“Oh, by the way, I have a student who works at Story Magazine,” Yun Shu paused, looking meaningfully at Fang Yuming. Her voice was calm but carried an iron certainty.
“I think a story this good, published in a magazine, would be well-loved by many readers.”
Fang Yuming’s face changed in an instant. A vein throbbed at his temple. He forced a composed expression, but the panic in his eyes betrayed him.
“Mom, you can’t do this…” His voice tightened; even the way he addressed her contained a plea. “Even if you won’t think of me, think of Niannian. She’s still small—she needs a complete family.”
“Niannian?” Yun Shu sneered, mockery creasing her features. “Fang Yuming, you still have the gall to bring Niannian up? Tomorrow morning, Minzhi will be at the Civil Affairs Bureau waiting for you.”
“Mom!” Fang Yuming snapped, panic sharpening into anger. “Divorce isn’t a joke—don’t use that to scare me.”
“Scare you?” Yun Shu cut him off coldly, her eyes like knives and her tone ironclad.
“Don’t fool yourself into thinking you can wheedle and cajole me. I’ll tell you this, Fang Yuming— for my daughter, I don’t care about face or shame. If you don’t believe me, we’ll see about that.”
With that she picked up her bag and left without looking back. Fang Yuming stood dumbfounded, his heart pounding, palms slick with sweat.
Only when her figure disappeared down the street did he realize—Yun Shu hadn’t come to Shanghai to reconcile them. She had come to help Su Minzhi get a divorce.
A new, cold fear flooded him. For the first time, it struck him clearly that he might really lose Minzhi.
Su Niannian’s new deskmate in class was Li Yuancheng—the “little genius” the teachers had mentioned, who’d skipped a grade last year.
Li Yuancheng greeted Niannian’s arrival with far more enthusiasm than any other classmate.
He already knew the lessons teachers droned through on the platform by heart. He’d often expressed his wish to skip another grade, but given his age, neither teachers nor parents agreed.
When Niannian arrived, he thought he’d finally found a kindred spirit.
He practically beamed, eager to befriend his new neighbor. He proudly pulled out his treasured book, Selected 1000 Problems from the Elementary Math Olympiad, and eagerly pushed it toward her. Pointing to a complex number-grid puzzle, eyes shining, he asked, “This one’s interesting—there are three ways to solve it. Which would you like to hear first?”
But Li Yuancheng soon discovered the situation wasn’t at all what he expected.
His new deskmate—who looked just as sharp as he did—showed absolutely no interest in his beloved Olympiad manual.
Niannian only glanced politely, said “Thanks,” and pushed the workbook back. Her attention was elsewhere.
Li Yuancheng was a persistent kid with a keen eye. He didn’t understand this and began to watch Niannian closely.
He noticed that she seemed particularly well-behaved and quiet—sitting up straight in class, eyes on the blackboard, an appearance of full attention.
Yet with the slightest observation, he saw her clear gaze wasn’t fixed. It often drifted unconsciously to the window, to the drifting clouds or sparrows hopping in the trees. Her thoughts were somewhere far off.
What puzzled him even more were the after-class moments. The homework the teacher assigned—Niannian always finished it with surprising speed, neat handwriting, all answers correct.
Then she would reach into her bag and pull out… picture-story books (lianhuanhua).
Li Yuancheng watched as the girl beside him sank into the world of those picture strips—sometimes frowning slightly, sometimes smiling so faintly it was barely there—completely captivated by the boxed illustrations and their tales.
He clutched his Olympiad problems in his hands, feeling a mixture of confusion and a little wounded pride.
He simply could not understand—were picture-story books really more interesting than Olympiad puzzles?
Niannian didn’t notice Li Yuancheng’s private grumblings. She was fully absorbed in the picture-story book in her hands.
It was a slightly worn copy of Sun Wukong’s Third Fight with the White Bone Demon. The black-and-white line art was simple yet vivid. Her eyes lit up panel by panel as if she truly saw Sun Wukong swing his golden cudgel and expose the demon’s true form.
In this era, nearly every child loved these picture-story books—subjects drawn from the Four Great Classical Novels, traditional myths, and revolutionary tales. But Niannian thought differently: she knew this market was about to change.
She was clear-headed: as televisions gradually reached ordinary households, TV dramas would become mainstream leisure—series like Huo Yuanjia and Legend of the Condor Heroes. Add in comics smuggled in from Hong Kong, Taiwan, and Japan—like Astro Boy—and little by little children’s eyes would turn elsewhere. Domestic lianhuanhua’s golden age would fade.
Niannian wasn’t discouraged; she was secretly excited.
She could draw, and she could tell stories. Those two skills combined could be her way in.
Take the story of Nezha, for instance—the tragic, rebellious boy who sacrificed to save his parents. She wanted to stop retelling the same old messages of filial piety and instead infuse the tale with a modern spirit of defiance and burning life.
A bold idea nearly made her jump with excitement—she could illustrate a brand-new Legend of Nezha!
She smiled at the thought.
The idea made her heart race. She decided then and there to stop hesitating. She would use her spare time to carefully draw the opening chapters and flesh out a detailed outline.
Her goal was precise: submit her work to one of the top publishers of Chinese picture-story books—the Shanghai People’s Fine Arts Publishing House.
Niannian’s enthusiasm stayed with her all the way home after school. She trotted in with her backpack, Nezha’s scenes still running through her head.
At the dinner table, steaming shrimp in a sweet glaze sat beside a bowl of crisp shiitake-and-vegetables—the aromas filling the room.
Grandmother recounted her earlier visit to see Fang Yuming, and only then did Su Minzhi and Niannian learn how boldly she had acted.
Su Minzhi looked at her mother with complex feelings—a mixture of shock but more so of a deep, wordless gratitude at the fierce protection and support she felt.