Otaku Translation: Literary Genius: This Kid Was Born Smart C62

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Chapter 62: Spotting the Problem

"Little Mr. Gu, have you found inspiration for your new work?" Han Cang asked as soon as he picked up the phone.

"I’ve got some ideas," Gu Lu replied. "I’ve been reading The Canon of Sherlock Holmes recently, and it made me want to write a continuation of Sherlock Holmes."

The Canon of Sherlock Holmes was legendary in the detective fiction world, and even Han Cang adored it—but a continuation?

"...Little Mr. Gu, are you abandoning the Mingzhi Detective series?" Han Cang probed cautiously.

"I’ve been immersed in Holmes lately, so I can’t quite channel Mingzhi’s style right now," Gu Lu explained. "I’m thinking of writing about an older Sherlock Holmes."

It was no surprise that Chronicles of Mystery had sent a contract offer after just three published works—Gu Lu’s style was unique and impossible to replicate. And Mingzhi wasn’t like other detectives; he straddled the line between hero and antihero, adding complexity to his character.

But now, shifting styles... Han Cang tried reasoning, "Little Mr. Gu, I know you’re adaptable and can change your writing tone if you put your mind to it. But The Canon of Sherlock Holmes is an insurmountable peak. No matter how you continue it, it won’t live up to the original."

Gu Lu agreed. That’s why famous continuations like A Study in Emerald or The Baker Street Letters didn’t focus on deduction.

And Mr. Holmes went even further. There was a review that summed it up perfectly: “You’ve never seen such a vulnerable Sherlock Holmes—and yet, at the same time, you’ve never seen a more human Sherlock Holmes.”

"I understand," Gu Lu admitted. "But my storyline will differ from the original."

Han Cang sighed inwardly. How could this otherwise sharp kid fail to see the issue? Did he really need to spell it out—that writing a Holmes continuation wasn’t worth the effort? He reined in his frustration.

"Little Mr. Gu, could you reconsider? The Mingzhi series has a lot of eager readers, and you’ve already built a solid audience with the first three stories," Han Cang suggested. "If not, maybe revisit Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio and adjust your tone back?"

Gu Lu felt both pleased and exasperated. Pleased because the editor fully embraced his unpredictable writing style—"unpredictable but adaptable." Exasperated because he hadn’t drawn a match for Edogawa Rampo’s style.

Forcing himself to write in that style would be like the proverbial ugly woman imitating beauty—it wouldn’t work.

"I think my idea for a Holmes continuation is pretty solid," Gu Lu insisted weakly.

"..." Han Cang hesitated. "In that case, whether you can become a contracted author again depends on the chief editor's review."

Translation: there were no guarantees anymore. Gu Lu understood.

To be fair, Han Cang was being patient. Putting himself in their shoes, it made perfect sense. The magazine valued two key elements—Gu Lu’s quirky, unpredictable style and the unique personality of Mingzhi. By abandoning both, it was only natural for them to take a step back and reassess before committing further.

"Alright, no problem. Once I finish, I’ll send it to you first," Gu Lu assured him.

"I look forward to it," Han Cang said diplomatically, though his tone carried undertones of doubt.

After hanging up, Han Cang muttered to himself, "Writing a Holmes continuation is such a low-return endeavor..."

"Truly fearless, taking on something so challenging right off the bat," he added, standing up. A change in the contract situation meant he needed to inform the chief editor.

Meanwhile, Gu Lu ended the call and prepared to head out.

He wanted to gather some research online and grab a bowl of noodles while he was out.

This time, his destination wasn’t Fat Boss’s place—it was too far. Besides, he wasn’t heading to No. 37 Middle School anymore. Instead, he chose an internet café near his home.

It wasn’t exactly a sketchy spot—it was large and fairly legit, with a bold sign outside reading "Flying Fish Internet Café."

"Manager, log me in," Gu Lu announced confidently as he approached the counter.

"ID card," the manager replied without looking up.

"I forgot my ID. Can you help me out?" Gu Lu asked.

Gu Lu’s youthful appearance clearly marked him as underage, but the manager didn’t press further. This was their unspoken agreement.

The manager had a stash of IDs and picked one at random to log Gu Lu in. Gu Lu found a seat and settled down.

Over the next two hours, Gu Lu accomplished a lot. He gathered the research he needed, wrote 3,000 words of The Little Prince, and prepared to send it to Director Jian.

Even as a contracted author for Young Literature, there was still a preliminary review process.

"Wait... something feels off," Gu Lu murmured, staring at the manuscript.

After a moment, he pinpointed the issue: no illustrations!

[...What I drew wasn’t a hat—it was a boa constrictor swallowing an elephant. So I drew what was inside the snake’s belly, because I knew adults needed explanations to understand. They always do.]

The setup was simple: when shown the drawing, adults dismissed it as just a hat, asking what there was to fear.

Without including the second illustration, the scene lacked impact. Gu Lu revised his earlier judgment. Seeing so many versions of The Little Prince in his past life, each filled with illustrations, he realized they weren’t just filler—they were essential.

"Perhaps it’s accurate to say that The Little Prince is only complete when paired with its illustrations," Gu Lu thought.

Thankfully, the books triggered by his golden ability came with illustrations.

Gu Lu couldn’t draw well, despite having taken art classes—the curriculum was limited. But the images in The Little Prince were simple enough to copy...

"I’ll try sketching them myself first. If I can’t get the desired effect, I’ll hire an illustrator. The goal is to do as much as possible on my own," he decided. Though he didn’t know any illustrators personally, Young Literature surely did.

"For now, I won’t send it to Director Jian. The Little Prince needs to be complete," Gu Lu concluded, emailing the file to himself.

Once everything was done, Gu Lu noticed a slight stiffness in his neck. He stretched awkwardly but shrugged it off—he was young, after all.

Logging off, he didn’t bother topping up his internet fee.

"What newfound wisdom!" Gu Lu quipped as he returned home to find his alcoholic father missing again. He hadn’t come home last night either.

Predictable. An alcoholic’s promises held no weight.

"Well, his absence makes moving easier," Gu Lu thought.

He’d already packed everything.

Summer vacation—a season of boundless freedom.

Finally, Gu Lu found a place: a one-bedroom apartment in Jiafu Garden, over sixty square meters, priced at 600 yuan per month with a deposit and three months’ rent upfront.

The place came fully furnished with appliances and even had a network port. Though the furniture reflected outdated aesthetics, Gu Lu was satisfied.

A giant Chinese knot greeted him at the entrance.

A light brown wardrobe reached the ceiling, its curved edges near the door forming open shelves. In the bedroom stood an oval vanity and a dark brown coat rack by the bed.

The previous tenant had cleared out most small items, leaving the space feeling empty. But Gu Lu knew better—any house, no matter how bare, would fill with life over time.

"Starting today, I have my own home."

The original owner hadn’t left behind many clothes or belongings, so moving in was as simple as carrying a few Wuliangye cloth bags.

Oh, and Gu Lu had bought new bedding and quilts.

Returning with groceries, he initially planned to celebrate—but then realized he’d forgotten oil, salt, soy sauce, and vinegar.

"A rookie mistake, but it won’t happen again!" Gu Lu dashed out to buy them.

All the running around these past two days had worn him out, but at least he could eat properly now. In his past life, this kind of physical labor would’ve been brutal.

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