into a deep sleep.

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