Literary Master: Starting with Refusing to Be a Child Star

Essay contest for Chapter 11, "The Record of Strange Tales of the Tang Dynasty".

The "Three Thousand Strange Tales" essay contest recently held by the magazine "Records of Strange Tales of the Tang Dynasty" has been a huge success. As a publication that has been gaining popularity in recent years, this is the first time it has launched a formal essay contest.

Authors specializing in suspense and folklore are very interested in this writing competition.

If it weren't for the strict age limit of 20 for participants, many big names would have been willing to come and test their skills under an assumed name.

The influence of the magazine "Tales of the Tang Dynasty" has been increasing in China in recent years, and even a fool would know that holding such a competition is to discover more "genius" authors for the magazine.

Once a winner achieves good results in this competition, with the support of the magazine's resources, their future career will undoubtedly be bright.

Although it's uncertain whether this magazine's idea of ​​"creating stars" will ultimately succeed, given that the entertainment industry in this world is significantly more vibrant, Luo Jinnian believes that even the worst essay competition couldn't possibly be inferior to the "New Concept" magazine from another world, which only had influence in its first few editions.

Furthermore, while both magazines have invested heavily in writing competitions, "Lemon Sprout" was on the verge of bankruptcy when it started doing this in 1999, while "The Great Tang Ghost Stories" has now integrated all aspects of the industry and is undoubtedly one of the best-selling story magazines in China.

While the method of guaranteed admission is quick and effective, it is clearly short-sighted and detrimental to the overall development of the ecosystem.

In the end, only a few star authors can be produced who first have the person and then have the work, which is... cough cough.

The editorial department of "Datang"

Jia Bei, the top editor, held a teacup and carefully flipped through the manuscript in her hands.

"A scary nursery rhyme written from a child's perspective? The idea is good, but the storytelling still needs polishing."

Although this article is immature, Chiabei is quite satisfied with it. Given the age limit for this essay contest, the editors never expected any truly outstanding articles.

To ensure the final presentation of the competition, the magazine even prepared by having its editors polish the works of some promising young writers.

Setting this piece aside, the top editor Jia Bei took a sip of tea and lightly clicked the mouse to continue reading the next article.

"Grandma? What a simple name."

Copying works that only exist in film and television adaptations, and whose original texts are not written works, is still too much of a challenge for Luo Jinnian. He would also need to translate the original plot into a novel.

However, Luo Jinnian really liked this story, so he gradually changed the TV series scenes into text, just to improve his writing skills.

The story of "Grandma" unfolds from the perspective of a little girl.

This is a universally applicable perspective of vulnerability. Old tricks really work, you know?

The little girl's name is Miho, and she is in elementary school.

Her grandmother was very ill, and today might be the last time she saw her.

Outside the car window, the scenery changed from high-rise buildings to fields, and then from fields to a gray, misty country road.

"If you ask me, my older brother and the others should have gone with us," my mother's voice came from the passenger seat, filled with barely suppressed anger. "The old lady has been sick for three years, and every time we've been the ones running around to help. They, on the other hand, act like nothing's wrong."

The father gripped the steering wheel, remaining silent.

"It's not that I'm unfilial," the mother added, "but what's going on here?"

The story begins with an elderly person lying seriously ill in bed, whose children don't even want to visit them, setting the tone for a social issue.

The top editor made a note next to it.

And at the end, a question mark was added, since the plot hadn't even unfolded yet, and everything was still in doubt.

The protagonist, Miho, felt a tightness in her chest. She didn't know if this was sadness; she only knew that she longed to see her grandmother. Even if she didn't remember her grandmother's face, she remembered the feeling—being held in someone's arms, warm and reassuring. That was her earliest memory. Although everyone said that babies couldn't remember anything, Miho knew that she truly did.

This is foreshadowing, isn't it?

Editor Jiabei took note.

The car drove into the hospital's parking lot.

This was a drab old building, the corridors filled with the smell of disinfectant. Miho followed behind her parents, climbing the stairs one step at a time; with each floor she went up, the air seemed to sink a little deeper.

The door to the ward was open.

Miho stood at the door and saw her grandmother.

At that moment, she suddenly didn't want to go in.

It wasn't out of fear. At least that's what she told herself at the time. It was just that the face was so different from what she had imagined.

"Miho, come here." Her mother gently pushed her from behind.

She mechanically took a step. The ward was small; it was only four or five steps from the door to the bedside, but it felt like a long time to her.

"Grandma," Miho called softly.

no respond.

The parents and the doctor went into the hallway to talk. The door was ajar, and the mother's voice could be faintly heard saying something like, "We've been coming all this way, as have my uncle and his family..."

Miho wasn't listening carefully. She just stood there, unsure of what to do.

"Holy crap..."

Jiabei watched the following plot with goosebumps rising on the back of his neck.

"Miho."

She suddenly looked up. Her grandmother's eyes were wide open, staring intently at her. Though cloudy, those eyes held a strange light, like a fire suppressed beneath deep water.

"You can hear me, right?"

Miho opened her mouth. She wanted to call for her mother, but the sound caught in her throat. It wasn't fear, but some deeper instinct warning her—what was about to happen, she didn't want to be interrupted.

"Don't be afraid," the voice said, its tone unexpectedly gentle, like a grandmother speaking to her granddaughter. "I don't have much time left. This body can't hold on much longer. But Miho, I have a wish I haven't fulfilled."

Miho's lips trembled. She finally managed to squeeze out, "What's your wish?"

"I have a younger brother." Grandma paused, as if recalling something very, very distant, "We separated when we were very young. I've never seen him again. I heard he's still alive, living on the other side of this city. I want to see him."

Miho didn't know what to say.

"But look at me," Grandma said, glancing down at her withered body. "I can't leave this ward."

silence.

The instrument was still beeping.

"I want to borrow your body for a day," Grandma said.

This is divine intervention.

In the mind of the top editor, this competition is already over. This is not an exaggeration; the story of killing the competition only needs a beginning.

Every author has their own opinion on what is most important to create at the beginning of a novel, but when something called "anticipation" is written out, the work becomes something special.

The feeling that other authors dream of achieving in thousands or tens of thousands of words, this newcomer accomplished in just 1000 words.

Whether this work continues to rise or falls, at least for now, readers will be eager to continue reading.

In fact, the story of "Grandma" is not a high-level story; it will eventually reach a high level of quality that will leave all the contestants in despair.

Jiabei turned to the next page with great excitement.