Diary (II)

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April 25th, rainy. I, your humble narrator, have hatched yet another scheme. I will not compete in poetry or literary contests anymore. Though I did finish college, I know exactly how little I truly learned. It’s fine to spout a few lines here and there, but if I run dry, I’ll be doomed. Besides, everyone in the cultivation world is a prodigy, eloquent and cultured; let them duel with verses as they please—I’ll bow out gracefully!

Instead, I will invent things that have never existed in this cold, gloomy society! Glass! Carbonated drinks! I will make my fortune here! When the time comes, my parents will finally see me in a new light! I don’t even care if I get to begin my cultivation journey early or not. I just want them to see their son is not like all those foppish, gaudy types out there, but a true genius! I want my father to apologize to this clever little head of mine, which he’s always tapping in disapproval! Hahaha!

Right, time to sleep after writing this.

May 20th, overcast. It’s been a month since my last flash of inspiration. I’ve tried to recall the methods and processes for making all sorts of novel things. But did I ever actually memorize that many production methods? I should’ve been able to get started quickly, but it’s already been a month wasted. No, no, a genius like me couldn’t possibly have forgotten! This is just me gathering strength for a grand burst of brilliance!

I vaguely remember how glass is made but... never mind, let’s skip that. I doubt people here would appreciate something as flashy as glass anyway.

As for soda, I’m sure it can be made. I can even recall a rough recipe for a simple homemade version. This is it! I’ll create a legendary “Happiness Tonic” that everyone will praise! I truly am a genius!

Also, my father keeps looking at me, baffled by my odd behavior, and for no clear reason, he gave me another good beating. I’ll remember this grudge! I swear I’ll get my revenge! He won’t get a single drop of my Happiness Tonic!

September 3rd, clear. It’s been three months since my last diary entry. Yes, I went on hiatus again. If I were an author, I’d be sitting on a throne of blades by now, with every inch of my little room stuffed with razor blades.

To be honest, I’d rather forget these past three months. In short, my attempt to make cola failed. I was too naïve—this world simply lacks too many key ingredients for the Happiness Tonic. Still, there are geniuses left in this world—like me! Through relentless effort, I spent a month substituting various ingredients and managed to produce a fake Happiness Tonic! I was so excited that I sneaked off to find my foolish little brother. Of course, I wasn’t going to use my adorable sibling as a guinea pig—what kind of person do you take me for? I simply believed that happiness should be shared! After all, we’re family, and I’m no villain.

I remember carefully handing my fake tonic to my beloved little brother. He looked at me with utter distrust and indifference, but I intended to “gently” make him drink it anyway. That’s when my father appeared out of nowhere and caught me red-handed, delivering another harsh beating.

For some reason, I was filled with resentment. To prove to my father that I only wanted to share happiness, I took a big swig of my own tonic right in front of him. And then? Well, nothing after that—I got food poisoning and was bedridden for two months.

October 3rd, clear. Peaceful world, gentle breeze, clear skies. It’s the perfect day for a long nap. No more antics—just sleep. If being a salted fish is my fate, so be it; it’s better than constantly courting disaster. I want to live, to live well.

October 20th, pouring rain. The mood for song strikes.

“The rain keeps falling—
The atmosphere’s not quite warm—
Sharing the same roof—
You slowly feel your heart changing—”

My father complained I was too noisy and beat me again.

I stared at him, full of defiance!

“You love him—
Maybe there’s some hate too—”

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My father noticed my expression and caught the lyrics. The beating was even worse.

I give up. Let things be as they may. I swear I’ll burn incense for myself!

December 2nd, clear. Honestly, this is infuriating. My father’s getting addicted to hitting me, and lately, my mother sometimes joins in for fun.

I tried to protest, saying, “Mother, how can such a beautiful woman bear hitting such an adorable son?” My father quickly interjected, “When I strike my son, the pain reaches my own heart!”

Ha! I see through you both. You’re in cahoots! Fine then, bully me and I’ll just bully my little brother. We’re family, after all!

December 15th, overcast. I was wrong—completely wrong. My little brother is no longer the same as before. He’s mastered the art of tattling on his own, even when he could barely speak. When my parents found out I’d bullied him, I could sense the calm before the storm. Of course, I denied everything—how could I admit to such a thing?

