Otaku Translation: Literary Genius: This Kid Was Born Smart C139

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Chapter 139: National Recognition

“For the first time, I’ve felt curious about an author because of a literary work. Don’t forget— comes from an incredibly tiny planet, one barely larger than a house. That small world is his entire universe.”

“After seeing ’s strong recommendation, I approached this book with skepticism: ‘I wanted to see just how good it was.’ And indeed, it is good. Even though the book has its flaws, as something that deeply moved me, those flaws don’t matter anymore.”

“The essential things in life are invisible to the eye. This is a wonderful book, but I have one small question: why is the protagonist a pilot? If the story needed The Little Prince to meet him in the desert, there were countless other ways to achieve that. Is there some deeper significance?”

“I’d call The Little Prince a goldmine of quotable lines. Sure, this book offers more than just memorable quotes—it also invites deep reflection—but truly knows how to craft sentences. My favorite: ‘Do stars shine so that everyone can someday find their own star?’ A sentence brimming with imagination and healing.”

Under Director Jian’s posts, most of the early feedback from insiders leaned positive.

However, some readers sparked debates over the protagonist’s identity as a pilot.

Some argued that the “pilot” persona symbolized someone who had traveled widely and met many people, contrasting sharply with The Little Prince’s lonely existence on .

Others dismissed it as meaningless, claiming Gu Lu simply chose the profession arbitrarily.

Still, some readers interpreted the “pilot” as a symbolic figure since many children dream of becoming pilots when they grow up.

The discussions raged on, likely destined to remain unresolved. Even if Gu Lu were interviewed, he wouldn’t provide a clear answer.

Readers influenced by Director Jian’s Weibo recommendations began discussing The Little Prince in their social circles. Its popularity made it akin to entertainment news—a hot topic ripe for conversation.

For now, No. 8 High School enjoyed a temporary calm before journalists descended en masse.

“It must have been tough for you,” Principal Liu said to Mr. Hu.

“No trouble at all, no trouble at all!” Mr. Hu quickly replied. “Being able to converse with a talented writer like Xiao Gu has actually improved my own literary sensibilities.”

Principal Liu’s insincere concern stemmed from Mr. Hu doubling as the advisor for the Publication Club while receiving dual paychecks.

What the principal hadn’t anticipated, however, was that Mr. Hu had become a hands-off overseer.

The basketball club’s advisor was a retired athlete, and the Tree People Literary Club’s mentor was a seasoned writer with decades of experience. Both brought professional expertise to guide students.

But the Publication Club… Mr. Hu had no editorial experience, nor could he teach Gu Lu anything about literature. In light of this, stepping back seemed the wisest choice.

“What privileges did Xiao Gu trade for now?” Principal Liu asked.

Mr. Hu relayed the two special permissions granted to the Publication Club. The principal frowned, clearly displeased—not because of the club’s funding, which was modest anyway, but for other reasons.

“We already have clubs like Time Radio Station and the literary club. Adding the Publication Club serves little purpose,” Principal Liu remarked sharply. “Even if Gu Lu uses his popularity to build a successful school publication, what happens after he graduates? Who will carry the torch?”

The implication was clear: a fleeting endeavor like this offered no lasting benefit to the school, and it wasn’t worth wasting Gu Lu’s talent on.

Mr. Hu remained silent, sensing the principal deep in thought.

“You’re right. No matter how talented Xiao Gu is, he’s still just a high school student,” Principal Liu mused after a moment. “High schoolers are meant to crash into walls with youthful abandon.”

“Principal Liu’s summary is spot-on,” Mr. Hu chimed in immediately. “And there’s another small factor: Xiao Gu’s creative output is extraordinary. It’s only the first semester of 10th grade, yet he’s already skipping evening study sessions and morning readings…”

“That makes sense,” Principal Liu nodded. If all privileges were used up so quickly, what would be left to offer later?

“Also, Principal, we’ve discovered a minor issue coming up next year…”

In the principal’s office, pressing matters were being discussed.

Meanwhile, in Class 10, students were taking a quiz.

Ms. Gao, nicknamed Mystic Auntie for her occasional poetic reveries during class, taught with a stern demeanor, balancing exam points with extended knowledge.

