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Chapter 3: The Innate Sufferer
“A few place names and character names need to be localized, but some don’t. Just treat it as writing a foreign story—there aren’t many foreign details anyway, so nothing goes beyond the scope.”
Gu Lu decided on minimal changes—not because he respected the original work, but simply because he knew his limits.
Come on! If he could localize a 10-out-of-10 original into a 12-out-of-12 masterpiece, how could his previous life have ended in failure? Turning a 10-out-of-10 original into something that retained at least 90% of its essence was already a Herculean task.
After mentally drafting his plan—a rare virtue of Gu Lu’s—he spent over an hour mulling things over. By the time he snapped back to reality, it was already past eight o’clock.
He felt the heat of urgency.
“The test papers are copied. Now for the other brain-busting tasks. Learning from past mistakes, I can’t pull another all-nighter and risk sudden death like last time.”
Gu Lu sighed inwardly. Why did teachers still assign homework to students they’d already written off? It was neither logical nor fair.
Wasn’t this like failing ten consecutive loot box pulls in a video game and then spending money on one more, chanting, “Single pulls produce miracles”? Both were just acts of self-consolation.
The previous owner of his body often pulled all-nighters. On the night he died, he had cranked out enough work to fill nine English notebooks in one sitting. When his eyes opened again, he found himself reborn.
Each English notebook measured 25 cm by 18.5 cm, with 16 sheets (excluding the cover), double-sided for a total of 32 pages. He earned two yuan per book by copying text onto them.
On top of that, he made extra cash running errands for snacks. No. 37 Middle School had both day students and boarders; the latter weren’t allowed to leave campus.
But oh, how many mouths watered! Even though there was a school convenience store, the stalls outside the gates sold grilled sausages, fried chicken strips, and spiral-cut potatoes that smelled heavenly.
Using his status as a day student, he smuggled these treats through the back gate under a monthly subscription system—one yuan per person.
At just fifteen years old, why was this ninth-grader hustling so hard? Because—he was poor.
Two years ago, his parents divorced. His younger sister went with their mother, while he stayed with his father. That was when his grades started sliding downhill faster than a kid on a slip-and-slide.
His father was a no-good drunk who came home only a handful of times each month, and even then, he reeked of alcohol.
While compulsory education didn’t require hefty tuition fees, miscellaneous expenses and living costs added up. The boy had no choice but to scrimp and save every penny for emergencies.
It wasn’t surprising he was short for his age. During the critical growth years of eighth and ninth grade, his meals were sporadic at best. Nutritious food? Forget about it.
As for why he didn’t turn to his mother… Well, let’s just say neither she nor her new husband wanted anything to do with him. His grandparents lived far away in their rural hometown. He truly had no one.
Gu Lu rose from the creaking sofa, which groaned in protest. This piece of furniture, bought during his parents’ wedding days, was supposedly top-notch once upon a time.
Head down, pen flying across paper!
One person, one pen, one hour, one miracle.
“Done! Time to sleep!”
Gu Lu walked over to the southern wall and marked a line on the calendar hanging there.
Every eight days, the former owner allowed himself the luxury of a skewer of roasted sweet potato skin.
A single skewer cost only one yuan—not expensive, considering that back in 2023, where Gu Lu came from, it would’ve been 2.5 yuan.
But to the former owner, it equated to copying half an English notebook or a month’s worth of errand-running.
In this foggy city, eggs cost only three or four yuan per pound. The boy hated to spend the money but couldn’t resist the craving. So, he rationed himself: one skewer every eight days. By the sixth or seventh day, anticipation bubbled inside him like a kid waiting for Friday afternoon.
Today was the seventh day. Tomorrow would mark eight. An inexplicable excitement welled within him, reminiscent of those final classes before the weekend.
“If only he could delay it by two days, he’d get to enjoy my last skewer,” Gu Lu thought wistfully. “But then again, this guy is practically born to endure hardship!”
“Living such a tough life yet still soldiering on… On weekends, he’d go to the market and buy himself some meat. Did I make his life worse after I arrived?”
Gu Lu felt a pang of guilt, as if an arrow had struck his knee. A 2023 slacker, he realized, might not hold a candle to a 2013 middle schooler when it came to resilience.
