"About that, Hongdou… let me think it over first. I'll tell you once I've decided."
"Alright. Writing can't be rushed. Take your time, think it through, and try writing a bit when you're ready. I may not be good at writing, but I do have some experience judging the market."
"Okay, no problem. I'll contact you later."
After logging off TT, Huang Yifan didn't make a decision right away.
Would readers like historical romance?
Although Hongdou seemed confident, Huang Yifan still wanted to understand the market better.
Of course, judging from works like 'A Chinese Ghost Story' and the 'Strange Tales' series, historical romance did seem to have a considerable audience.
Especially the classics in his mind, each one was a masterpiece.
But that was still just his assumption. Whether reality would match his expectations, he wasn't entirely sure.
He didn't want to write something that ended up being ignored or, worse, only liked by a small niche audience.
If that happened, it would be a disservice to those classics.
And besides, with so many masterpieces to choose from, deciding which one to write was a problem in itself.
Whether it was 'The Romance of the Western Chamber,' 'The Peony Pavilion,' or 'Butterfly Lovers,' each was an undeniable classic. Choosing just one wasn't easy. Huang Yifan decided to calm himself down for now.
Works of this caliber, true literary treasures deserved to be released at the right time.
Better to wait.
Not dwelling on it any further, he checked the time. It was almost six o'clock.
It was Friday, and the weekend was coming. He had already promised Lingdian that he would attend their writing training camp over the weekend.
Grabbing his things, he hurried out, caught a motorcycle ride, and just managed to make the 6:20 train, heading toward Modu.
…
"'Ode to the White Poplar.'"
Unexpectedly, aside from Mr. Qiushui's 'Back View,' there was another rare and remarkable essay.
After finishing the day's training and returning to her teacher's apartment, Su Jingru found herself repeatedly murmuring the title.
"It has no graceful swaying posture, no twisted and coiling branches, perhaps you would say it is not beautiful…"
Even after hearing it just once, she could still remember these beautiful lines.
Indeed, it was not as moving or tear-inducing as 'Back View.'
Nor was it as profound or piercing.
But its beauty was like a cheerful melody, so memorable and pleasing.
If 'Back View' was simplicity at its finest, then 'Ode to the White Poplar' was a celebration of expressive language.
Simplicity could move the heart, while ornate language, though sometimes criticized as overly decorative, was undeniably pleasing to the ear. Just like Zhang Huiping's recitation that afternoon, it felt like listening to a beautiful piece of music.
To write at such a level was truly remarkable.
But who had written this essay?
Clearly, it wasn't Zhang Huiping.
Su Jingru knew her level well.
Although she liked Zhang Huiping very much, graceful and intelligent, just like her name suggested, she wasn't a prodigy. Yet in Su Jingru's eyes, she had more potential than many so-called geniuses.
And Zhang Huiping had said the essay was written by someone very, very skilled.
But she was just an ordinary student, how could she know someone so extraordinary?
Could she possibly know the same Qiushui who proposed "loose form, united spirit" and defeated numerous literary scholars?
If not, then where had this essay come from?
Right! The handwriting.
That familiar handwriting.
The writing itself wasn't particularly elegant, but it had a distinct personality. It wasn't rigid, yet not sloppy either. There was a touch of neatness, mixed with a hint of boldness. Or perhaps not boldness, more like restraint beneath the surface, with a quiet depth.
As a literature graduate, Su Jingru might not be an expert in calligraphy, but she had her own insight into handwriting.
That's it, she remembered.
"Huang Yifan."
Yes.
Huang Yifan had always been unremarkable in class, neither particularly active nor withdrawn. He blended into the crowd so well that she had barely noticed him. If not for that one time he fell asleep in class and later mentioned Mi Yue, she might still not have remembered him clearly. Though she did notice that he was quite handsome, he often drew glances from the girls.
His handwriting was exactly like this.
At the time, she had only vaguely felt it was different from the others. But she had been busy grading essays and hadn't looked closely. Now that she thought about it, the handwriting on Zhang Huiping's script was identical.
To confirm her suspicion, Su Jingru hurried out of the teacher's apartment and headed to the Grade One office. She opened the stack of graded assignments on her desk and found Huang Yifan's notebook.
Sure enough, the handwriting matched perfectly. The essay had been written by him.
But even knowing this, she was stunned.
This couldn't be possible.
At most, Huang Yifan had shown some interest in history. But to write something like 'Ode to the White Poplar'? Impossible.
Not just him, even she couldn't do it. Not even her university professors had that level of skill.
Unless… someone like Qiushui.
Perhaps only he could surpass such a work.
But if it wasn't Huang Yifan, then who else could it be?
She opened Huang Yifan's essay again.
As both the Chinese teacher and homeroom teacher of Class 5, Su Jingru had assigned an essay titled "First Impressions of School" to better understand her students. After grading over fifty essays, only one or two stood out. Still, she had gained some sense of each student's personality.
The acting class monitor, Ai Yonghuan, wrote with a sense of pride, always wanting to stand above others.
The acting youth league secretary, Qiu Quanlong, came across as cheerful and sociable.
But Huang Yifan… his essay had seemed ordinary.
Nothing particularly good, nothing particularly bad.
Just like his presence in class was neither outstanding nor poor, blending into the crowd unnoticed.
However, when she read his essay a second time, she began to see its brilliance.
The entire piece described small moments from enrollment, paying tuition, registering, collecting textbooks, and military training… seemingly like a simple list of events. But through careful wording, these fragments were connected into a subtle thread.
And in the end, it concluded with the line:
"That was their liveliness…"
The more she read that sentence, the deeper its meaning became.
Only then did Su Jingru begin to understand what the author intended to express.
The essay read like the perspective of an outsider, a passerby detached from the scene. Though he himself was a new student, he observed everything with an almost unsettling calm, standing apart from the crowd's excitement.
If the school's enrollment scene were a painting filled with thousands of students, then Huang Yifan was both within the painting and outside of it like the painter himself, observing the scene from beyond.
That was the feeling this essay gave her.
Handwriting reflects the person; writing reflects the soul.
Even if 'Ode to the White Poplar' wasn't written by Huang Yifan… it must be closely connected to him.
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