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Chapter 75: What Will He Be Like When He Grows Up?!
“It’s too heart-wrenching. I never imagined I’d cry over a story about Sherlock Holmes. Tell me, how does a high schooler like Mr. Gu write about elderly people so convincingly?”
“Mr. Gu may be young, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t older people in his life to observe—or other ways to gather insights.”
“Watson is dead, and Holmes didn’t even get to see him one last time. Mycroft is gone, and Holmes doesn’t even know where he’s buried. And then they kill off little Roger, who was so adorable! I can’t take it!”
Veteran editor Du Du nodded vigorously, pointing at the computer screen. “Exactly! Look at this part.”
[Roger’s funeral took place without Holmes present, but suddenly, Holmes couldn’t feel or understand anything anymore. He felt as though he’d been stripped bare, a suffocating weight pressing down on him…]
“It’s outrageous! Old-age Holmes only found the courage to step out of his shadow because of Roger—and then Roger dies!” Du Du fumed, ready to lash out. “It’s just cruel!”
Then, recalling Gu Lu’s seemingly harmless demeanor at the banquet—a boyish face that exuded innocence—he shuddered. If this teenager could craft such emotionally devastating stories now, what would he be capable of as an adult?
“But you have to admit, the foreshadowing and clues are brilliantly executed,” Han Cang interjected. “The mysterious deaths of the bees Holmes kept were subtly hinted at throughout, only to reveal later that a swarm of hornets nearby was responsible.”
“Poor Roger died from a hornet attack,” he continued. “Holmes is truly old now. In his younger days, he would’ve deduced it long before things escalated.”
“Does clever foreshadowing make it any less cruel? They had to kill off Holmes’ last source of hope!” Du Du was clearly still reeling from the emotional impact. “Not only is Roger gone, but Mrs. Montrose, the housekeeper, will never forgive Holmes. He’s completely alone now!”
Overcome with indignation, Du Du slammed the table. “And on top of being alone, his memory is deteriorating!”
“Well, actually, I think…” Han Cang began, but his words were drowned out.
“Waaahhh—” Xia Mu burst into tears, her sobs growing louder and drawing everyone’s attention.
The argument ceased instantly. Du Du cleared his throat awkwardly and tried to console her. “Uh, Xia Mu, don’t cry. If you think about it, it’s not that heartbreaking…”
His attempt at comfort fell flat. Han Cang chimed in, “What makes Mr. Gu’s Mr. Holmes so devastating isn’t its surface-level tragedy—it’s the lingering aftertaste.”
“In The Final Problem, Mrs. Keller believed she and Holmes shared a deep, intellectual connection—I thought so too. When she committed suicide, Holmes regretted rejecting her and chose self-exile. But the final line? Absolutely brutal. Holmes understood Mrs. Keller, but she never truly understood him—not once.”
Xia Mu, tears streaming down her face, nodded fervently, as if Han Cang had perfectly articulated her feelings. The real tragedy, she thought, was that no one truly understood Holmes…
Chief Editor Gao walked in, a broad smile on his face. “Young Gu’s work has exceeded my expectations. After reading it, two distinct images of Holmes linger in my mind.”
“One is the sharp, unstoppable detective in his prime, wearing his iconic deerstalker cap, solving every mystery with ease. The other is a frail, pitiable old man of ninety-three, clutching desperately to the remnants of his past while wearing a top hat.” Gao paused for effect. “This is the best Sherlock Holmes fanfiction I’ve ever read—hands down. I’ve already contacted a publishing company and sent them the manuscript.”
Everyone gasped. Normally, novels went through serialization in magazines first, gaining popularity via reader votes before being pitched to publishers.
But…
“Hehe, I’m curious how The World of Detective Fiction’s Sherlock Holmes essay contest will wrap up,” Han Cang said, chuckling at the thought.
“Han Cang, let Gu know there’s a minor correction needed. Based on the timeline in the book, Holmes should be smoking Bradley cigarettes, not Benson & Hedges—they weren’t popular back then.” Chief Editor Gao, who had studied abroad in the UK as an exchange student in his youth, knew these details well.
At a glance, he could tell Gu hadn’t been to England; all the information in the book was likely gathered online.
“Also, we’ll serialize this piece in the September issue,” Gao added.
“There’s no space left for the September issue,” Du Du protested. Though two weeks remained until the second half of the September issue went to print, the lineup had already been finalized, and layout work was nearly complete.
“Put it under the ‘Classic Reads’ section,” Gao instructed.
“!” Du Du’s eyes widened in shock.
As previously mentioned, each issue of Chronicles of Mystery featured translations of two or three foreign detective stories.
“It’ll fit under ‘Classic Reads,’” Du Du conceded. “But…”
“Little Gu wrote about Sherlock Holmes. The Canon of Sherlock Holmes is universally regarded as a masterpiece. By extension, isn’t Mr. Holmes also a masterpiece?” Gao countered.
Touché! Du Du had no further objections.
Meanwhile, Han Cang wasted no time contacting Gu Lu. With such a stellar work in hand, they wanted it published as soon as possible.
Especially since it wouldn’t be fair for only the editorial staff to suffer through the emotional rollercoaster. Han Cang grinned mischievously, imagining the anguish Sherlock Holmes fans would endure when they got their hands on the story.
---
That night, Teacher Hu from the admissions office called Gu Lu.
After discussing various school-related matters, Hu finally broached the topic. “How’s your writing coming along, Gu Lu? Just checking in—not rushing you or anything. After all, summer break is long, so I assume you’ve made some progress?”
In 2012, even though ISBNs were easier to obtain than in later years, becoming a published author still carried significant prestige. This was largely due to the enduring popularity of physical literature, particularly in newspapers and magazines.
Given this context, it wasn’t surprising that No. 8 High School placed such importance on nurturing young writers. A published student author would bring immense publicity to the school!
“I’m doing the final revisions,” Gu Lu estimated based on his speed at illustrating. “I should be done in about a week.”
“Oh, and during the summer, I figured I might as well write something. I signed a contract with Chronicles of Mystery magazine, and it’ll be published in the second half of September’s issue.” Gu Lu knew exactly how to highlight his achievements.
After all, No. 8 High School had provided a clear framework for success: the more famous you became, the better your life would be.
Teacher Hu initially sounded slightly disappointed, but his tone brightened upon hearing the latter part of Gu Lu’s statement.
Though detective fiction wasn’t as prestigious as children’s literature, it was still a mainstream genre. Hu’s tone grew warmer.
He asked, “Oh? So you are also interested in detective fiction, Gu Lu?”
“I read widely, so I explore different genres,” Gu Lu replied.
“That’s wonderful! Our school library has over fifteen thousand books. If you enjoy reading, feel free to make use of it,” Hu encouraged.
Before hanging up, he added, “I heard you skipped military training due to health issues. Please take care of yourself.”
“Of course,” Gu Lu assured him. These days, even when eating hot pot, he stuck to a yin-yang pot, dipping spicy items into the non-spicy broth.
For a Chongqing native, mild spice was the absolute baseline!
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