The New Concept Essay Contest had two rounds: preliminary and final. The preliminary required a piece under 5,000 words, any genre, as long as it hadn’t been published in public media, making it eligible.
The age limit was lenient, allowing anyone under 30 with a love for literature to participate.
The contest’s mission was new thinking, new expression, and true experience, encouraging contestants to break from clichés and formulaic writing, to feel and observe life authentically.
Innovative language and bold style were valued, but all rested on “authentic emotion.” The judges—top domestic literati, editors, and humanities scholars—could distinguish between contrived whining and genuine feeling.
If Wen Ying wanted to write deeply, “parent-child relationships” could be a poignant entry point, a struggle spanning both her lives, ripe with raw emotion.
But she refused to bare her wounds for critique, immediately discarding that topic.
Writing about love didn’t fit either.
Her relationship with He Zhen was mature and rational. Writing it truthfully might not move the judges, and fabricating a love story, given her recent publication in a youth magazine, felt like overreaching. Plus, the contest was mostly real-name. If she failed the preliminary, Chen Ru and Wen Dongrong wouldn’t know her topic. But if she passed, a love-themed essay would make her life too comfortable for comfort.
Of literature’s three major themes, family and love were out, leaving friendship.
Wen Ying didn’t want to extol friendship either. She felt inspired to write about “growth.”
At a mental age of 31, she wouldn’t write about growth like a typical teen relying on imagination, producing something shallow.
Having endured society’s harsh lessons, reborn at 16, Wen Ying’s take on “growth” carried visceral, blood-soaked experience.
To align with the contest’s innovative spirit, she avoided a lyrical essay, choosing a fairy-tale format to express her theme, crafting an ant kingdom.
This kingdom lay in a sinkhole. The ants at the bottom didn’t know it was a “sinkhole.” From birth to death, each ant’s role was assigned—worker, soldier, or otherwise. The sinkhole, damp and dark, bred abundant decay, ideal for the colony’s survival. It was their entire known world. In this rigid system, one rebellious ant, unfit as a worker and too frail for a soldier, began the story by attempting to climb out, only to be caught and dragged back by larger ants.
The laptop hadn’t yet been claimed, but Wen Ying finished her handwritten draft overnight, rubbing her sore wrist before bed.
Chen Ru urged her to stop several times but, seeing her scribbling furiously, felt gratified, believing Wen Ying was finally studying diligently and maturing.
This happy misunderstanding let Chen Ru sleep with a smile.
Though in a cold war with Wen Dongrong, their marriage on shaky ground, if Wen Ying excelled academically, it would prove Chen Ru’s sacrifices in the marriage weren’t fruitless.
In middle age, children become parents’ greatest “work.” No matter personal success, a disappointing child dims any pride.
The next day, Chen Ru, wary and ready to confront scammers, went with Wen Ying to the mall. To her shock, they claimed the prize with the receipt.
“No payment?”
“Really, no payment!”
A sleek, glossy white Samsung laptop sat before Chen Ru. She had to believe it.
What luck!
Wen Ying cautiously asked, “Mom, can I keep the laptop?”
Chen Ru, still dazed, said, “It’s your prize. Keep it.”
“Thanks, Mom!”
Thank her for what? She didn’t buy it.
Worried Wen Ying would game, Chen Ru was relieved to hear Wen Ying had no interest. They agreed on computer and internet use: one hour daily, two on weekends.
Chen Ru consented, only realizing outside the mall she’d agreed to internet access.
About to confront Wen Ying, Wen Ying muttered, “Qin Jiao and the others all have computers and internet, and they’re fine. You want me to be as excellent as them but won’t let me broaden my horizons. Can’t have it both ways, right?”
Chen Ru enjoyed Wen Ying’s sharp tongue against the Shu family, but now felt its bite.
It sounded reasonable.
Parents, however, could be unreasonable. Before Chen Ru could assert authority, Wen Ying hugged the laptop, nuzzling her arm like a puppy, both pitiful and affectionate.
Wen Ying was acting cute again!
Chen Ru recalled yesterday’s hug, her expression stiffening. “Don’t give me that. Internet’s fine, but if your grades drop, I’ll confiscate and sell the laptop!”
“Deal! You’re the best, Mom!”
Wen Ying clung to the laptop, leaning close. Chen Ru sternly told her to walk straight, but Wen Ying just giggled.
So Chen Ru preferred soft tactics!
Despite her protests, Chen Ru’s reactions were honest. Wen Ying felt she’d cracked the code to getting along with her mom.
They brought the laptop home. Wen Ying tested the keyboard’s feel and messaged Xie Qian to thank him again.
“The laptop’s great!”
“Good to hear.”
Xie Qian replied, tossed his phone aside, and nodded to Wang Shuang nearby. “Let’s keep going.”
Wang Shuang, sprawled on the couch, laughed hysterically. “Xie Qian, you’ve never played games before, right? Be honest, I won’t mock you… haha, your skills are awful!”
Boys’ friendships form fast and deepen faster.
Xie Qian, back home last night, spent two hours learning the game and scouring online guides, confident he was prepared. Yet today, brimming with theoretical knowledge, he invited Wang Shuang and another for practice, only to be thoroughly trounced.
Geng Xiao kicked Wang Shuang. “Ease up. It’s Xie Qian’s first time. He’s decent for a newbie. If you scare him off, who’ll play with us?”
Teasing aside, they should go easy. The gaming console was Xie Qian’s gift, after all.
Though Geng Xiao chided Wang Shuang, he struggled not to laugh.
Xie Qian seemed so aloof, yet hid his inexperience. Imagining him cramming game guides last night, only to lose today, Geng Xiao couldn’t hold back a chuckle.
Xie Qian studied the console.
Just a few simple buttons—why couldn’t he master it?
A game shouldn’t be harder than an Olympiad math problem.
For the first time, Xie, the academic star, doubted his learning ability.
He wanted to ask Wen Ying, the struggling student, how she coped with unsolvable math problems.
After some thought, Xie Qian didn’t send the message.
It’d hit too close to home. Wen Ying would definitely flip out.
