Quite a number of students in the school actually paid attention to Ah Yu’s Weibo. Han Leng happened to be one of them, and Hang Yongming, who always acknowledged Ah Yu’s music, though he disapproved of Zhao Youyue’s music.

  However, not everyone who followed Ah Yu’s Weibo would be notified whenever Zhao Youyue posted something on her Weibo.

  Han Leng never really closely followed Ah Yu, though it had now become a habit of his to listen to her on Netease Music Wang Yiyun before sleeping. By coincidence or otherwise, her music reminded him of Chu Luoxun, his favorite character to have ever been written on paper.

  Furthermore, Han Leng was a sluggish person. After he published his “Beautiful April,” he did not rush to start the next book. Most of the time, his mobile phone would be left in his hostel, be it during lunch breaks, or at night when he would be playing on his phone.

  Him missing out on Ah Yu’s Weibo posts was a rather likely and common occurrence, as he did not scroll through her page that often.

  When it came to killing time, he favored the pen and paper; the cell phone was not his thing, after all.

  Even though he was putting in lots of effort for his studies, he would still make time for his writing. Such was his commitment and enthusiasm towards writing.

  As Zhao Youyue was getting more attention as the prettiest girl in school, Han Leng was getting occupied with the rising demand of his love letter ghostwriting business. He was glad to help those souls succumb to Zhao Youyue’s beauty, because he knew damn well that all those efforts would end in vain.

  Everybody knew that Lady Zhao would not be moved by merely writing love letters.

  She treated everyone in the same way, in other words, everybody was nobody, and nobody was worth than an ant!

  Nevertheless, Han Leng wrote every love letter request for her with great devotion to his almighty method of love letter writing. It was him who had boasted to Lady Zhao when they were sitting next to each other

  A love letter is love and romance being intertwined with each other in the form of words, especially when it came to high school love letters, where the blanks within sentences would not be filled by words, but by pure feelings of love that were worlds apart from letters.

  Every time he wrote, he wrote with all his heart. He would not be writing to Zhao Youyue. In his view, another would take her spot. Chu Luoxun would grant him all the inspiration he needed, and he would write the intensity he felt during “Beautiful April.”


  He had long been confused with this intangible, yet firm connection between Zhao Youyue and Chu Luoxun.

  The first commandment when it comes to writing love letters was to describe the first time you have ever laid eyes on the significant other. No matter how dull and boring that scene was, he could inject some romance in, and beautify the whole scene.

  When I first saw you in that summer, the sun cast itself in the form of violets all over the wall. I stood by the corner, chasing after your shadow. When you finally turned around, your fair and lovely face cast itself into my heart.

  He would use different forms of adjectives and hyperbole to express how important the girl meant to him

  If I never trudged up that old road of marble, I would never have found this fire within me to last through countless of frosty, cold nights. You entered this white piece of paper, and gave it color. Years later, this piece of paper would be treasured, as it has you, and you made it art. Without you, it would be burnt, scattered into the air without a trace, because it would be worth nothing but a piece of blank paper.

  The next commandment would be to start talking about fate. He was certain that all girls believed in fate.

  It was you who lit up my world in passing, without even knowing of this life you saved. Day by day, my passion and thoughts are a convergence of words and symbols, folded into this small paper plane that is flung into the air, where hopefully, it would find you. Now that it has found your hands, perhaps this is fate. Just like a very, very real dream.

  Then he would emphasize on the details, praising the girl in every way he knew.

  I adore how you curl your lips and smile, where that flash of brilliant red warms my heart. I adore how your hair slides through your fingers, where those silky smooth, delicate movements leave me in a world of stars. Most of all, I love the moment when our eyes meet, where I finally understand how it feels when our souls collide.

  Of course, playing along with meaningless, vague descriptions was Han Leng’s favorite part.

  The ancient moon mourns for the wound in my heart,

  it was with that cold place, that I am now apart

  never will I look back and restart.

  Gazing upon the street, you stood in the shadow,

  with a face of sorrow,

  with beauty, one could only hallow.

  Memories of you would never fade

  a star in the west was where you once stayed,

  for all eternity with no mate.

  Unyieldingly I brace

  across galaxies, I sought for your face,

  with the Mandela seed you’ve placed

  on sunset of our last days

  unmarred by my grace

  In the book of Guardians where the fate of souls thrive,

  partners for one life

  blossoming in one life

  I would never contrite

  What story would come from these yellowed pages of old?

  To withhold

  To be bold

  Destined to meet at a crossroad

  One of the many more memories to be told

  Modern poems are not good enough; we need something older, with stanzas

  Under the pale moonlight,

  An unraveled coat sees light,

  You looked to the skies,

  I can only guess that you miss the home reflected in your eyes,

  The entire night saw unceasing snow,

  From the north doth the wind blow,

  Thousands of miles apart, two hearts were met by single arrow.

  Blooming flowers of spring and leaves of autumn go brown;

  And in sadness do I drown.

  Your heart I sought,

  Your rejection I wrought,

  And the yesterday of me became naught.

  High school students would never scrunch up such words together in style; Han Leng’s writing skills were indeed beyond high school standards. After all, no matter how good the sentences were, or how bombastic the words were, all this served no purpose, as only one sentence carried meaning. How much would he charge from all of this?

  Pleasure had turned him immune to exhaustion, as he hoped that he could bring a smile on Lady Zhao’s face.

  Han Leng felt that he was doing the same thing that ancient scholars did, writing poems and songs to please their rulers.

  By being in different classes with Lady Zhao, they were no longer deskmates. Han Leng thought that he could now enjoy everlasting peace and freedom, yet every time he caught sight of that long-haired Lady Zhao in uniform, his mood would take a dive.

  In all the love letters he wrote to her on behalf of others, never once did he mention the three magical words, I love you.

  No love letter on this earth was more sincere than uttering these three words, face to face.

  It’s a shame that all these fabricated, romantic, and lengthy sentences could bring the most joy out of people.

  Without his phone, Han Leng understandably missed out on “Ah Yu’s” Weibo update. Hang Yongming left straight after rehearsal, yet he was the one to notice and grew agitated. Ah Yu, the long-lost female anchor, had survived the curse and was back alive!