Su Niannian noticed that her top-student desk mate, Li Yuancheng, had recently started reading lianhuanhua (picture-story books) too.
One afternoon after class, Li Yuancheng took a lianhuanhua from his desk drawer and, with careful hands, pushed his copy of The White-Clad Heroine across to Su Niannian. He lowered his voice and said, “Let’s swap for a bit.”
There was a hint of embarrassment on his face—he still felt shy about being seen reading picture books.
Su Niannian glanced at the book and her eyes lit up.
It was a new release from Shanghai People’s Fine Arts Publishing House that summer: the cover showed a heroine in white robes brandishing a long sword, exquisitely drawn, the figure vivid and alive.
She’d heard how popular it was but never had the chance to see it.
“Where did you get it?” she asked. “I went to Xinhua Bookstore last month and they said it was sold out.”
Li Yuancheng looked a little pleased. “I bought it this week. Maybe they restocked.”
Su Niannian nodded and handed him the Count of Monte Cristo lianhuanhua she’d finished. She’d read it several times and knew the story by heart—perfect to share with her desk mate.
As Li Yuancheng took The Count of Monte Cristo, he suddenly remembered something and leaned closer to ask in a low voice, “By the way, did you hear Beijing No. 8 Middle School started a ‘youth class’ this year—recruiting elementary students around ten years old?”
Su Niannian’s heart gave a little jump.
In the memories of her past life she had indeed heard of that special program for prodigies. It was a sensational educational experiment at the time, designed to let intellectually exceptional children skip grades.
Excitement shone in Li Yuancheng’s eyes. “I heard you can finish everything from fifth grade in primary to senior three in just four or five years, then take the college entrance exam early. Imagine—if you get into the youth class, you could be in university at fourteen or fifteen!”
Watching his excitement, Su Niannian asked, “Do you want to go?”
He nodded vigorously at first, then his face fell. “Of course I want to, but they only take students from Beijing. Unless my dad gets transferred back to Beijing, I won’t have a chance.”
He paused and turned to her with a hopeful look. “Do you want to go?”
Su Niannian shook her head. “No. That kind of place is for real geniuses like you.”
Li Yuancheng frowned, puzzled. “What do you mean real genius? Is there such a thing as a fake genius?”
She smiled wryly in her heart. Wasn’t she the “fake genius”?
Her good grades came solely because she’d already learned this material in a previous life—not because of innate talent. She knew her true level: without the memory of another life, she was at best an ordinary child.
Kids like Li Yuancheng, not even ten yet, who could independently reason through complex math and had a natural sensitivity and grasp of knowledge—that was true prodigy material.
“I think there are many kinds of genius,” she answered gently. “Some people are naturally smart, some become so through hard work, and others are exceptional in certain areas. I think I’m the latter—I’m not gifted all-around like you.”
Li Yuancheng listened and shook his head seriously. “You’re too modest. You’re good at math, great at language, and you can draw lianhuanhua too.”
His compliment warmed her, but it also made her more certain of her decision.
She’d jumped from first grade to fourth—she thought that was enough. If she entered the youth-class environment with its intense pace, her “advantage” would quickly be exposed. Real prodigies would learn new material much faster; she relied on memories and would falter once pushed beyond them.
“Anyway, I don’t want to go,” she concluded.
He considered this and nodded. He felt a twinge of regret but respected her choice.
“If you really get into the Beijing youth class, I’ll be happy for you,” she added with a smile. “Maybe you’ll become a great scientist someday, and I can say I was your desk mate.”
By the time the plane-tree leaves in Shanghai had all fallen and winter crept in after a rain, Su Niannian received a letter from Shanghai Fine Arts Publishing House.
It began, “Dear author, hello!”
The rest of the letter nearly made her jump for joy—her submission The Legend of Nezha had been accepted!
The editor praised her creativity and drawing skill, saying the story had real potential and suggesting it be divided into three parts—upper, middle, and lower—to better develop the plot and facilitate publication.
At the end, the editor requested that she send the complete manuscript for the first part as soon as possible, including a detailed outline and at least thirty lianhuanhua illustrations.
Holding the letter, her hands trembled. She had never imagined professional editors would recognize her work.
Back home she burst the news to Su Minzhi. Reading the letter, her mother’s eyes filled with pride and delight.
“Niannian, you’re amazing!” Su Minzhi hugged her tightly. “I’m so proud of you.”
She set the letter down, looked at her daughter’s excited face, and clapped her hands. “This calls for a celebration tonight! Let’s go out for a proper meal to celebrate your first accepted submission!”
Su Niannian eagerly agreed. For an ordinary working family in this era, dining at a restaurant was still a luxury reserved for special occasions.
Mother and daughter dressed carefully and went to the well-known Xinya Cantonese Restaurant on Nanjing East Road.
The restaurant had a reputation in Shanghai for authentic Cantonese dishes and delicate dim sum; elegant decor and attentive service made it a top choice for entertaining guests or marking important events.
Soft lighting and gentle music set a refined atmosphere. Guests were well dressed and spoke quietly; waiters wore neat uniforms and polite manners.
Su Niannian studied the menu and chose her favorite—scallion oil chicken—tender meat with fragrant scallions and a special seasoning, simple and delicious.
Su Minzhi ordered the restaurant’s signature dish, Xinya silky shrimp—succulent, well presented. They also chose several delicate Cantonese dim sum items: shrimp dumplings, siu mai, and egg tarts.
They didn’t notice Fang Yuming sitting not far away.
He was there on a special mission that evening—a blind date arranged by his aunt. The match was a primary school teacher, described as gentle and of good character—an apparently suitable match.
His aunt insisted the woman had patience and would take care of him; she seemed perfect.
Having been divorced for some time, he’d had people introduce him to prospective partners repeatedly; he couldn’t help comparing each to Su Minzhi.
Seated and waiting for the match, he glanced around the restaurant. Then his eyes fell on a table not far off—his ex-wife Su Minzhi and their daughter Niannian.
A wave of complicated feeling crossed his face.