---
Early to bed, early to rise.
The next morning, the sun shone brightly overhead, but the flowers refused to smile at Gu Lu.
Morning study sessions began at 7:20 AM, so whether you were a boarding or day student, everyone had to wake up early.
If boarding students skipped breakfast, they could squeeze in an extra twenty minutes of sleep in their dorms.
No. 37 Middle School’s junior high dorms housed six students per room and were a fair distance from the cafeteria.
“Did you hear? Last night, someone got caught smoking near the back field!”
“Who was it?”
“No idea, but rumor has it they’re in eighth grade. The dorm supervisor searched the boys’ rooms but found nothing.”
“They wouldn’t dare bring cigarettes into the dorm.”
…
For boarding students, this was big news. By morning, the gossip had spread throughout the campus.
Ren Jie, who relayed the information to Zhou Lin, was known for her connections with older guys outside school. She was well-connected and always in the know.
Seeing her friend wasn’t interested, Ren Jie changed the subject. “Linlin, has that troublemaker been bothering you since you switched seats?”
“Gu Lu? He’s fine,” Zhou Lin replied. “It’s been a week, and he hasn’t said much.”
“He’s such bad luck. Always frowning like someone owes him millions.” Ren Jie pouted. “Just like Old Hag (the math teacher) says—he looks sneaky. Maybe he’ll grow up to be a thief.”
“I think Ms. Yan shouldn’t talk like that,” Zhou Lin said. “Gu Lu’s pretty good at literature.”
Ren Jie wasn’t prejudiced against struggling students—her own grades were mediocre—but she looked down on Gu Lu, who performed poorly and rarely spoke.
“Even if he’s good at literature, he won’t pass high school entrance exams,” Ren Jie retorted.
The two chatted idly as they finished breakfast and headed to class. Only a few minutes remained until morning study began.
Morning reading required vocal participation, led by the class representative. The scene matched descriptions in countless writings: “Melodious voices drifted out the window…”
Gu Lu mimed along silently, lips moving but no sound coming out.
For him, mornings dragged on endlessly. He was itching to complete something important.
Finally, the bell rang. Gu Lu sought out Fan Xiaotian.
Classrooms weren’t ideal for private conversations, so they wandered toward the flowerbed. Though called a flowerbed, it was barren, devoid of any plants.
“Xiaotian, did you bring your phone?” Gu Lu asked.
A rule at the school prohibited bringing phones to class. Even boarding students had to leave theirs in the dormitory.
“My scores dropped again on the monthly exam, so my dad confiscated my phone,” Fan Xiaotian admitted.
Gu Lu froze. He had a phone too—an ancient Symbian model—but it couldn’t create documents or transfer files via SD card to a computer.
“Is it urgent?” Fan Xiaotian noticed his friend’s furrowed brow.
“It’s somewhat urgent, but not super urgent,” Gu Lu replied, using the former owner’s habitual phrasing.
Knowing Gu Lu for over two years, Fan Xiaotian recognized the understatement. Feeling loyal and impulsive, he blurted, “I’ll try sneaking my phone out tonight.”
“No need, no need,” Gu Lu quickly shook his head.
Relieved, Fan Xiaotian internally breathed a sigh of relief. He’d dug himself into holes before with hasty promises.
With one path blocked, Gu Lu scrambled for alternatives. Aside from Fan Xiaotian, he had little presence in class and no other friends.
An internet café charged three yuan per hour…
Gu Lu estimated his typing speed. Copying directly from memory, he could write about four to five thousand words per hour.
Last night, he’d mentally selected seven short stories suitable for submission to Story Digest, totaling around forty thousand words.
It would take over ten hours and cost more than thirty yuan. Emptying his savings might cover it.
The only downside? His thoughts kept getting interrupted.
“Hey, your QQ level’s about to hit the sun!” Fan Xiaotian, feeling awkward for not helping, tried changing the topic.
“Oh, okay.”
Gu Lu responded absently. Back in 2023, he hadn’t used QQ in ages. Who cared about leveling up?
But for middle schoolers in this era, a high QQ level and lots of profile comments were bragging rights.
Students without internet access often begged classmates with computers to log in for them for a couple of hours…
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