Chapter 71: As Long as You're Happy

The feeling of liking someone might be akin to skipping stones across a lake.

Some people plunge straight in with a splash, never to resurface; some skip a few times, sending rings of ripples across the water; and a rare few bounce all the way to the opposite shore.

Zhang Tan had no idea which type Liu Luyao belonged to.

But falling straight in—well, that seemed unlikely. After all, in this world, true romantics are few and far between.

After Zhang Tan’s clear rejection, Liu Luyao left the little lakeside pavilion in a daze, only to be met by Zhou Chengcheng’s anxious questions.

As for how the two girls would deal with this failed confession, Zhang Tan couldn’t say.

He had put an end to a lingering thought and felt a wave of relief.

That evening, when he ate his instant noodles, he treated himself to three extra sausages, then did fifty push-ups and a hundred sit-ups—he didn't stop until he was nearly breaking a sweat. Not being able to shower in his room was an annoying constraint, especially for someone as particular about cleanliness as he was. So, he regularly made time to bike to the old bathhouse in Shuangdun Town.

If there were a larger bathhouse, Zhang Tan would frequent it, but alas, there wasn’t.

All in all, the night was filled with idle musings.

He drifted off to sleep with pleasant dreams.

The next day was the last day of December—New Year's Day was just two days away. Since the school hadn’t set aside any time for a New Year’s gala, they gave a three-day holiday. There were three classes that afternoon; after the first, Zhang Tan slipped away, as the next two were math. Luo Jinsong had no patience for him, and math classes made Zhang Tan’s head spin, so he simply took a leave of absence. Everyone was happier for it.

When he got home, daylight still lingered.

Tan Mingxia was watching over the internet café, while Zhang Quanshun was at home cooking. With the students about to go on holiday, the internet café would be packed, and the fried rice business would thrive.

“Dad, still busy?”

“Well, you’re home early! I was just keeping an eye on the time to pick you up.”

“The station’s only a few steps from home. I could walk back with my eyes closed—I won’t get lost.” Zhang Tan tossed his backpack onto the couch and pulled out a nearly new green book. “Dad, I’ve got good news. My novel’s been published: ‘The Four Great Constables Shock the Northeast,’ traditional Chinese edition. It’s already on sale in Hong Kong and Taiwan.”

“Published?” Zhang Quanshun quickly set aside the rice, wiped his hands carefully on his apron, and reached out with trembling hands to take the book. Staring at the title on the cover and the author’s name beside it, his eyes filled with disbelief. “It really got published. If your mom heard, she wouldn’t know how to contain her joy.”

Zhang Tan could hear the pride in his father’s voice. He smiled faintly. “This is just the traditional Chinese edition, mainly sold in Taiwan. No one has picked up the simplified Chinese edition for the mainland yet. But as long as the traditional version sells well, the mainland edition is only a matter of time.”

Zhang Quanshun, snapping out of his daze, asked, “So, is the traditional edition selling well?”

“Not sure yet. It’s only been on the shelves a few days, and it’s not easy to contact Fresh Culture in Taiwan. I didn’t want to seem too eager either—I'll check in ten days or so.”

“True, books don’t sell out in a day or two.” Zhang Quanshun tried to calm his excitement and ran his hands over “The Four Great Constables Shock the Northeast” once more.

“Well, Dad, I’ll leave you to it. I’m going to bring a copy to Grandpa.”

“Yes, bring one to your grandpa.”

When he reached his grandfather’s house, Grandpa Zhang Henong had the TV blaring but was seated at his desk, practicing calligraphy with an old newspaper.

“Writing, Grandpa?”

“Ah, Zhang Tan, home for the holidays?” Zhang Henong, wearing reading glasses, beamed.

“Yes, I’m back. Grandpa, I brought you a book.”

Zhang Henong took the book, glanced at the cover, adjusted his glasses, and exclaimed, “Good!”

Zhang Tan picked up a fresh copy of the ‘Hefei Evening News’ from the desk and, while reading, said, “This is the traditional Chinese edition published in Taiwan, mainly for Hong Kong and Taiwan readers. The martial arts market there is more mature, and the sales system is better established.”

“Getting published is a good thing—good, good, good!” Zhang Henong opened the book. Inside, the densely stroked traditional characters made his head spin. “Once you’ve published one book, there’ll be a second, then more to come. Work hard and become a great writer—bring glory to our family.”

The stove was burning in Grandpa’s room, making it quite cozy.

After delivering the book, Zhang Tan lingered, reading the newspaper in the warm room. Grandpa Zhang subscribed to many papers: ‘Hefei Evening News,’ ‘Digest Weekly,’ ‘People’s Daily,’ ‘Reference News,’ ‘Anhui Daily,’ ‘Global Times,’ and others. There were magazines too, but those were picked up from the old cadre activity center in town.

For generations, the Zhang family had been farmers, with Zhang Henong the only one who’d studied and become a proper state official. His hobbies were different from most elderly villagers—he never concerned himself with the fields, instead favoring calligraphy and reading the news, truly living up to the saying, “A scholar needn’t leave home to know the world.”

There had once been a wide gap between Zhang Tan and his grandfather, due to Zhang Tan’s youth and ignorance of national affairs.

But now, he could chat with his grandfather comfortably about all sorts of current events at home and abroad.

His rebirth had caused a butterfly effect in this world, but the basic international situation remained unchanged. Zhang Tan could still draw on his memories of major events and hold forth eloquently.

For instance, the influence of 9/11 on the world; the significance of the founding of the Shanghai Cooperation Organization; the pros and cons of joining the World Trade Organization; the positive impact of starting the Qinghai-Tibet Railway project, and so on.

Zhang Tan knew that, fifteen years from now, China would become increasingly prosperous and strong.

And in this era, ordinary people looked to the future with unshakable optimism. It was this attitude that fueled China’s rapid development, repeatedly silencing those who predicted its collapse and those who blindly worshipped the West.

...

When Zhang Tan returned home, he was calm, only chatting a bit more with Grandpa.

But at six in the evening, once Tan Mingxia came back from her shift, the household turned lively again. She took Zhang Tan’s book and went door to door, seeking attention and showing off.

Publishing a book was even more exciting news than having a short story in a magazine.

The whole Zhang family, and their neighbors, were all abuzz.

At dinner, a crowd of idle uncles and aunts brought their bowls and came over to visit. Tan Mingxia, brimming with pride, displayed Zhang Tan’s book for everyone to admire.

“Yangyang’s book was published by a company in Taiwan—traditional Chinese edition. You may not be able to read it; it’s mainly for readers in Taiwan and Hong Kong, all in traditional characters.”

The compliments poured in.

“Auntie Zhang, your son’s really accomplished!”

“That’s right, he’s a published author now—a great writer.”

“You’ve raised a fine son.”

“Mingxia, you’re truly blessed.”

“You used to worry so much, afraid Yangyang wouldn’t make it. Now you can rest easy.”

This was when Tan Mingxia would modestly say, “Oh, he was just scribbling, and by luck a publisher in Taiwan picked it up. It’s nothing, really.”

“But this isn’t something luck alone can achieve.”

“Exactly—if you didn’t have the talent, no amount of luck would help.”

“Mingxia, you and Quanshun just wait to enjoy the good life.”

Their neighbors’ praise made Tan Mingxia especially elated. Even Zhang Tan, who had tried to hide in his room gazing at the ceiling, was dragged out and put on display like a panda for all to see.

There was no escaping the endless rounds of greetings and polite smiles.

“Well, if being a son means a bit of suffering, so be it—as long as Mom’s happy,” Zhang Tan could only comfort himself this way.