Otaku Translation: Literary Genius: This Kid Was Born Smart C90

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Chapter 90: Park of Yesterday

Gu Lu had been writing for several days now, meticulously tweaking the details as he went. The process demanded his full attention, leaving no room for distractions.

During a recent chat, he’d mulled over where to submit the short story collection he’d recently acquired. Owl Man seemed like a natural fit for detective fiction—no issues there. But what about the horror stories? And then there was Park of Yesterday, hailed as one of Japan’s best tales in 2005. Where should that go? Gu Lu decided to ask Director Jian, whose vast knowledge might provide some guidance.

Today, instead of reading books as usual, Gu Lu dedicated over an hour to finalizing his manuscript. His handwriting wasn’t perfect, but it was legible enough. He snapped photos of the pages with his phone, attached them to an email, and sent them off to Director Jian.

[Inspiration struck while I was playing badminton. Director Jian, could you recommend a magazine for this type of story?]

With that done, Gu Lu finally turned in for the night. Earlier messages he’d sent to both Director Jian and Editor Han had already received replies. Director Jian confirmed The Little Prince would be published in November. October was reserved for patriotic and historical books, which sold better, so they planned to launch in November and ramp up marketing around Christmas.

Editor Han, on the other hand, mentioned that Mr. Holmes was highly anticipated by the entire editorial team. However, specific feedback would depend on the first round of reviews—a standard procedure within their department.

---

The next morning, Gu Lu woke up earlier than usual since it was his turn to clean the classroom. For the first time, he sampled the breakfast offered at No. 8 High School’s cafeteria. To be fair, it wasn’t as tasty as the street vendors downstairs—but hey, free food was free food. Who needed anything fancier?

“Gu Lu, did you finish the draft? If not, I can come back during lunch,” Wan Bai, president of The Tree People Literary Club, stood outside Class 10’s door early in the morning, having waited who knows how long.

“Since we have plenty of time, feel free to let the advisor make any necessary edits,” Gu Lu said, handing over the completed script for Park of Yesterday.

Why had he rushed to send the manuscript via email the previous night? Partly to create a record just in case—better safe than sorry when it came to intellectual property theft. Not that Wan Bai harbored such intentions. Ever since learning Gu Lu’s true identity from the club advisor, Wan Bai had been eager to curry favor.

“Thank you! I’ll show this to the advisor during lunch—I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Wan Bai said sincerely. After all, Gu Lu wasn’t even part of the literary club, yet here he was, providing a script that practically saved the day. A veritable savior!

Wan Bai dashed off, likely heading straight to grab breakfast—he hadn’t eaten yet.

His enthusiasm for the club stood in stark contrast to Gu Lu’s pragmatic approach to joining the basketball team. While Gu Lu joined with ulterior motives, Wan Bai’s passion burned bright and pure.

The script itself was adapted from Tales of the Bizarre, conveniently synthesized over the weekend.

Park of Yesterday was such a compelling tale that it had already been adapted into films twice—once from the male perspective and once from the female.

As Gu Lu suspected, Wan Bai hadn’t gone to the cafeteria after leaving Class 10. Instead, he’d rushed straight from the dorms early that morning.

“‘Park of Yesterday’?” Wan Bai mused aloud as he ate, flipping through the pages. The story began with a father and son playing badminton at Tianchen Park.

His reading session was interrupted by a girl’s voice. Zhang Liru approached him, asking, “Wan Bai, have we finalized the story for this year’s school anniversary performance?”

Zhang Liru, a student from Class 3, Grade 11, was widely regarded as one of the most beautiful girls in No. 8 High School. Towering over her peers, she stood nearly 175 cm tall—quite rare for girls in southwestern China. Even Qi Caiwei paled in comparison.

Currently serving as vice president of The Tree People Literary Club, she was poised to take over as president next year.

“We’re making progress, but we still need the advisor’s input,” Wan Bai replied.

