Leyenda del pueblo de Baima

Capítulo 7

"I understand, I understand!"

The arrogant voice made me immediately take the receiver away from my ear.

It sounded like Ye Tong. My still-muddled brain began to slowly start working again. I put the receiver to my ear again, but carefully didn't press it directly against my ear. Sure enough, Ye Tong's voice still came through clearly; he was obviously excited.

"They even mocked me, saying I dreamt it all. Go to hell! I've figured out where they heard those two stories from."

"Where?" My mind was now fully awake.

"Hmph, hmph."

"Hmph, you head over there! Speak!"

"Make a nice sound." Ye Tong really got cocky.

"Aunt."

"Click." He actually hung up the phone.

I was depressed for a long time, and finally realized that what I received was "Na Duo's Notes" and not "Ye Tong's Notes". No matter what, if anything bad happened, it would happen to me, and it had nothing to do with Miss Ye. I really had no right to stand up for myself, so I had no choice but to call Ye Tong.

"Hello."

"Huh?" A questioning voice with a long trailing tone came from the other end.

I cleared my throat: "Miss Ye Tong, the most youthful and stunning beauty with a curvaceous figure, can you tell me where you heard these two stories from?"

Ye Tong almost choked with laughter, laughing for a long time. If she hadn't covered her mouth with her hand, she would have definitely scared her mother.

"I heard it from my cousin."

"Your cousin? Who is she?" Ye Tong's answer was quite different from what I had imagined.

"My cousin is a freshman in high school this year. Whenever she hears something strange, she runs to tell me. I don't know what's going on in her little head."

I thought to myself, "Isn't this just like you?" Of course, I didn't dare say it out loud.

"My cousin told me these two stories, and she read them in a youth literature magazine called 'Sprout'."

"Sprout?" I know that magazine. It's currently China's best-selling literary publication targeting the youth market, and many of the most promising young writers in recent years debuted in it. But how come Na Duo's two memoirs, "A Lost Night" and "The Sailboat," were already published in this magazine? What's going on?

"It's 'Mengya' (Sprout). I just called her to confirm, and she even checked for me. It was published in issue 9 and issue 12 of 2001. The editor in charge is named Wei Lin."

"Thank you," I said earnestly. Although I still didn't understand what was going on, this was clearly an important clue.

"Take me with you tomorrow."

"What?"

"Don't tell me you're not going to the Sprouts magazine office tomorrow to find out what's going on."

"I remember that as a reporter, you still have to work regular hours, right?" Ye Tong is a reporter for an internal publication, unlike us regular reporters who have more freedom and need to report to our superiors before going out for interviews.

"I can take leave."

"Stop messing around. I promise you, I'll report to you immediately if there's any progress." I really didn't want to drag Ye Tong into this, not because I was afraid she'd ruin things, but because this matter seemed strange and unpredictable. It was hard to say how much danger was lurking behind it, and it was clearly aimed at me. There was no need to bring a friend into the danger. But I couldn't say this to her outright, otherwise, with that stubborn girl's personality, I wouldn't be able to shake her off no matter what.

"You promise?" It seems Ye Tong's boss is really strict.

“I promise.” “These two stories were told to me by my cousin, who read them in a youth literature magazine called ‘Sprout’.”

"Sprout?" I know that magazine. It's currently China's best-selling literary publication targeting the youth market, and many of the most promising young writers in recent years debuted in it. But how come Na Duo's two memoirs, "A Lost Night" and "The Sailboat," were already published in this magazine? What's going on?

"It's 'Mengya' (Sprout). I just called her to confirm, and she even checked for me. It was published in issue 9 and issue 12 of 2001. The editor in charge is named Wei Lin."

"Thank you," I said earnestly. Although I still didn't understand what was going on, this was clearly an important clue.

"Take me with you tomorrow."

"What?"

"Don't tell me you're not going to the Sprouts magazine office tomorrow to find out what's going on."

"I remember that as a reporter, you still have to work regular hours, right?" Ye Tong is a reporter for an internal publication, unlike us regular reporters who have more freedom and need to report to our superiors before going out for interviews.

"I can take leave."

"Stop messing around. I promise you, I'll report to you immediately if there's any progress." I really didn't want to drag Ye Tong into this, not because I was afraid she'd ruin things, but because this matter seemed strange and unpredictable. It was hard to say how much danger was lurking behind it, and it was clearly aimed at me. There was no need to bring a friend into the danger. But I couldn't say this to her outright, otherwise, with that stubborn girl's personality, I wouldn't be able to shake her off no matter what.

"You promise?" It seems Ye Tong's boss is really strict.

"I promise."

Falling asleep again proved quite difficult, after all, I'm still a bit different from a real pig. I don't doubt Ye Tong's words; she wouldn't be so bored as to lie to me like that. However, the two notebooks of Na Duo's that had gone through so much trouble to finally reach me, which should have contained extremely secretive stories, are now being published openly in a magazine. Even more outrageous is that the article "Na Duo's Notebook: The Covered Boat" was published in *Mengya* magazine so early, nine months before I even saw it. Why go through the trouble of sending me an article that's so easy to see? Did they know I don't read *Mengya*?

