Chapter 007: The Notebook

The fried rice in the cafeteria was nothing special, but Zhang Tan was clearly in a period of growth—he polished off a large bowl of egg fried rice in a few quick bites, not leaving a single grain behind. Sated, he returned to the dormitory.

His two roommates, whose beds had been empty since their disappearance, had now returned, and naturally, introductions were in order. One was a chubby fellow named Liu Kun, a local from Shuangdun Town, though his family lived out in the countryside. It was a fair distance, so he'd opted to board at school. The other was a lanky lad named Liu Peng, also a native of Shuangdun. The Liu surname was common in Shuangdun; if Zhang Tan remembered correctly, there was yet another roommate to arrive, Liu Yong.

“So you’re from Gangji, Zhang Tan? Where exactly is that?” asked Liu Kun, amiable and round-faced.

Zhang Tan was quite familiar with Liu Kun—he had been the best student in their class, scored above the threshold for the top universities in the college entrance exam, applied to Nanjing Agricultural University, but ended up at Jiangsu University of Science and Technology due to a scheduling clash. His top-tier score was relegated to a second-tier university. Shuangdun Middle School only produced a few top-tier students each year, and Liu Kun’s misfortune was well-known. Zhang Tan had felt sorry for him at the time.

“Next time he takes the college entrance exam, I’ll advise him to choose a slightly less competitive university, to avoid another collision.”

The thought flashed by, and soon Zhang Tan was chatting with Liu Kun, Liu Peng, and Wang Feihu about all manner of things, from the ends of the earth.

“Do you know who the homeroom teacher of Class Five is?” Liu Peng inquired. Class Five was where they’d been assigned. Zhang Tan and Liu Peng weren’t particularly familiar; like Wang Feihu, he had switched to the science class in the second year.

“No idea. We’ve just arrived—how could we know who the homeroom teacher is?” Liu Kun shook his head.

Wang Feihu didn’t know either.

Zhang Tan smiled, “Class Five’s homeroom teacher is Yu Na.”

“Yu Na? Wow, the New Silk Road champion!” Liu Peng perked up.

“Heh, it’s not the ‘Yu’ with a ‘Ding’ radical, it’s the ‘Yu’ with a ‘Ren’ radical. Yu Na just graduated from Buyang Normal College—she’ll be teaching us Chinese,” Zhang Tan replied offhandedly, but his gaze seemed to pierce through time, recalling his first encounter with Yu Na.

Back then, Yu Na was honest and fresh-faced—not exceptionally beautiful, but as a young female teacher, she caused quite a stir. Moreover, she shared the same pronunciation as Yu Na, who had won the New Silk Road Model Contest the previous year (2000), which sent the boys’ hormones soaring.

The Yu Na who won the New Silk Road was wildly popular, a dream girl for countless young men.

The dream Yu Na was out of reach, but the real Yu Na before them was a fine substitute. She quickly became the first goddess of Class Five—though the word “goddess” hadn’t yet caught on, so she was called a “dream girl,” the old-fashioned term for feminine allure.

Yu Na taught Chinese, and Zhang Tan, wanting to catch her attention, threw himself into his studies—reading essay collections, memorizing Tang and Song poetry and all sorts of classical texts. He honed his writing until he was consistently at the top of the class, sometimes even the top of the school. This was, perhaps, his proudest achievement as a student.

Oh, and there was another thing—he was also the best in the school at geography.

Unfortunately, his other subjects, especially mathematics and English, were disastrous. The reason he hadn’t made it into university was his lopsided proficiency.

The topic of Yu Na kept the three young men in lively discussion for half an hour.

Meanwhile, Zhang Tan withdrew, grabbed his notebook, and slipped into his mosquito net. He needed to record everything he could remember about the future while his memory was still sharp—especially those pivotal moments in history, his future plans, and the outlines of various works.

For major events, a date and outcome sufficed. For works, just a summary of the story was enough.

Memory is triggered by associations; as long as there’s a connecting point, forgotten memories can resurface. For example, he’d completely forgotten about his classmates Wang Feihu and Liu Peng, but upon seeing them, the recollections of their time together emerged naturally.

Of course, he could only recall a few story outlines at present. The human brain isn’t a hard drive, capable of preserving every detail. He remembered far more story summaries now—it seemed almost miraculous, as if living again had sharpened his memory. Previously, he could only recall the main plot points; now, with focused effort, the details became vivid, as if he’d just read them moments ago.

“Is it because this body is still growing, with an agile mind and clear memory? Or is it because I’ve been reborn, with two souls fused together?”

It was a mystery destined to remain unsolved. Zhang Tan couldn’t figure it out, nor would he ever tell anyone. He would take this secret to his grave.

...

That night, Zhang Tan worked late into the night before finally sleeping. His 32k notebook was filled with over twenty densely-written pages, and that was only half of what he needed to record.

He hadn’t used a pen much in the future, mostly typing, so his handwriting had grown clumsy and slow. The dorm lacked a table, so he had to write while lying on his bed, which was terribly inconvenient.

Several times, simple characters eluded him, forcing him to ask his roommates.

“Liu Kun, how do you write the ‘Qing’ in ‘Optimus Prime’?”

“‘Qing’ in ‘Optimus Prime’? It’s the ‘Jing’ for respect, but with ‘hand’ underneath.”

“Okay, got it… And how do you write the ‘Chui’ in ‘hammer’?”

“‘Chui’? Write the ‘hand’ radical, then the character for ‘hang down’—‘Chui’.”

“How do you write ‘Chui’ for ‘hang down’?” Zhang Tan continued to ask, undeterred.

From the top bunk, Liu Peng couldn’t help interjecting, “Zhang Tan, are you joking? How can you not know so many characters?”

“Just testing you guys,” Zhang Tan replied, unconcerned about whether he looked ridiculous. He was focused on his notes—his future depended on them.

A thirty-year-old uncle knows that to live freely in a second life, money is the foundation.

For now, he was simply following the routine—coming to school, registering for classes. That didn’t mean he’d always stick to conventional schooling, exams, and university. He just lacked the means to change course yet. Everything would wait until he earned enough money.

Shuangdun Middle School was merely a temporary stop.

The road ahead was still uncertain.

After a busy night, the next day—September 2nd—was still registration day. Zhang Tan declined Liu Peng’s invitation to go online together, grabbed his notebook, and headed to the playground. The school’s playground was a dirt field, with a running track outlined by bricks and a wide open area.

The soccer field was just that open space—two bamboo poles for goalposts, and that was it.

The basketball court was on another, abandoned playground, with six hoops, all in disrepair. Built in the seventies and eighties, after two or three decades of wind and rain, the fact that the hoops hadn’t collapsed was a miracle.

Zhang Tan didn’t come to play; he came because there was a platform—the concrete structure could serve as a desk.

Classes hadn’t started yet, and all the classrooms were locked. Zhang Tan couldn’t find a desk anywhere, and writing while lying down was miserable. The platform was his only option.

Behind the platform were tiled houses—the staff housing for teachers. In the afternoon, it would provide shade.

As for the morning, he’d just have to brave the sun.

A bottle of mineral water, a ballpoint pen, and a whole half-day of writing.

“Phew, the important information is finally sorted out. Next up, organizing the works.”