Otaku Translation: Literary Genius: This Kid Was Born Smart C126

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Chapter 126: Demoted to "Commoner"

The Genius Writer Gu Lu Grows Through Adversity

— Facing Rejection from Sprout, He Chose to Face Difficulties Head-On

The main headline was typical, as student-oriented newspapers like the Young Pioneers' Newspaper and China Youth Daily often highlighted themes of adversity and growth. But what about the subheading?

Qi Bian’s face turned pale, especially at the mention of "Gu Lu," which brought back bad memories: Moon Stone, Park of Yesterday...

Looking at the content, what he once thought was an obscure writer named Gu Lu now revealed his writing journey to Qi Bian—award-winning essays, a steady stream of brilliant short stories.

The Young Pioneers' Newspaper ended with a lukewarm moralizing tone: [Through Gu Lu’s persistence and effort, he successfully signed two articles with Youth Digest. In summary, we must allow students to fail, using failure as an opportunity to cultivate resilience, courage to try, and the spirit of humility in victory and perseverance in defeat.]

"?" The moralizing here felt forced.

"Chief, I..." People instinctively defend themselves when confronted with problems. For instance, Qi Bian wanted to argue that Youth Digest and Sprout had different editorial styles.

But claiming Youth Digest was inferior to Sprout would have been too exaggerated.

"Qu Minghong, the deputy editor-in-chief of Youth Digest, is a good friend of mine," said the editor-in-chief of Sprout. "Surely you’ve heard of Old Qu?"

Of course Qi Bian knew of Qu Minghong, who had been nominated for the National Outstanding Young and Middle-Aged Book Editor Award—a nomination that, despite its rarity over decades, marked someone as an elite in the publishing industry.

"Let me tell you what Old Qu thought about Moon Stone and Park of Yesterday," the editor-in-chief continued. "These works far exceed the level of student writing. I’d even say they surpass what most ordinary writers can produce. Their thematic depth, fluid prose, and narrative charm are impeccable—among the best I’ve seen in recent years."

He went on: "Just yesterday, my little daughter handed me an ice cream she’d won. It reminded me of a line from Park of Yesterday: [Death is like drawing lots at the stationery stall by the school gate—it’s something that one day you’ll suddenly draw.] My paraphrasing might be off, but not by much. Do you understand Deputy Chief Editor Qu’s point?"

Of course he did. If a book leaves fragments in your mind that resurface unexpectedly in life, it’s undoubtedly a great success.

"I didn’t reject the manuscript outright!" Qi Bian quickly explained. "I sent it back for revisions because there were some minor issues. I asked the author to fix them and resubmit."

Upon hearing this, the editor-in-chief’s blood pressure spiked. Unable to contain himself any longer, he snapped at the seemingly innocent Qi Bian: "Deputy Chief Editor Qu praised these works as rare gems of recent years. How dare you think you can teach a writer how to write?"

Before Qi Bian could continue his defense, the editor-in-chief cut him off: "Many authors have complained about you, saying your feedback is too vague to act on. As the chief editor, I wasn’t aware that Sprout’s submission requirements had become so stringent. Clearly, you’re no longer suited for the role of corresponding editor. You’ll start as an editorial assistant to learn the ropes."

An editorial assistant was essentially an intern position, a step down with little chance of climbing back up. Qi Bian wanted to plead his case but couldn’t utter a word under the editor-in-chief’s steely gaze, which seemed to say, If you hadn’t been with the editorial team for nearly five years, you’d already be fired.

What mattered wasn’t the complaints from other authors—it was the loss of a genius writer like Gu Lu due to Qi Bian’s negligence.

Regret washed over Qi Bian as he left the office, devastated. He regretted not investigating thoroughly before rejecting manuscripts. Kicking a steel plate had cost him dearly, and he lamented missing the chance to nurture softer targets. Opportunities like this might not come around for a long time.

---

Snip, snip, collect, collect—hee hee! Gu Jiayu used her pocket money to buy newspapers: Chongqing Daily and Young Pioneers' Newspaper. She cut out every article related to her older brother.

"My brother keeps getting better and better—it’s wonderful! To celebrate his appearance in the newspaper, I’ll treat myself to another ice cream today." The first half of her sentence celebrated her brother; the second indulged her sweet tooth.

Speaking of which, Gu Jiayu had been playing with her phone quite a bit lately.

Some people use their phones more, while others use them less. After all, according to the law of conservation of energy, someone has to stay offline to earn money.

Gu Lu was among those who used his phone sparingly—and he’d completely forgotten something important.

As the sun climbed high overhead, Gu Lu rushed into the teacher’s office to submit his essay for the liquor culture competition.

"You’re the last one. All the other students have already submitted theirs," Ms. Gao said.

The grade director hadn’t explicitly pressured her, but subtle reminders made it clear that Gu Lu’s participation was non-negotiable.

"Is it poetry?" Ms. Gao’s eyes lit up. A glance at her desk revealed her deep interest in poetry.

