The weather today was remarkable. By noon, it had warmed significantly compared to the past few days. Sunlight poured into the room through the windows, gentle and golden. The autumn breeze wafting in from the courtyard had softened, making its touch on the skin both fresh and invigorating. Though the late autumn wind carried a coolness, it was far from biting, instead offering a revitalizing crispness.
Cheng Xing appreciated the winds of this era deeply. Whether it was the soft warmth of summer or the refreshing chill of autumn, they carried a natural purity. Unlike the artificial air churned out by air conditioning systems in later years, this breeze felt alive. Back then, people didn't rely on machines to regulate their environment year-round. Summers and winters may have been harsher, but they didn't suffocate you with stale, recycled air. Over time, Cheng Xing knew, humanity's dependence on artificial air would bring with it an undercurrent of monotony and unease. But for now, in 2010, in this small town of Ancheng, every breath seemed to hold the essence of the era—a mixture of nature, simplicity, and freedom.
Across the room, Jiang Luxi sat knitting a sweater. Her hands moved methodically, yet her focus wasn't entirely on the task. Cheng Xing, seated nearby, lazily sipped tea while half-watching TV. The sound of the program filled the room, a comforting backdrop to their quiet afternoon. Every so often, Jiang Luxi's gaze flicked toward the TV, momentarily drawn in by whatever was playing.
Her family had once owned a Skyworth television, a color TV that her parents had brought back from Shanghai when she was just starting school. That television had been a source of contention. She vividly remembered the heated argument between her parents about it. Her mother had insisted that a cheaper black-and-white TV was sufficient. But her father had argued otherwise, saying, "If we're buying one, let's get a good one. It'll last a long time, and even when we're gone, Luxi can still use it."
In the end, her mother relented, though it had been a hard-won victory for her father. What stuck with Jiang Luxi most wasn't just the TV itself but the sacrifices that came with it. That year, her parents had left for Shanghai even earlier than usual, heading back to the city shortly after Chinese New Year to make enough money for the purchase.
Years later, during her middle school days, lightning had struck their home during a storm, damaging the television beyond repair. It had remained in their house, a silent relic of their better days. Her grandmother had often talked about selling it during harder times, but Jiang Luxi never allowed it. It was one of the few things her parents had left behind.
Though she hadn't read Romance of the Three Kingdoms in its entirety, she knew the basics from school. Once, while browsing a bookstore for exercise books, she'd seen a copy of the novel and had been tempted to buy it. But when the shopkeeper quoted a price of 20 to 30 yuan, her hopes were dashed. Luxi had quickly decided the Four Great Classical Novels would have to wait for another day. Ancheng No. 1 High School didn't even have a library, making books of that kind a rare luxury.
This memory surfaced now as she glanced at the television. It was showing an adaptation of Romance of the Three Kingdoms, and although she kept knitting, she found herself drawn to the story. The episode was nearing its climax—a famous scene where Ma Chao fiercely pursued Cao Cao. Only when the episode ended did she glance at the clock and realize it was almost one o'clock.
"Time for tutoring," Jiang Luxi said, setting down her knitting needles and yarn.
"Alright," Cheng Xing replied, turning off the TV.
Cheng Xing had wanted to change the channel earlier. After all, he'd seen this show countless times. But when he noticed how engrossed Jiang Luxi was, he chose not to disturb her. Instead, he let the episode play out.
They settled down to study. Jiang Luxi carefully explained key concepts and assigned Cheng Xing targeted exercises. By the time they finished, it was already five o'clock.
"Be safe on your way back," Cheng Xing said as Jiang Luxi prepared to leave.
"Okay," she nodded, pushing her bike out of the door and closing it softly behind her.
Cheng Xing stretched and took a deep breath, his mind shifting gears. After finishing the exercises Jiang Luxi had assigned, he turned on his computer and continued working on "Ancheng". Having written it before, he was making steady progress. In a month and a half, he had already written over 70,000 words.
Thanks to the recent days off, Cheng Xing had found time to focus on his writing. On regular school days, he could manage to write one to two thousand words in the evenings after school. During holidays, after finishing tutoring by five o'clock, he had the luxury of devoting more time to his work, often completing three to four thousand words in a single session.
The progress of Ancheng was moving along faster than he had anticipated. However, this rewrite was markedly different from his original attempt. With his broader perspective and richer life experiences compared to his previous life, Cheng Xing estimated that this version would be significantly longer than the original. He predicted the new manuscript would span close to 200,000 words—several tens of thousands more than the first draft.
In traditional literary terms, a 200,000-word novel was considered long. Industry standards categorized anything over 70,000 words as a "long novel," but Cheng Xing knew this rewrite was about more than just hitting a word count. It was about depth and detail.
In his past life, writing had been a slow, often arduous process. Completing a novel of this length had taken him nearly a year. But now, whether it was due to the energy from his rebirth or the passion he felt for revisiting Ancheng, he found himself revitalized, as though he were a tree sprouting vibrant new leaves after a long, parched drought.
Previously, sitting at a computer for hours to write had been a grueling challenge. Only when inspiration struck in fleeting moments did he manage to sustain his efforts. Now, however, inspiration seemed endless. All he needed was to sit down, and the words flowed effortlessly. For any writer, this kind of creative abundance was pure bliss.
Even though this version would be longer, Cheng Xing felt confident in his pace. At a rate of 70,000 words per month, he believed he could complete Ancheng within two months. His goal was to have it ready for publication by the end of the year.
The next morning, after breakfast, Cheng Xing turned on the TV, tuning in to the previous day's episode of Three Kingdoms. As expected, Jiang Luxi was nearby, her hands skillfully knitting another sweater while occasionally glancing at the screen. The rhythmic click of her needles filled the room, a quiet but comforting sound.
Suddenly, the creak of the door opening echoed through the house. Cheng Xing's mother, Deng Ying, had returned.
"Have you eaten?" Deng Ying asked as she stepped inside.
"We just did," Cheng Xing replied casually.
"And Little Xi? Has she eaten too?" Deng Ying glanced toward Jiang Luxi.
"Yes, I have," Jiang Luxi said with a nod.
Deng Ying's gaze fell on the knitting in her hands. "Why are you knitting another sweater? Didn't you just finish one not long ago?"
"This one's for Grandma," Jiang Luxi replied, her tone light yet sincere.
"What a thoughtful child," Deng Ying said, a mix of admiration and tenderness in her voice. Knitting sweaters by hand had become something of a lost art. With modern machines, a sweater could be made in days, and store-bought ones were inexpensive. Few people had the patience or skill to knit by hand anymore.
"This was something we used to do back in the day," Deng Ying continued, watching Jiang Luxi's deft movements. "But I've forgotten how to knit. I never thought someone your age would be so good at it."
"Mom, I don't think you were ever as fast as she is," Cheng Xing teased with a playful smile.
Deng Ying chuckled, shaking her head. "That's true. Knitting takes skill. You need patience, and the stitches have to be tight and even from the start. If they're uneven, the whole sweater won't turn out right."
Her gaze shifted to the sweater Jiang Luxi was wearing. "Little Xi's work is beautiful," she said with genuine admiration. "Truly talented and skillful."
Jiang Luxi smiled softly, her fingers never pausing as the sweater in her lap slowly took shape.