Chapter 092: Seeking a Minor Role

When Zhang Tan hurried back to school, a small bookseller had arrived at the gate, spreading a large sheet of plastic over the grass by the roadside, displaying an array of old books and magazines—everything from astronomy and geography to story magazines, comics, and novels. In the middle of the plastic sheet lay a section entirely devoted to celebrity photo cards, featuring the hottest male and female stars of the moment. Beside the sheet was a diesel three-wheeler, its bed supporting a large wooden board piled high with brand-new pirated books.

These small vendors would buy old books and pirated editions from elsewhere, then set up stalls at various rural schools. In his previous life, Zhang Tan had loved them dearly; every time the bookseller appeared, he would spend ages rummaging through the stalls, losing himself in the pages right up until the class bell rang.

“Detective, come quick, there’s your book!” Before Zhang Tan even reached the stall, he heard someone calling him. It was the class monitor, Ding Chunlong, squatting in front of the books, waving a magazine in his hand.

A crowd had gathered around the stall, including two girls from his class and a boy, Wang Benyu.

With Ding Chunlong’s shout, the students clustered around the stall all turned to look at Zhang Tan, who was arriving on his bicycle. His bike was a mountain model, straight handlebars and crossbar, requiring him to lean forward as he rode. As the weather thawed, he’d shed his down jacket for a stylish spring-autumn jacket with a stand-up collar, keeping pace with the latest trends. His haircut was a faux-light buzz cut; in the sunset, one could vaguely see his scalp.

Lately, Zhang Tan’s complexion had been improving, the signs of his former pallor and thinness gone. At a glance, he even resembled Xiao Bei, played by Wen Zhang in “Dwelling Narrowness.”

He’d modeled his style after football’s most handsome star, David Beckham, though his looks more closely matched the warm-hearted Xiao Bei from “Dwelling Narrowness.” “Maybe I should adopt Xiao Bei as a pen name too—literature’s most talented Xiao Bei,” Zhang Tan sometimes mused to himself in the mirror, finding the idea amusing; after all, handsome, cool types were cut from the same cloth.

“But wait, wasn’t there a Xiao Bei in ‘My Own Swordsman’ too? That loud-mouthed tomboy Mo Xiaobei.”

At this moment, Xiao Bei—no, Zhang Tan—executed a graceful stop next to the book stall. “It’s ‘Legend of Today and Ancient Times: Martial Arts Edition,’ which issue is it?”

“The inaugural issue from last December. It has your serial, ‘The Four Great Constables Shake the Northeast,’” Ding Chunlong said, presenting the magazine like a treasure.

Hearing this exchange, the bookseller looked at Zhang Tan in astonishment. In a thick Shandong accent he asked, “Wait, what are you saying, he’s published in this magazine?”

Wang Benyu pointed at Zhang Tan, exaggerating, “Zhang Tan, pen name Tan Zhang, the top talent of Shuangdun High School! Every issue of ‘Legend of Today and Ancient Times: Martial Arts Edition’ features his serial. He’s even published a book now.”

“Wow, that’s impressive,” the bookseller said, his tone wavering, seemingly unable to believe it.

Such astonishment was something Zhang Tan had grown accustomed to. He nodded calmly at Ding Chunlong, mounted his bicycle, and left a parting remark, “Old Ding, Wang Ben, let me keep a low profile.”

And with the eyes of students who knew him, to varying degrees, watching, he rode his mountain bike stylishly through the school gate.

Having experienced life as a campus celebrity, basking in the attention of his peers, brought Zhang Tan little sense of achievement anymore.

Shuangdun High School was simply too small.

It gave him a feeling of looking at the sky from the bottom of a well.

Once the weather truly warmed, he planned to travel more, rather than staying at Shuangdun High School, living a monotonous, two-point routine.

...

He climbed the stairs, and just as he reached the landing, someone called his name.

It was Xu Weidong from Class Six of Grade One, playing cards in his classroom. Upon seeing Zhang Tan, he yelled, “Detective, detective!”

“What’s up?” Zhang Tan, books tucked under his arm, slowed his pace.

“Come play cards.”

