Although Andi had yet to graduate from Qinghua, she was one of the smartest people I knew, and I decided to keep her as my legal advisor even though Changjiang Publishing House offered to get me another one. We spent a few extra days in Hubei, working hard, then headed to Dalian to visit Andi’s family.

“Can I tell them?” she asked, giving me puppy dog eyes. “They’ll be so proud of you, Yejing! They loved you last time they met you, and I swear they won’t tell your parents.”

I shrugged, not really caring either way. Andi’s parents were very laid back and relaxed, and definitely would not tell on me.

“Does that mean you’re going to be famous?” her cousin, Xiao Yu, asked, looking at me with an awed expression. “Can I get your autograph right now?”

“She’s writing under a pen name, stupid,” Andi replied, rolling her eyes at him. “Lin Ye will be famous.”

“So?” Xiao Yu shot back. “When she eventually reveals her identity, she’ll be famous right?”

“I’ll give you my autograph when that day comes, okay?” I laughed, patting him on the head. “But Xiao Yu, you can’t go to school and tell your friends about this. No matter what happens, you can’t tell anyone that I am Lin Ye.”

“Pinky promise, Yejing jie (姐- noona/older sister),” he agreed, holding out his hand.

“If you do, I’ll help Yejing sue you,” Andi warned.

Xiao Yu rolled his eyes. “I’m in high school, Jie, and I don’t have a job. If you sue me, you’re suing for my parents’ money.”

“Which I will happily return to them after because they would have probably murdered you if that ever happens,” she shot back.



 

I got back to Beijing a week later, and decided not to hold off telling my parents about what had happened.

“You went to Hubei secretly, without telling us?” Dad asked, already looking beyond pissed.

“Yes, to meet with a publisher,” I repeated, noticing how he had completely missed the point, as usual.

“Did you say that they’ve ordered a quarter million copies to be printed?” Mom asked, eyes wide. “For a first time writer?”

“Yes,” I nodded. “President Gu made that decision, and that number is just for mainland. She has plans to also release the book in Hongkong and Taiwan at a later date.”

“I can’t believe you deceived us on purpose, Lin Yejing,” Dad interrupted. “We did not raise you to lie to your parents.”

I took a deep breath, and decided to just let it out. “Dad, I hate everything about medicine,” I said, finally. “I don’t even like Qinghua; I just want to be a writer.”

“What’s wrong with being a doctor?” Dad asked, voice rising hysterically.

“Nothing is wrong with being a doctor, Dad. It’s just not for me,” I replied, trying to make him understand.

“Qinghua is the best university in the country. How can you not like it? They have some of the best professors and doctors in the world teaching there.”

I wondered if it ever occurred to him that I didn’t like it because I was taking science classes all day, instead of humanities.

“Well, my book is getting released in less than three months, and that can’t be changed,” I told him. “I’m a legal adult, and I already signed the contract.”

“I don't care, Yejing,” Dad said, standing up angrily. “You will go to Qinghua and continue with your studies until that stupid book comes out. Also, you’re grounded for the rest of your life." He spun on his heels, and stalked out of the room.

Mom stood up too, looking angry, but I couldn’t tell if her anger was directly at me or my dad. She gave me a little pat on the back, and left the room also.

I let out a deep breath and sunk down in my seat. That was terrifying.



 

The next few weeks sped by faster than I could have ever imagined. Apart from my schoolwork, I spent at least four hours a day on the phone and on QQ video chat, conferencing with my editors and cover designers. It was not unusual for one of them to call me at two in the morning, bubbling with a great idea, and then talk themselves out of it while I was still trying to wake up.

Guo Jingming even called me once, at four in the morning, to give me advice about facing criticism as a post-80s writer.

“Couldn’t this have waited until, say, after 9am? It’s Saturday.”

“Oh, were you sleeping?”

Was I sleeping?

“It’s 4am, Jingming,” I groaned, burying my head under my pillow. “Do you just not sleep at all?”

“Sometimes,” he replied, then plowed right on. “So, as I was saying, you’ll get criticism from for being a young writer, no matter how amazing your novel is. It’s total bull. How does it make sense that newer written books are of less quality just because it’s written by authors who grew up with more luxuries?”

“Right,” I agreed, still struggling to stay awake.

“In some ways, *Han Han and I are actually on the same boat, even if we don’t see eye on most things.”

“Didn’t he call your work ‘y’ once on his blog?” I muttered.

Jingming huffed, but continued. “He writes social critiques; I write romance and fantasy. I don’t see how he is in any position to judge me, just as I am in no position to judge him.”

“But you do judge him anyway,” I grumbled.

“Yes, because he judges me,” he shot back. “y my . I could show him a thing or two about being y.”

I sighed, rubbed