“Who’s the mysterious outsider helping us? You and Mr. Wu have been keeping secrets,” Zhang Liru pressed.

“It’s not secrecy—it’s uncertainty. We haven’t confirmed if the person will agree yet,” Wan Bai explained. “We need to check with them first.”

“What student would refuse an invitation from Mr. Wu?” Zhang Liru asked incredulously.

This year’s literary club performance required original work written by students—a strict rule. Thus, whoever helped must also be a student; otherwise, it would violate school regulations.

Shouldn’t being chosen for a stage adaptation be considered an honor? Zhang Liru couldn’t fathom why anyone would hesitate.

“Is this person better than Dan Zhu or Rou Rou?” Zhang Liru asked, referring to two core members of the literary club whose works had appeared in magazines. Originally, the task of writing the story fell to them, but their drafts were rejected by Advisor Wu Du.

“Far better,” Wan Bai said emphatically. “They’re not even in the same league. Comparing them would do Dan Zhu and Rou Rou a disservice.”

“Huh?” Zhang Liru’s expression screamed disbelief. Was there really someone at No. 8 High School talented enough to overshadow these standout figures? How had she never heard of them?

“You’ll find out at the freshmen orientation this afternoon,” Wan Bai teased.

Fine. Zhang Liru resolved to wait and see.

---

Meanwhile, in Class 10, Lu Yi had gathered everyone’s opinions on hiring an external repairman for the air conditioner. After a vote, the class unanimously agreed. Time was of the essence, so Lu Yi tasked commuting students with finding a reliable technician.

Around the same time, Wan Bai squeezed in a moment between classes to hand the manuscript to Advisor Wu.

“Mr. Wu, this is Gu Lu’s work. Please take a look and let me know if it needs changes,” Wan Bai said earnestly. “If there are any revisions, I’ll pass them along immediately.”

Excellent. Now it was time for this veteran author—someone who regularly contributed to Young Literature and Chronicles of Mystery—to put his skills to the test.

The story opened with Zhou Ning, a young boy, and his father Zhou Lu playing badminton in an old park. When the shuttlecock flew into the treetops, Zhou Ning begged his father for money to buy a new one at the stationery store.

Subtle foreshadowing hinted at eerie occurrences in the park—rumors of ghosts and sightings of deceased individuals. Yet Zhou Lu knew better. These weren’t spirits; rather, they stemmed from the park’s peculiar properties.

Seamlessly, the narrative shifted to Zhou Lu’s own youth. As a student, he played table tennis with his best friend until a powerful smash sent the ball flying onto a nearby path. Zhou Lu retrieved it, and the pair continued playing before heading home separately. Three hours later, Zhou Lu received devastating news: his friend had died in a car accident.

“The plot thickens,” Mr. Wu commented, glancing at Wan Bai. Suddenly remembering the bell was about to ring, he added, “Class starts soon. Go ahead and return to your lesson. I’ll share my thoughts afterward.”

“No worries, Mr. Wu. I’ve already asked permission to skip the next class. Please continue reading,” Wan Bai insisted.

Wu Du sighed inwardly. These kids took their responsibilities far too seriously. “Wan Bai, I appreciate your dedication, but academics should always come first.”

“Mr. Wu, I won’t be able to participate in club activities next semester,” Wan Bai admitted. “This school anniversary performance is my last major project as president. I want to leave everything on a high note. As for studies, I’ll focus entirely on them starting next term.”

While seniors could technically remain involved in clubs during the first semester of their final year, second-semester activities were usually abandoned altogether. Typically, the president stepped down, allowing the vice president to assume leadership.

Though Wan Bai hadn’t revealed his full reasoning—students rarely confided deeply in teachers—his desire to excel in organizing this event was genuine.

“Alright then,” Wu Du relented. “Find a chair and sit down.”

Advisor Wu resumed reading, unaware that the true brilliance of Park of Yesterday, crowned the best story of 2005 in Japan, was only beginning to unfold.

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