“You guys play.”

“Come on!” Xu Weidong ran out, dragging Zhang Tan in. “You’ve got nothing else going on, come play a round of Landlord.”

Helplessly, Zhang Tan let Xu Weidong pull him into Class Six, sighing inwardly: sometimes being too popular was a nuisance. People liked to include you in everything, as if your presence gave them face. It was much like the way big bosses at banquets always invited celebrities to join them.

Landlord was played by four people.

Zhang Tan knew most of the card players; even if he didn’t, he’d seen them around. The two classes were separated only by a stairwell, making it hard not to cross paths.

“Detective, are you still writing ‘The Four Great Constables Go to the Capital’ lately?” asked Gao Ming, the tall goalkeeper from Class Six.

“Mm.”

“Could you give me a role? Doesn’t have to be much, just a name.”

“I can arrange that.”

“That’s awesome!” Gao Ming said happily. “Could you make me a suave and handsome guy? Because, you know, I’m pretty good-looking myself, so it’d be accurate.”

Seeing him with his upturned nostrils and protruding buck teeth, yet striking a “I’m so handsome” pose, Zhang Tan couldn’t help but feel exasperated.

Xu Weidong jumped in first, mocking him, “Pee Ming, you think you’re handsome? Your brain must be fried, take a good look in the mirror!”

Gao Ming exploded, “Get lost, damn you! How many times have I told you, don’t call me that nickname!”

“What’s wrong with that? You peed in class, so what should we call you if not Pee Ming?” Xu Weidong retorted, daring Gao Ming to retaliate.

Gao Ming glared, “Say it again if you dare.”

“What’s the big deal, Pee Ming!”

Gao Ming stood up with a crash, pointing at Xu Weidong, “Damn you, say it again if you dare!”

Xu Weidong refused to back down, “Pee Ming!”

Gao Ming glared for three seconds, then suddenly switched to a smile, “You do as I say, so obedient, just like my little puppy.”

Now it was Xu Weidong’s turn to curse.

Watching the two bicker so childishly and crudely, Zhang Tan raised an eyebrow and turned to the student beside him, “Is there a story behind the nickname Pee Ming?”

The student immediately explained in detail.

It turned out that once, during a chemistry class, Gao Ming needed to pee urgently. The chemistry teacher hated interruptions and had already warned everyone to use the bathroom before class, forbidding anyone from leaving during lessons. Gao Ming didn’t dare raise his hand, but couldn’t hold it in, so he bizarrely chose to pull out his tool and pee down the leg of his desk, flooding the floor.

The stench rose at once, alerting his desk mate... and from then on, Pee Ming became Gao Ming’s nickname.

“A true legend!” Zhang Tan gave a thumbs up. “Gao Ming, I know just what role to give you: a martial hero with superb skills, but suffering from prostatitis, frequent and urgent urination, never feeling relieved. That fits your real-life situation best.”

Pfft!

The girl who’d been secretly listening burst into laughter.

Gao Ming, red-faced amid the laughter, pleaded, “Detective, you won’t be that cruel, will you?”

“Relax, I can make you a little more handsome. You’ll still have positive traits.”

“Detective, author, literary genius, I beg you. I don’t need to be handsome—just make sure I don’t have an illness!”

Gao Ming pleaded desperately, but Zhang Tan had already made up his mind.

Of course, in “The Four Great Constables Go to the Capital,” he wouldn’t deliberately add such comedic characters; after all, it was a serious martial arts novel. But when Zhang Tan’s hands itched and he didn’t feel like writing about the Four Great Constables, he’d try creating some short martial arts stories as a change of pace.

In his past life, he’d written martial arts stories between classes, dreaming of becoming an author.

He failed, however.

But that restless heart had never stopped beating, and now it was more vibrant than ever.

Writing a long original novel was exhausting and uncertain, so he put that aside for now. But original short stories—he could pick a few good ones later and submit them to magazines. That would at least fulfill an old wish.

In the end, under Gao Ming’s resentful gaze, Zhang Tan strode back to his own classroom, busy plotting the martial hero with prostatitis.

For him, writing was a joyful thing.