Chapter Fourteen: Eighteen Years Old

On the first day of his leave, Zhao Zejun rose early, took the household register, and headed straight for the police station.

Taking leave wasn’t just about deliberately keeping Yu Zhe guessing—there was another matter of particular importance.

He had to apply for his national ID card.

From today onward, Zhao Zejun, in this life, had officially turned eighteen—a legal adult. This meant he now enjoyed the full rights of citizenship, able to conduct business, engage in politics, and participate in social affairs under his own name. Only from today, under the eyes of the law, could he truly embark on the series of plans he had been preparing for this new lease on life. At the same time, the weight on his shoulders grew heavier; he was now required to bear the responsibilities of an adult, both to his family and to society.

It was a Monday morning, and the district police station was quiet. After only half an hour in line, it was Zhao Zejun’s turn. The procedures were exactly as he remembered from his previous life: checking the household register, filling out forms, taking photos, paying the fees. Zhao Zejun spent an extra thirty yuan for expedited processing.

He had just stepped through the door at home when he saw his mother had prepared a lavish spread on the dining table.

“Are we having guests today? You’ve cooked so many good dishes,” Zhao Zejun called toward the kitchen.

Zhou Ya, wearing an apron and carrying a bowl of egg noodles, emerged from the kitchen, giving Zhao Zejun a curious look. “What guests? Today is your eighteenth birthday!”

With this reminder, Zhao Zejun felt a sudden pang in his heart.

It was strange—he clearly knew today was his eighteenth birthday, or else he wouldn’t have chosen today to apply for his ID card. Yet he had completely forgotten that it was, at the same time, his actual birthday.

Birthdays felt more like ceremonial occasions. After he turned twenty-five, Zhao Zejun had stopped caring much for them. By thirty, he could hardly bear to face the day at all—his three most recent birthdays had all been spent working overtime or at business dinners.

Yet, in both his past and present lives, there was always one person in the world who never forgot his birthday. Every year, wherever he was, he would receive blessings and greetings from her. Sometimes it was a steaming bowl of egg noodles, sometimes a warm phone call.

As Zhao Zejun held the bowl of egg noodles, he felt its weight. The image of Zhou Ya before him seemed to blur and merge with the memory of the woman from his previous life, her temples dusted with white, her back already stooped.

Time and space, in the end, could not sever the bonds of kinship.

Over the seven days, Zhao Zejun further refined the outline for the latter part of “Rogue,” wrote the outline for the second book, and kept up with his studies—reading and practicing exercises, every day planned to the brim.

Whenever he had a spare moment, Zhao Zejun would rehearse in his mind, again and again, the final steps of the Internet café license incident and all the consequences that might follow.

Eventually, he wondered if he was developing an obsession with perfection.

Turning eighteen, that aromatic bowl of egg noodles brought not only motivation but also a subtle pressure.

During those seven days, Yu Zhe called home more than twenty times, but Zhao Zejun didn’t answer a single call.

So, in Yu Zhe’s eyes, Zhao Zejun had disappeared.

Unable to reach him by phone, Yu Zhe went to Storm Internet Café, but the owner, Elephant, said Zhao Zejun hadn’t been around for ages. He tried messaging him on QQ, but Zhao Zejun’s avatar remained dark.

In the end, Yu Zhe couldn’t hold back and nervously asked Old He about him.

Old He lashed out at him. “What business is it of yours whether he comes to class or not? Yu Zhe, this is your final year—mind your own affairs and study hard. Even if you only get into a junior college, your dad can still arrange a job for you!”

After the scolding, Yu Zhe learned that Zhao Zejun had taken a week’s leave.

Watching his manuscript pile dwindle day by day while readers clamored furiously for updates, Yu Zhe nearly lost his mind that week.

He even tried writing his own outlines, following his own ideas to finish the story.

But the results were disappointing.

Although Zhao Zejun had taught him a lot about writing web novels, Yu Zhe hadn’t yet reached the point of true mastery.

Without Zhao Zejun’s guidance, without having seen his outlines, Yu Zhe might have been satisfied with his own efforts, relying only on his passion and remaining an amateur who knew nothing of technique. He might have even felt proud of himself.

