Chapter 069: Love Letter

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You master the techniques of the Nine Layers of Ice and Fire without ever having learned them.

As the quiet, uneventful month of December neared its end, Zhang Tan found himself struck by one surprise after another. First, the third issue of "Legend of the Present and Past: Martial Arts Edition" arrived, featuring the conclusion of "The Four Great Constables Shake the Northeast." Thus, Zhang Tan’s very first novel came to an end.

One hundred and sixty thousand words, written over two or three months.

Holding the magazine in his hands, Zhang Tan suddenly recalled Cao Xueqin’s poem: “A page of absurd words, a handful of bitter tears; all say the author is mad, but who can understand the taste within?”

"Well, I suppose I shouldn’t be so sentimental, it’s a little embarrassing."

He carefully put away the magazine and opened the second letter, which was actually a small parcel sent from Taiwan. Zhang Tan had told Xianxian Culture to send him a few copies of the book once it was published, with the cost deducted from his royalties.

He intended to give these as gifts.

To publish a book is a rare achievement in life, naturally worth some celebration.

It was also a way to show his family that the novels he wrote were of high caliber—not only published in magazines but also released as standalone books.

Upon opening the parcel, five brand-new novels, each no thicker than a finger, lay quietly in the wrapping paper. With a sense of reverence, Zhang Tan picked up the topmost book—it felt light in his hand, the cover smooth. The color was somewhat muted, a grayish-green background with a purple horizontal stripe, the title "The Four Great Constables Shake the Northeast" emblazoned across it.

Beside it, in small letters: "Zhang Tan, author."

The font resembled a mix of seal script and running script; against the green background was an illustration reminiscent of a landscape painting: a swordsman riding a tall horse, galloping through mountains and rivers. The art was a bit crude, the colors somewhat ugly, the overall impression distinctly unsightly. It looked much like those pirated books hawked at market stalls.

Rather slapdash, really.

But regardless, Zhang Tan’s first book had a cover just like this.

Inside, the pages were all in traditional script.

Of course, the traditional edition would use traditional characters.

Zhang Tan had no trouble reading them—after all, he’d written the book himself and could guess which character corresponded to the simplified version. Still, it was quite taxing on the eyes; some traditional characters were dauntingly complex.

"One to collect, one as a gift, one to take home for Grandpa, one to show off to Mom and Dad, and the last one—should I give it to my eldest sister, or bring it to class to brag?"

"Forget it. One should be low-key. I’m already so dazzling at school, there’s no need to add fuel to the fire."

He quickly decided how to distribute the five books.

Then, Zhang Tan picked up the final letter.

On the envelope was written: "To Zhang Tan, Class 5, Grade 10." But there was no stamp, nor any sender information. When he’d picked it up at the corner shop, Zhang Tan already suspected that a student from Shuangdun Middle School had written it.

He knew this trick.

In his previous life, he’d helped others write love letters, and penned a few himself. Too shy to deliver them directly, he’d put them in envelopes, pretending they were ordinary letters, and left them in the shop’s mailbox. The shop collected letters in a tray at the counter.

Students could sift through the tray and take any addressed to them.

This was a clever, roundabout way of sending love letters.

"Could it be a love letter?"

A jolt ran through Zhang Tan, his hand trembling.

He had never received a love letter before; he was always the one writing them, only to be rejected.

"Is it really a love letter?"

Slowly, he opened the envelope and drew out the letter within—pink stationery, unfolding gently.

Delicate penmanship, accompanied by a faint scent of paper, met Zhang Tan’s eyes.

"Hello Zhang Tan: I’m Liu Luyao from Class 2, Grade 10. I don’t know if you’ve ever heard my name. Recently I’ve been rehearsing the words I want to say to you, but I simply don’t have the courage. Every day, I want to pass by your classroom window to see if you’re there, but I’m too shy, thinking I could quickly forget you."

"My desk mate always urges me to confess to you. That day, it snowed—it was beautiful, wasn’t it? I saw you riding your bike alone past the main gate, and I really wanted to stop you and talk. But I just couldn’t do it. Several times the words were on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn’t say them. I know you’re so outstanding, while I’m just an ordinary girl."

"Falling for you was beyond my control. It feels so happy and warm, and I really want you to know that I like you. I don’t know if this counts as love—maybe love is just this feeling. I can’t hide how I feel about you. I’ve gathered the courage to write this love letter to confess."

"I don’t know how you’ll feel after reading it, or what you’ll think of me. If you accept me and are willing to spend time together, I’ll wait for you at the little pavilion by the lake after evening study. If I’m just being foolish, then pretend nothing happened. But I know I’ll keep liking you, quietly."

Having finished reading, Zhang Tan’s mouth hung slightly open, unsure how to feel.

It really was a love letter.

"I actually received a love letter?"

He had no idea how those girls felt after receiving his own letters in the past, but now, he felt as if he were floating on clouds—utterly wonderful.

Even though his mental age was already thirty, he still felt a touch of secret delight and pride.

"Wow, this really is… a surprise."

Clutching the fragrant pink love letter, Zhang Tan fell into a quandary.

Of course, he was thrilled at receiving his very first love letter, and he knew Liu Luyao as well. In his previous life, Liu Luyao was assigned to his class in the second year of high school, and they were classmates for two years. Liu Luyao was a pretty girl, popular among the boys in the class, always surrounded by admirers.

Zhang Tan, on the other hand, was the inconspicuous student, mischievous but only in that small way.

Though they shared a class, it was as if a chasm separated them—two people from different worlds. Did Zhang Tan ever have thoughts about Liu Luyao? Of course he did; all pretty girls were the object of his daydreams. If, in his previous life, Liu Luyao had sent him a love letter at this time, he wouldn’t have hesitated—he would have skipped evening study and run straight to the pavilion on the lake.

But things were different now; he was no longer a boy.

Those once beautiful passions and impulses had long been carved into maturity by the years. Watching these high school students now, he could not summon even a flicker of excitement; he felt they were still immature, lacking the atmosphere for equal exchanges.

As for "cultivating" a relationship…

Zhang Tan hadn’t considered it.

He didn’t care about age difference—plenty of examples of older husbands and younger wives, Yang Zhenning married a young woman when he was over eighty. The key was, not a single girl here gave him that feeling of heart-stirring excitement. Heartbeats—like in his previous life, the moment he saw classmate Liu Jing and thought she was so beautiful.

That feeling of being moved was what Zhang Tan hoped for in love.

Without it, any relationship was just a struggle between desire—enjoyable, perhaps, but never lasting.

"Sigh."

"Once again I’m about to hurt a pure-hearted girl. How can I bear it? Is my handsomeness really a crime?"

Zhang Tan laughed self-deprecatingly.

Picking up his guitar, he strummed absentmindedly: "Oh, but love isn’t just a few tears and a few love letters…"