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Chapter 6: Triggered Again
In anime, the concept of "bloodline suppression" often appears. Gu Lu had never experienced it firsthand until now—stepping into the teacher’s office made him feel deeply uncomfortable all over.
It was like his body was on the verge of freezing up under some invisible pressure.
"For the writing competition held in Dockside District a couple of months ago, you received an honorable mention. No prize money, but still..." Mr. Li smiled warmly. "It's quite an achievement. Here's your certificate."
After some thought, Gu Lu recalled the writing contest that began two months prior. The first prize (three winners) came with 1,000 yuan, second prize (six winners) with 500 yuan, third prize (ten winners) with 200 yuan, and there were certificates for thirty excellent works.
Winning in a district-level writing competition was no small feat. If he could secure one of the top spots, the prize money would alleviate some immediate financial burdens—but even without it, this success already set him apart from most students. Not bad at all!
Gu Lu snapped back to reality and accepted the certificate from Mr. Li.
[To Gu Lu,
Your writing, The Long March in My Heart, submitted as part of the Dockside District’s Red Army Spirit-themed composition contest on the "25,000-Li Long March," has been recognized as an outstanding work.
This certificate is hereby awarded.]
Below it bore the official stamp of the district government's publicity department.
"It's March now, and there are only two or three months left before the high school entrance exam," Mr. Li said earnestly. "Study hard—you still have a chance."
"Thank you, Mr. Li."
With the matter settled, Gu Lu couldn’t wait to leave the office. The moment he stepped across the threshold, the tension gripping his body finally eased.
The office was shared by six or seven teachers, each claiming only the space around their desks.
"Is that Gu Lu from your class?" the homeroom teacher of the neighboring class asked. "Not bad—he won an award in the district-wide writing competition. I don’t think many students from our No. 37 Middle School made the cut."
Across DDK District’s seven middle schools, the competition was open to all primary and secondary students. Though not everyone participated, the number of entries was substantial, making any win noteworthy.
"He does write well," Mr. Li said with a smile.
"That kid may be clever, but he doesn’t apply himself to studying," remarked Ms. Yan, the math teacher whom students nicknamed "Old Hag."
"English is so simple—just memorize a few words and grasp basic grammar rules—but he refuses to put in the effort," added Ms. Tai, the English teacher who was busy preparing her lessons. "Still, Gu Lu has one redeeming quality: he doesn’t annoy others and never disrupts classmates during class."
"Gu Lu comes from a tough family background, which has held him back," Mr. Li explained. As the homeroom teacher, he knew more about his students' circumstances than other subject teachers. With a heavy sigh, he reiterated, "There’s still a chance if he studies hard." But deep down, he knew the odds were slim. Aside from literature, Gu Lu struggled to pass exams in math, English, physics, and chemistry—it was clear he wouldn’t make it into high school.
Back at his seat, Gu Lu noticed his desk-mate Zhou Lin wearing five pen caps on her fingers, chanting, "Claws of the White Bone Demon!" while playfully wrestling with Ren Jie, another classmate.
Gu Lu had to admit, with her hair tousled after losing her hair tie to Ren Jie, Zhou Lin bore a striking resemblance to Mei Chaofeng from The Legend of the Condor Heroes.
Come to think of it, Gu Lu vaguely remembered doing the same thing in his past life—stacking pen caps on his fingers. Was this a universal habit among students?
"Hey, Gu Lu, stick with me after school today," Fan Xiaotian whispered mysteriously. "I’ll show you something eye-opening."
"?" Gu Lu wasn’t sure whether he was overthinking things or if Xiaotian’s cryptic words had blindsided him.
Were middle schoolers in 2012 really this wild? He found himself momentarily stunned.
Oh, right—he’d forgotten to mention earlier. It was Friday, and there was no evening study session tonight.
"I’ll keep my expectations in check," Gu Lu replied, then asked, "By the way, why have you been limping these past couple of days? Did you fall?"
"I bumped into something—it’s nothing serious. Just slow down when we leave school, or wait for me at the gate if you can’t find me." Fan Xiaotian had learned from experience that Gu Lu tended to disappear quickly once the bell rang.
They agreed to meet later.
As dismissal time approached, the classroom buzzed with restless anticipation. While his classmates grew increasingly agitated, Gu Lu remained calm, working on weekend assignments and mulling over the upcoming high school entrance exam.
Mr. Li was right—the exam was just a few months away in June. Even with his cheat ability ensuring he’d never lack material to publish, graduating from middle school at such a young age posed its own challenges.
In his previous life, Gu Lu had attended vocational school.
The high school and college entrance exams were two pivotal points where students’ paths diverged.
It wasn’t guaranteed that university graduates earned more than vocational students—take food delivery drivers, for example, where physical endurance mattered far more.
However, the environments differed significantly. Reflecting on this, Gu Lu thought, "I’ve already tried vocational school. Maybe this time, I should aim for high school and experience a different kind of life?"
Currently, Gu Lu’s efforts alone weren’t enough to boost his grades in other subjects. Unlike other protagonists in similar stories, his memory hadn’t miraculously improved since crossing over. His options seemed limited to special admissions or talent-based pathways.
Could writing count as a talent? He pondered.
If he had a golden opportunity, he intended to make full use of it—that was Gu Lu’s philosophy.
Resolved, he decided to look into specifics online tomorrow at Fat Boss’s place. His plan was to finish as much homework as possible at school, spend extra hours online over the weekend, submit all his manuscripts, and research further.
The second-to-last class of the afternoon was history, which was also part of the high school entrance exam syllabus. Although language, math, and English teachers occasionally requested additional periods, they had to consider student progress.
That said, the history teacher had already sped through the curriculum. Today’s lesson covered Chapter Nine: "Lenin and the October Revolution."
"The October Revolution marked humanity’s first victorious socialist revolution, establishing the world’s first proletarian dictatorship…" Once strict about maintaining discipline, the history teacher no longer reprimanded chatty students. Gone were the days of elaborating on topics beyond the textbook; now, she stuck strictly to the script.
Beep—
Gu Lu’s eyes flickered. Had he triggered something again? He abruptly looked up.
What had the teacher been saying? Peering at the history book propped up in front of him like a shield, he saw keywords: the October Revolution and Comrade Lenin.
Suddenly, fragments surfaced in his mind—[Most translated modern German work][Unparalleled appreciation][True artist]
These labels didn’t describe awards but rather summarized key traits. The latter two seemed particularly vague, likely referring to the author themselves.
"Hmm… What is the most translated modern German work?" Gu Lu mused, recalling the numerous books he’d read in his previous life.
"The Sorrows of Young Werther? Faust? Or maybe Perfume: The Story of a Murderer, which Hollywood adapted into a movie?"
"No, that can’t be right. Goethe exists in this world too, and none of those works match the keywords."
Over the past few days, Gu Lu had delved deeply into this world’s cultural and artistic landscape. Something—a massive butterfly effect—had altered certain timelines. Some figures vanished entirely, while others remained unchanged.
For instance, Edgar Allan Poe and Arthur Conan Doyle still existed, but Edward Dentinger Hoch and Harry Kemelman did not. Of the two that disappeared from this world, the former was hailed as the king of modern short mystery fiction, while the latter specialized in ingenious, outlandish plots.
Take one of Kemelman’s works, for example: [A nine-mile walk is no joke, especially in the rain]. From a single line overheard from a passerby, the story unraveled a brilliant chain of logical deductions to solve a murder case—an unparalleled masterpiece.
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