After countless explanations, I was subjected to a dual beating from both parents, coerced into a confession, and left battered and bruised.

Damn it! A true man is open and honest, while a petty man is always anxious!

And then the beating was even worse...

Time to sleep. Life is joyless. Things are already so hard—why make them harder for myself? I’d better keep a low profile from now on. After all, I’m at the bottom of the food chain in this family.

Another year passed.

February 2nd, clear. Lunar New Year’s Eve. Looking at the delicate, youthful face in the bronze mirror, I can’t help but admire—handsome as jade, unparalleled among young men.

Ahem, back to business. Today is New Year’s Eve; I’ve grown another year older, one step closer to the path of cultivation—assuming I survive that long.

My little brother is three now, but he often ignores me. Why? What did I ever do to him? Was it the time I put a caterpillar in his pants? Or did he find out about the time I dressed him up in a little skirt as a baby? Sigh, my little brother is just too sensitive, despite all my careful guidance and good intentions.

Fireworks lit up the sky on New Year’s Eve, mesmerizing and beautiful. My parents snuck off to whisper to each other, so at least I didn’t get beaten today—a small happiness.

...Is my standard for happiness really this low? My little brother looked at me with a frosty indifference. Was it just my imagination, or did he seem annoyed with me? It must be my imagination. I took a bunch of fireworks from the dainty, adorable maid, caught my little brother, and lit one for him—slipped it right into his pants. I don’t think brothers should be so distant.

...

Postscript: At the hour of the Pig, my father appeared at my door. He said he and mother had been discussing whether they’d forgotten something important today. Only after my little brother came crying to them did he remember. In the end, I still couldn’t escape.

Yu Yunfan! I will not rest until we’re even!

May 6th, clear. Today, Uncle Wang from next door came—wait, no, it was actually the head of the Wang family from Qingshan Town. As the saying goes, “One doesn’t visit the temple for no reason; one doesn’t go to the outhouse without business.”

...That metaphor doesn’t seem quite right. Anyway, it seems he came about the upcoming spiritual mine competition behind Qingshan Town. He wanted my father to support their family as an ally in the once-a-decade contest against the Lin family.

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My father refused, simply put: “With such payment, I cannot do this for you.”

Heh.

June 10th, clear. Peaceful world, gentle breeze, clear skies. It’s the perfect day to snuggle under the covers with someone—except, there’s no one to snuggle with. I’m still just a child. It’s the nth day of missing an older sister.

Today, the Song family sent visitors, bringing along an adorable little girl, about my age. A three-year windfall—certainly no loss on a death sentence! Could this be the legendary arranged marriage?

Father, you don’t need my permission—I’m all for it!

June 11th, clear. I was overthinking things. It was just another person wanting my father to serve as a hired thug for the spiritual mine. The talks fell through, of course, but business aside, friendship remains. I struck up a fine friendship with the Song family’s little girl, though she didn’t spare me a glance. Still, I believe that with enough sincerity, even metal and stone can be touched!

Wait—does this make me a “simp”?

October 15th, overcast. I hear the spiritual mine competition starts today, but my parents aren’t interested in taking us to witness the spectacle; they’re too busy being lovey-dovey.

Hmph. Public displays of affection—die... Never mind, they’re my parents after all. If they hadn’t been so affectionate, I probably wouldn’t even exist.

November 11th, clear. In these five long months, my longing for the Song family’s little girl has been like three autumns in a single day. I miss her, I long to see her.

Wait, when did I become a lolicon? Shouldn’t I be infatuated with a wise, elegant, curvy older sister instead?

Then my father found out about this and was quite pleased, saying I had inherited his flair. Then, calling me hopeless, he thrashed me again and reminisced about his romantic youth.

And then mother found out—though what she heard was that I’d told her about father’s past escapades. She beat him up and said he’d be sleeping in the guest room for the foreseeable future.

Aha! I told you I’d get my revenge! No true gentleman lets a grudge go unavenged!

December 12th, rainy. Another month-long hiatus. Father found out I’d tattled to mother and beat me again.

“To risk it all for beauty”—doesn’t seem quite fitting either?

Spent another month bedridden. Miserable.