Otaku Translation: Literary Genius: This Kid Was Born Smart C116

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Chapter 116: No Wonder He Writes

Wang, the reporter, pulled out his trusty voice recorder and, after receiving Gu Lu’s nod, pressed the record button.

“Writing isn’t that complicated,” Gu Lu began. “Back in the day, I posted a bunch of short stories on . They covered all sorts of genres.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “The first step, obviously, was to imitate the greats in the field. For that, I owe a lot to my middle school homeroom teacher, Mr. Li Ruiyao. He gave me a ton of books and introduced me to writers like , , , and .”

Wang had heard similar praise for Mr. Li in their previous interview a few months ago. At the time, it made sense—Gu Lu was still in middle school, seeing Mr. Li every day. But now, with graduation behind him, he still remembered to thank his teacher. That said something. Wang noted mentally; this kid truly knew how to be grateful.

“In the end, I realized I had a particular gift for children’s literature and mystery,” Gu Lu summed up quickly. “So I’ve focused on those two areas and written two full-length novels.”

“ and — is a regular contributor there,” Ms. Gao added helpfully.

Wang wasn’t an expert on everything, but he did know Young Literature well enough—it was a decent magazine. As for Chronicles of Mystery, he admitted he didn’t know much about it.

“I never imagined you’d reach your dream so fast,” Wang said, smiling warmly at the young writer. “I promised you if you ever published something, I’d do what I can to promote it. And as a journalist, I always keep my word.”

“Do you have sample copies?” he asked.

“There are two,” Gu Lu replied, then got up from his chair and reached for the unopened samples sent over by the editorial department. The plastic wrapping was still intact.

This kid really had come through for himself, Wang thought. He flipped through the pages where Gu Lu’s work was featured. Though he wasn’t into mysteries, he could tell the writing flowed smoothly and naturally.

For a moment, the room fell silent. Gu Lu, who rarely hosted adults—especially not teachers—at home, felt a bit awkward. But he quickly adjusted. After all, he was financially independent now, and that gave him confidence.

“Ms. Gao, Mr. Wang, why don’t you stay here for a meal? It’s almost lunchtime. I’ll go to the market and pick up some food,” Gu Lu offered politely, standing up and heading for the door.

Before either Ms. Gao or Wang could react, Gu Lu was already gone—his speed had improved thanks to weeks of basketball training. If Cheng Hong challenged him to a race now, he’d win hands down.

Then came the sound of the door slamming shut—thud!—startling both Ms. Gao and Wang, who exchanged glances filled with shared sympathy.

“Kids without parents tend to grow up faster than most,” Ms. Gao said, her tone returning to normal.

“Wait a second, Ms. Gao—when you say without parents, do you mean... Gu Lu’s father doesn’t take care of him either?” Wang suddenly blurted out, his mind catching onto something. He had interviewed Gu Lu’s mother once—he knew she had walked out after the divorce and left the child with the father. But what about the father?

“I don’t usually talk about students’ personal lives,” Ms. Gao said slowly, taking a deep breath before quoting one of her idols, “but I’ve never been afraid to assume the worst about people when necessary.”

“I’m worried that if Gu Lu becomes successful as a writer, his parents might try to use their ‘blood ties’ to control him. Since you’re a journalist, Mr. Wang, I figured you could serve as a witness.”

As a publication under the , saying that it had some “authority” wasn’t entirely off base.

“I don’t know much about Gu Lu’s mother, but as for his father…” Ms. Gao relayed exactly what her student had told her, no embellishments needed.

Wang’s face darkened. He clenched his fists so hard he nearly dropped his camera—if it hadn’t cost so much, he would’ve thrown it across the room. His knuckles turned white as he slammed them onto the coffee table, rattling the empty fruit tray.

The wood was solid, his hand hurt, but his anger drowned out the pain.

“He abandoned the kid,” Wang muttered through gritted teeth, trying to keep his voice low so as not to alarm anyone outside. “Even the formula cost for a baby would cost more than three hundred yuan a year, let alone a growing teenager! What kind of person does that?”

If someone else had told him this story, he’d have questioned its truth. But combined with his own failed attempts to contact Gu Lu’s father—and the fact that even Mr. Li had been unable to reach him for three years—the whole thing sounded too real to ignore.

“By the way, Mr. Wang, what about Gu Lu’s mother?” Ms. Gao asked, sensing they were swapping secrets now.

In just a few sentences, Wang laid out the details he had gathered from his reporting experience. His words were sharp and precise, painting a damning picture of Gu Lu’s father.

“No wonder he writes,” Ms. Gao mused. “He’s been pushed into it by circumstances.” It was hard to imagine a student author being driven by such hardship.

“Don’t worry, Ms. Gao,” Wang said firmly. “If these people ever try to exploit their relationship with Gu Lu when he becomes famous, I’ll speak up. I may not play the social media game, but I know how to make my voice heard. A parent who abandons their child—what kind of support should Gu Lu give them? Just the minimum required by law.”

“By the way, Ms. Gao,” Wang asked, changing the subject slightly, “how has Gu Lu behaved at school?”

“He doesn’t talk much, but he gets along well with others. He’s active in clubs and pretty outgoing,” Ms. Gao answered before realizing something was off in her own words.

Right—how could a boy who suffered so much during middle school be so cheerful and sociable? It didn’t add up.

Silence settled between the two again, while Gu Lu had long since vanished into the market.

“Ugh, I’m an idiot,” Gu Lu muttered to himself as he walked through the market. “It was polite to offer to feed them, but I forgot I live alone. Now they’re stuck here waiting for a meal in my empty apartment!”

His common sense wasn’t bad—like how he never outright confronted Li Guyuan about why he quit the club. But when it came to handling group dynamics, he sometimes stumbled—just like now.

“Screw it,” he decided. “Let me get something good to eat and make up for it.”

After spending over half an hour picking out ingredients, Gu Lu returned triumphantly, chicken in one hand, half a duck in the other.

He grabbed a set of keys from the fire extinguisher box next to the door. The equipment inside was dusty—this old neighborhood, built in 2012, clearly lacked basic fire safety awareness. Gu Lu had gotten used to misplacing his keys, hence the temporary fix. In a few years, he planned to upgrade to a fingerprint lock.

“For lunch today,” Gu Lu announced proudly to Ms. Gao and Wang, “I’m making a big pot of chicken soup and braised duck with konjac. You can taste my cooking later.”

With that, he disappeared into the kitchen.

“Xiao Gu,” Wang protested gently. “You don’t need to go to all that trouble.”

Wang, born in 1975, had known his share of hardship growing up—but never went hungry. When he compared his childhood to Gu Lu’s, he realized it wasn’t just about having enough food. It was about knowing someone cared. And that made all the difference.

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