Conversely, if showing me this in this way is to get my attention, then what is the purpose of prominently featuring it in a magazine with monthly sales of 500,000 copies?

I arrived at the Sprout Magazine office at 9 a.m. the next day. I rarely woke up that early; at this hour, the newspaper's lobby would probably still be empty, with no lights on.

The address was given to me by a reporter from the newspaper who covered publishing; it turned out to be in the same building as the Shanghai Writers Association. Near Shaanxi Road on Julu Road, a magnificent Western-style house stands weathered and worn. Undoubtedly, in old Shanghai before 1949, this was the residence of some tycoon. Now, a few green bamboo stalks at the entrance hint at the different status of the current residents.

The doorman told me that the Sprout Magazine office was on the second floor of this villa. As I stepped inside, my heart skipped a beat.

This is a truly impressive layout. A crystal chandelier hangs from the very high ceiling in the lobby, its light refracting brilliantly onto the winding staircase. Beautiful stained-glass windows line both sides of the staircase, and the handrails are adorned with exquisite carvings. Describing these details is pointless, because I won't be intimidated by them.

Having been a journalist for several years, I wouldn't be so captivated by the decor and layout of this place; I simply thought it was nice. But as soon as I stepped inside, a sense of unease washed over me. For a moment, I even had the eerie feeling that the vast space before me was shrinking and expanding, causing me to involuntarily take a step back.

But that feeling was fleeting, and everything returned to normal.

Has it started? I asked myself silently. It seems I came to the right place this time.

I went up the stairs to the second floor. The long corridor was very quiet, with only one office door open. I knocked and went in. A woman told me that the magazine's editors hadn't started work yet and I would have to wait about half an hour.

Next to the stairs on the second floor, there was a door leading to a terrace. The terrace was large, with a mottled stone table and chairs. A large tree downstairs shaded half of the terrace. I touched the stone bench with my hand; it was dusty, so it seemed it wasn't cleaned every day. Luckily, I was wearing jeans, so I didn't care and sat down to wait quietly.

The sun hadn't yet fully unleashed its heat; the tree canopy overhead blocked the sunlight but couldn't stop the cool breeze, and all was quiet. Working here would be truly leisurely.

The hallway gradually filled with voices, and footsteps became more frequent. I checked my watch; it was past 9:30.

Having found out where Weilin's office was, I walked to the end of the corridor. The door was ajar; I knocked, then pushed it open.

"Is Wei Lin here?" A man in his thirties who was looking down at his manuscript looked up in response.

"Hello, I'm Na Duo, a reporter from Morning Star. I'd like to ask you for some help." I handed over my business card. I figured stating my profession would be more advantageous than identifying myself as an ordinary reader. Besides, I don't even read this magazine. I'm past my prime and have never been a literary youth. Although I occasionally write in Na Duo's journal, it's just a record and a reminder.

"Na Duo?" Wei Lin stood up. "You've finally shown up. I've been looking for you for so long."

I smiled wryly; I thought he had mistaken me for someone else.

"I am Na Duo, but I am not the Na Duo who submitted the article to you."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Wei Lin said, slightly embarrassed. "That surname is quite rare, so I thought it was the same person. It's such a coincidence that there are two people named Na Duo." As he spoke, he pulled out a chair for me.

"It's a coincidence, and besides, I came here specifically for that Nado." I stated my purpose directly.

To avoid being seen as crazy, I naturally didn't reveal the real reason. I often need to do this; lessons learned are always profoundly impactful.

Actually, my reasons to Wei Lin were perfectly reasonable. I'd never heard of another person with the surname Na in the entire Shanghai media circle, let alone someone like "Na Duo" whose work situation was so similar to mine. And while the novel published in *Mengya* didn't explicitly state that "Na Duo" worked for the *Morning Star*, there were numerous similarities between the two publications. With so many suspicious points, I had every reason to suspect that someone who knew me was using my name, causing "great trouble" for my work and life.

"It's really like that." Wei Lin was somewhat surprised. "Thinking about it, it makes sense. If someone were so similar to you, and had the same name, any friend who knows you would definitely be convinced it was you who wrote these novels. These are all science fiction; if they were factual, the impact on you would be much greater."

“Even science fiction is troublesome. For professions like ours, writing articles requires absolute accuracy. I wonder what the newspaper leaders would think if they saw these strange novels signed ‘Na Duo’. Could you tell me how to contact this ‘Na Duo’? I’d like to talk to him.” Wei Lin spread his hands: “We haven’t been able to contact him yet.”

This wasn't a particularly surprising answer, but I'm sure I can get some key information from Cong Weilin.