Typically, writing contests excluded poetry, but perhaps because of the abundance of alcohol-related verses throughout history, this contest didn’t impose such restrictions.

Ms. Gao read through Gu Lu’s poem smoothly. It bore similarities to The Resounding Shadow and Why Do We Have National Confidence?—rich in allusions, though the earlier ones were more obvious, while later references grew subtler.

[Scholars dared greatly,

Some used you to go mad,

Others used you to seize power,

Sometimes you were merely a prop,

Setting the mood at negotiation tables...]

"Seizing power? The famous wine-induced disarmament?" Ms. Gao reviewed it without finding fault. "You know how to write for contests. A well-crafted poem can significantly boost your chances."

Liquid Fire had countless versions online, often misattributed or rewritten as flowery modern poetry due to rumors of being a top-scoring college entrance exam essay. However, the original version maintained consistent emotional resonance, penned by Liu Deliang, a seasoned editor with over thirty years of experience. His skill far surpassed the internet’s butchered adaptations.

After submitting his entry, Gu Lu lingered uncomfortably in the teacher’s office before returning to the classroom. Whoa! Watch out for collateral damage! He quickly dodged, thanks to his agility stat points.

Huang Lu wielded a broom, chasing a male classmate. Gu Lu vaguely remembered Huang Lu as Lu Yi’s close friend but knew nothing about the pursued boy.

This scene felt familiar—he recalled a similar incident in middle school involving Zhang Yudong and... who was that girl again? Her name escaped him now.

"Is wielding a broom in pursuit a nationwide tradition?" Gu Lu muttered as he returned to his seat.

Another politics class. With Literature Class Representative Li Guyuan tutoring him, Gu Lu felt his progress skyrocketing.

On the other hand, his tutoring "student" wasn’t faring as well. Desk-mate Qi Caiwei struggled with math, physics, and chemistry. This proved that excelling academically didn’t equate to teaching ability.

Gu Lu’s motivation stemmed from his recent acquisition of Liu Cixin’s sci-fi short story With Her Eyes. For now, it leaned toward soft sci-fi, but if hard sci-fi like The Three-Body Problem triggered later, poor science grades would make his writing less plausible.

Qi Caiwei, you need to work harder! Gu Lu thought, then glanced sideways—wait, why was his desk-mate asleep?

She had propped up her politics textbook as a shield, hiding behind it. Had she gone barbecue-hopping last night? She looked exhausted.

"Our sixth lesson is on marriage protected by law," the teacher lectured. "We’ll discuss safeguarding the rights of the elderly, minors, and disabled individuals."

Mr. Politics was a talented teacher, evidenced by his frequent digressions beyond the textbook.

When discussing family and love, his eyes took on a dreamy haze, hinting at personal stories.

"With the rise of the internet, communication has increased, but families and relationships face more challenges," he said. "Overall, the internet is beneficial, but its current trends are harmful—fixating on superficial beauty and status."

"If unchecked, the internet will eventually kill off the short, fat, and ugly in a few years." His tone shifted abruptly. "Alright, let’s return to the textbook. Marriage laws prohibit unions between direct blood relatives and collateral relatives within three generations. How do we calculate this?"

Such was Mr. Politics’ style.

"Zeng Jie, since you’ve been chatting so much, answer this question: Is your cousin, who shares the same grandfather, considered a collateral relative within three generations?" he asked. "Think carefully—it’s a trick question."

A notification pinged in Gu Lu’s mind—a long-dormant golden finger had activated: [Excessively Absurd and Bizarre][Wins Through Weirdness][Master of Outrageous Ideas].

Gu Lu could still analyze the previous three tags. But currently? They were a tangled mess. The absurd and bizarre descriptors pointed toward Camus, yet clashed with the subsequent labels.

[Amazon Bestseller 2017][Bungeishunjū Literary Prize][Non-Typical Masterpiece]—these gave him a clearer target. Research showed the Bungeishunjū Literary Prize came from Japan...

"Wrong! Pay attention instead of whispering with your desk-mate!" Mr. Politics scanned the room for another victim.

Saving a life earns more merit than building seven pagodas! Gu Lu scribbled furiously while tapping his foot to signal his desk-mate.

Qi Caiwei woke groggily, her cheek imprinted with patterns from resting on the desk. Her expression screamed confusion.

"Then, Qi Caiwei, you answer," the teacher called out.

Still disoriented, Qi Caiwei heard her name. Thankfully, her desk-mate had signaled.

Gu Lu lightly tapped his textbook. Peering over, Qi Caiwei saw scrawled handwriting: [Is a cousin sharing the same grandfather a third-generation collateral relative?].

"Oh, yes, third-generation collateral," Qi Caiwei nodded.

"Very good," Mr. Politics pressed further. "Then how do we calculate generational degrees of kinship?"

It seemed he wouldn’t let her off easily.

"We use the generational degree calculation method," Qi Caiwei replied, recalling where the information lay in the textbook.

"In the future, don’t prop your textbooks up during class. Teachers need to see your faces to gauge understanding," Mr. Politics concluded, allowing Qi Caiwei to sit down.

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