But after writing over a hundred thousand words based on Zhao Zejun’s outlines, Yu Zhe’s ability to discern quality had grown exponentially, even if his own storytelling hadn’t improved much.

Now, when he looked at his own outlines, he saw nothing but rubbish.

Each day, the stockpile of chapters shrank. Just as Yu Zhe was about to break down, Zhao Zejun reappeared in class at last.

“Boss, where have you been? I was about to die!” Yu Zhe was nearly in tears. “Where’s the rest of the outline? Hurry up and give it to me.”

Zhao Zejun looked bewildered. “What outline? Be specific.”

Yu Zhe stammered through an explanation, grabbing Zhao Zejun’s arm. “Boss, it’s not that I’m lazy or don’t want to think. I tried writing four outlines myself, but they’re all terrible—nowhere near the level of the ones you gave me before.”

“Oh, the outline for ‘Rogue’? That’s easy. Not only for this book; when I was working on this outline, I was struck with inspiration for the next one, too: ‘Rogue: The Storm Rises Again.’”

“Damn! Boss, if you were a woman, I’d marry you for life. Quick, give it to me!”

“Damn, can’t you hear yourself? Are you proposing to me or something?” Zhao Zejun rolled his eyes. The way Yu Zhe said it made it sound as if he were begging Zhao Zejun to guard his chastity, and the passing classmates cast astonished looks their way.

Changing the subject, Zhao Zejun said, “The outline’s not a problem, but I really don’t have the time right now. How about this: after the New Year, I’ll set aside some time to write the rest of this outline and the next one for you?”

“After the New Year?!”

Whether meeting Zhao Zejun was Yu Zhe’s good fortune or his doom was hard to say—he’d gone from a flop to a near-celebrity, but his nerves were about to snap from Zhao Zejun’s whims. One moment ecstatic, the next despairing.

He barely had enough chapters to last half a week. By New Year’s, it would all be over! Not only would he fail to become a star author, but the Huanjian website and editor Zhaori might think he was playing them for fools, mark him as unreliable, and blacklist him entirely.

“Boss, what are you so busy with? Is it revision for the college entrance exam?” Yu Zhe asked softly, aggrieved. “Boss, you’re so smart, you could get into university with your eyes closed…”

What else could a senior student be busy with but preparing for the entrance exams? If Zhao Zejun was truly studying, Yu Zhe couldn’t pressure him. Not everyone had a bureau chief for a father; for most, the college entrance exam really did determine their fate.

“That’s not it,” Zhao Zejun replied, shaking his head and looking troubled. “I have a good friend whose family was laid off and wants to start an Internet café. Our families are close, so I’ve been helping them out these days.”

“That serious? You took time off to help a friend open an Internet café?” Yu Zhe was surprised.

“It’s not just helping him. Opening a café’s profitable these days, so I’m learning the ropes myself, and getting certified. My parents might be laid off soon, so maybe we’ll open a small café of our own.”

“That’s great! We’ll come to your café to surf the web. When will you be done? Need help?”

“No need, it’s not manual labor. I’m just accompanying him to various departments to handle the paperwork. Who knew getting this license would be so difficult?” Zhao Zejun sighed.

“The café license—is that the Internet business permit?” Yu Zhe’s eyes lit up.

“Yeah, it’s called the Internet Culture Business Permit. After running around for days, my legs are about to fall off. Without connections, it’s impossible to get. How did you know?”

“Is that all? Boss, you should have said so earlier!” Yu Zhe puffed his chest out, grinning. “Don’t worry, leave it to me. You just focus on writing the outlines!”

After months of effort, at last Yu Zhe uttered these words, and Zhao Zejun’s heart skipped a wild beat.

Still, he kept his expression calm, even adding a note of doubt. “Leave it to you? My friend’s pretty well-connected, but even he can’t manage it. We’re both just students—what can you do?”

“You said it yourself, you need connections. What if I’ve got them?” Yu Zhe replied, a mysterious smile on his face.

“What connections do you have?” Zhao Zejun asked.

“I don’t, but my dad does! My dad’s the director of the Bureau of Industry and Commerce. This kind of thing is a piece of cake! I’ll let you in on a secret: just a few days ago, he helped someone get one, and didn’t even need to show up himself—just sent one of his section chiefs. It was done in two or three days.”