"Around March of 2001, I received these three submissions. I found them very readable and used them one after another. However, the submissions didn't include an address, which I assumed the author had forgotten. After publishing the first article in June, I thought the author would contact the magazine, but they didn't. The second article was published, but they didn't contact us either. Later, we posted a statement on our magazine's website to find the author, and when we published the third article, we included an editorial note hoping the author would contact the magazine. But to this day, we still haven't heard anything..."

"Three stories? You mean three short stories were published in 'Sprout' magazine? I thought there were only two. When was the third one published?" The information I wanted started to appear.

“Last year’s last issue was called ‘Na Duo’s Notes: The Sailboat’,” Wei Lin replied.

I realized I had made a silly mistake. Why did the order in which the novels were published in the magazine "Mengya" have to be the same as the order in which I received the black book?

"Ah, I saw that one. I also saw 'Na Duo's Diary: A Lost Night,' and another one was..."

"It's 'Na Duo's Notes: From Taikoo,' published in the July 2001 issue."

"Can you still find it here? I'd really like to see it."

"Wait a minute." Wei Lin stood up and walked towards the door, but then suddenly turned back and poured me a cup of tea.

"I'm so sorry, I've been talking for so long I even forgot about tea. I need to look for that magazine in the archives, you might have to wait a little while."

"Thank you so much," I said, thanking him.

About fifteen minutes later, Welling came in carrying a magazine. It had taken him some effort to find this two-year-old magazine, and a light sweat was already beading on his forehead. He turned to a certain page and handed it to me.

“This is the one,” he said.

"Na Duo's Notes: From Ancient Times"! This is a note I've never seen before, the third one!

I glanced through it, and it's clear now that it's not a good time.

"Do you have a photocopier here?" I asked.

"No need, this book is for you."

"By the way, since all three journal entries were sent to the magazine at the same time, why was the third one published more than a year later?"

Wei Lin laughed: "After the first two articles were published, the leaders felt that such novels were too..." His voice became much softer: "...they felt that we are not 'Science Fiction World' here, and we should publish more works with strong literary qualities. However, last year, the magazine's publishing policy was adjusted, and it was to transform towards the popular market. The first two articles were well received, so the third article was published."

I nodded in understanding. It's true that it's difficult for subordinates to keep changing their minds. There are too many similar cases in my own newspaper. Today they say that a report doesn't have any news value and can't be published, but tomorrow they see that other newspapers have done a whole page on it and immediately demand that they follow suit.

That was probably all I could gain from the Sprout Magazine. They had no idea how to distribute those three payments. I thanked Wei Lin, put the magazine in my bag, and got up to leave.

The instant I stood up, without any warning, I was enveloped in a sudden, eerie feeling. I can hardly describe the exact situation at that moment; the world changed in an instant, I was gripped by immense panic, and I was certain that I was being held firmly by a force, while everyone else in the room, even Wellin who was standing right next to me, was completely unaware.

My heart was beating incredibly slowly, "thump, thump," as if my own time was flowing in a completely different way from the outside world. Even my movements as I stood up slowed down, like slow motion in a movie. But deep down, I felt an extreme danger was looming over me. I had never felt this impending doom even in the terrifying cave.

I felt myself being pulled away from the world before me. I was still standing in the office of Sprout Magazine, and Weilin was standing up to shake my hand and say goodbye, but I felt that the distance between us was getting farther and farther. The scorching sunlight streaming in through the window was dimming and the whole world was fading. I felt like someone standing in an old photograph!

My out-of-control hand touched the pen holder on the table. This unique metal pen holder had caught my eye when I first came in, but now it was pulled off the table by my hand. I watched helplessly as the pen holder tumbled and fell, the pens inside flying out. Slowly, slowly, a fountain pen touched the ground and bounced away, then a fountain pen, then a pencil, and then the entire pen holder. The pens still inside the pen holder were suddenly thrown out of the holder...

Yes, as those pens flew out of my sight, my senses returned to normal. The colors of the world came back, and my legs, which had been straightening as I stood up, disappeared. The disorientation in speed vanished, and the loud "clang" of the pen holder hitting the ground, which had startled me, reached my ears.

I felt weak all over, and my legs, which I had just stood up, gave way, so I sat back down.

For Weilin, it was just that my hand accidentally touched the pen holder when I stood up. But for me, it was like walking a tightrope between life and death?

Previously, I had never felt this bad when facing death. Was I about to face death, or some other unknown situation?

Cold sweat streamed down my face. I wanted to say something to Wellin, but I found my mouth trembling. I knew that if I tried to stand up now, I would only embarrass myself, so I sat back down in the chair and bent over to tidy up the pen holder. From Wellin's perspective, though, I probably already looked rather strange.

"I'm so sorry, I was so careless." I quickly picked up the pens; thankfully, they weren't scattered too far.

"It's alright, but you don't look too well. Is something wrong?" Wei Lin asked kindly.

"It's nothing, I should go." I recovered quickly; having gone through some things, I calmed myself down soon enough. But the feeling from earlier still made my heart pound in my chest.