Mr. Lu, whose teaching style combined enthusiasm and meticulousness, projected a rugged voice while maintaining a gentle personality.

As for Ms. Xiao—she had no nickname, her face perpetually adorned with a smile. Her favorite activities? Pop quizzes and in-class tests.

If asked whom Gu Lu preferred, it would likely be Ms. Gao or the politics teacher. The former was diligent; Gu Lu often saw her working late in the office even when not supervising evening study sessions. The latter? Well, anyone who triggered his cheat system was automatically a good person in Gu Lu’s book.

To be honest, Gu Lu took English very seriously. He didn’t need to do homework to excel, occasionally practicing independently instead.

His motivation? To prepare for his future career as a writer borrowing ideas from classics!

“Interest is the best teacher, but financial prospects make an even better one.” Gu Lu’s English grades were solid, thanks to cramming junior high material while ignoring math, physics, and chemistry assignments.

Ms. Xiao dressed modestly yet fashionably, sitting at the podium with a serene smile as she watched students scribble furiously. She glanced at her watch occasionally, exuding calm.

Rumors among students suggested Ms. Xiao was a wealthy woman teaching merely to pass the time.

Terms like “white-rich-beautiful,” “tall-rich-handsome,” and “poor-short-ugly” originated from online forums like , which churned out countless memes.

“Five minutes until class ends. Swap papers with your desk partner,” Ms. Xiao instructed. “I’ll quickly go over the answers. Mark any mistakes.”

This method tested friendships. Based on Ms. Xiao’s usual habits, incorrect answers required copying them twenty times. Thus, many desk partners colluded to avoid punishment.

Gu Lu and Qi Caiwei, however, remained honest. Ever since Gu Lu had spoken harshly weeks ago, their relationship had deteriorated to a basic level of civility.

Within five minutes, Ms. Xiao rattled off the answers, finishing precisely twenty seconds before the bell rang.

Before dismissing the class, she added, “Copy your mistakes twenty times, along with today’s vocabulary words and key phrases. Read them ten times and get a parent’s signature—or, for boarding students, a dormmate’s signature. That’s tonight’s homework.”

Why was Ms. Xiao so popular, even without a derogatory nickname? Because she never scrutinized whether students actually read the assigned texts or cheated on corrections—it was entirely up to their discretion.

Teachers sometimes resembled apps like . While many adults despised DingTalk’s intrusive features, they secretly acknowledged its effectiveness. Unfortunately, students at this age couldn’t grasp that strict teachers were often the ones truly beneficial to their studies.

“Bro Gu Lu, can you sign this for me? My niece read The Little Prince. When I told her the author was our classmate, she refused to believe me.”

“Personally, I think the fox was better than the rose. Why did The Little Prince choose the rose in the end?”

As soon as class ended, two or three classmates gathered around Gu Lu. Recently, many students across grades sought his autograph, including juniors and seniors.

Truthfully, many hadn’t even read the book—they just thought owning a signed copy by a published author was impressive.

“Gu Lu, do you want to be a pilot when you grow up?” Qi Caiwei suddenly asked.

This was the first casual chat between desk partners in weeks. Gu Lu responded earnestly, “While I admire pilots, I’d rather be an astronaut.”

“Astronaut? Then why is the protagonist in the book a pilot, not an astronaut?” Qi Caiwei pressed.

“If adults became astronauts, wouldn’t they steal The Little Prince’s spotlight?” Gu Lu replied.

“I finished reading The Little Prince and wrote a reflection. Take a look,” Qi Caiwei said, pulling out a copy of the book and a newly purchased notebook filled with seven or eight hundred words of thoughts.

[Theme: Viewing the adult world through a child’s eyes.

…

This book doesn’t feel like a fairy tale—it’s more like a simplified philosophy book.]

It was lengthy. Gu Lu skimmed the introduction and conclusion, focusing instead on another detail. “Who told you the theme of this book?”

“I read reviews online and picked one that resonated,” Qi Caiwei explained. “This book is flying off shelves! There’s tons of discussion on .”

“Douban? Is that website really that popular now?” Gu Lu asked.

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