Die-hard Fan

“Are Zhao Qian and the others not coming with us?” Lin Xia asked.

“They live a bit far away. Just getting home by bus takes them half an hour, so they usually stay at school during the week and only go home on weekends,” Xie Xitong explained.

“Oh.”

“By the way, you still haven’t told me which character in ‘If Time Can’t Hear’ is your favorite,” Xie Xitong pressed.

Earlier, everyone had been chattering away, sharing their thoughts. Lin Xia hadn’t made up her mind before class started. In truth, she was secretly relieved.

“My favorite is Luo Ze,” Lin Xia said after a moment’s thought, tilting her head. “I like boys who are warm and clean.”

“Luo Ze,” Xie Xitong repeated. “He kind of has the same personality as my brother, though he’s a little gentler. Unlike my brother, who always has a stern face and barely ever smiles—he’s frightening.”

Even her idle complaints seemed to center around him.

Chen Zimo’s clear, gentle features flashed vividly in Lin Xia’s mind. In fact, the protagonist in her own stories was modeled after him.

So it turned out, even if she didn’t consciously think of him, his influence on her was still so profound.

We always think there’s nothing we can’t forget. In the distant future, in the days that are sure to come, we believe time will carry away all memories.

Yet unexpectedly, in some tiny detail, those memories come rushing back, overwhelming us like a surging tide.

Lin Xia pressed her lips together in a smile but said nothing.

Right now, she didn’t really know Chen Zimo, nor was she familiar with him.

As expected, since Lin Xia didn’t reply, Xie Xitong laughed, “I almost forgot—you don’t know my brother, so I guess you have no idea what he’s like.”

Lin Xia hesitated slightly before answering, “I wouldn’t say we don’t know each other at all—we’ve met once.”

The sky stretched wide and empty, with pure white clouds drifting like floating threads. The girl’s clear voice mingled with the blare of car horns and the cries of street vendors, brimming with life.

Outside the school gates, both sides of the road were lined with an array of dazzling snacks. The mingled aromas drifted to Lin Xia, making her mouth involuntarily water—a purely physiological reaction, impossible to resist.

Xie Xitong behaved in a way that didn’t match her delicate appearance. She sniffed toward a stall selling grilled lamb skewers, pouted, and sighed, “It’s a pity I’m not destined to enjoy such delicious food.”

Those words were straight from “If Time Can’t Hear.” She’d memorized them.

Lin Xia couldn’t help but smile.

“What’s stopping you? If you want to eat, just eat.”

Xie Xitong steeled herself, closed her eyes, and dragged Lin Xia quickly past the lamb skewer stall. “It’s all because of my brother. He says that stuff is unsanitary and makes you sick and has strictly forbidden me to eat it. And he has a nose like a bloodhound—once, I snuck some, and the whole family scolded me. I haven’t dared defy him since.”

Though she complained, her words were laced with an admiration she didn’t even notice herself.

Otherwise, why would every topic always circle back to her brother?

Clearly, this girl idolized her brother immensely.

“Well, it’s true that street food isn’t that clean. When we have time, let’s buy a grill and make our own. It’ll be cleaner and more fun,” Lin Xia suggested with a laugh.

“Wow,” Xie Xitong exclaimed in surprise. “That’s exactly what my brother said! Funny how you two have never even talked and yet think so much alike.”

Her wide, bright eyes were like a clear spring.

Lin Xia pinched her nose, smiling. “Anyone who’s read ‘Dream of the Red Chamber’ would remember the chapter ‘A World of Glass, White Snow, and Red Plum Blossoms.’”

At this, Xie Xitong groaned, “Oh, spare me! I suffer enough being forced to memorize ancient texts all day by my mother. This is the modern age—why do I have to keep reading those antiques? She drives me crazy.”

“So what kind of books do you like? Maybe I have something you’d enjoy,” Lin Xia said, smiling. “I read broadly—almost anything.”

“I love Liu Yan’s writing, but unfortunately, I don’t have the earliest issues of ‘Drizzle’ at home. She wasn’t famous at first, and I’d never read ‘Drizzle’ either. I’ve asked so many people, but no one has her earliest pieces. And if they do, they’re die-hard fans like me and won’t sell.”

“I’ve begged for ages, and the best I get is someone letting me borrow their copy for a bit,” Xie Xitong said, kicking an empty soda can down the street, where it landed beside a street sweeper’s broom.

Lin Xia laughed. “I might not have other things, but I have all of her articles. After lunch, I’ll bring them to your house.”

“Really? You don’t need to go to all that trouble. I’ll just come to your place!” Xie Xitong exclaimed, delighted. “I’m a true die-hard fan—the most loyal supporter!”

With that, she dragged Lin Xia along even faster.

“Is her writing really that good?” Lin Xia asked, a bit helpless as she was pulled along. “When she first started, her writing was immature. You’ll be disappointed.”

“Nonsense,” Xie Xitong grinned. “I love everything she writes. It’s way better than those brainless protagonists in ‘Boys and Girls.’ The author’s descriptions are so detailed—they speak right to our hearts as girls. How can you say that about her?”

“All right, all right, don’t get so worked up. Watch your step,” Lin Xia soothed, going along with her. “I just think there are so many Chinese classics, and her pieces can’t really compare.”

“What do you know? This is what’s in vogue now.” And with that, she even swore.

“If you keep criticizing her, I’ll stop being friends with you!”

Lin Xia thought: … Is she really that out of touch? Star-chasing fans are terrifying.

“And do you know why I like her so much? There’s a reason,” Xie Xitong said, her expression turning wistful for a moment before returning to her usual cheerful self. “Everywhere you look, it’s all ‘post-80s youth literature.’ Where does that leave us post-90s? Didn’t you see the latest interview? That guest was Liu Yan—she’s just a middle schooler, and already our most outstanding representative!”

Finally, she sighed in disappointment, “How can you have no sense of generational pride?”

When did she become the representative of the post-90s generation? Lin Xia was a bit confused—even she didn’t know that.

She’d had no choice about that issue’s interview. With the New Year and moving house, she’d had no time to write, so in exchange, she’d agreed to Editor Meow’s proposal for an interview. Of course, it was all conducted in writing.

That issue contained no new article, but thanks to this new approach, the magazine’s sales had climbed a little.

Editor Meow had been delighted for days.