126: Chapter 126 A Grand Master Arrives, Asking Only One Question

At nine o'clock the next morning, Lu Zhixian woke up before his alarm.

Before heading out, he sent Lao Zhao a message.

"Should I buy some fruit on the way?"

Lao Zhao replied instantly.

"You're going to see Senior Judge Qin Baichuan, not Uncle Wang downstairs."

"I'd still have to bring fruit for Uncle Wang too."

"Can you be a bit more serious?"

"I am very serious. Tangerines or apples?"

Lao Zhao sent an ellipsis, then sent another message five seconds later.

"Tangerines, then. An elderly person might not have the best teeth."

Lu Zhixian smiled and headed out.

The meeting place was chosen by Senior Judge Qin Baichuan, a teahouse near an old residential area in the west of the city.

It wasn't a high-end establishment, just a regular street-side teahouse with a faded cloth curtain hanging at the entrance, furnished with old-fashioned square tables and wooden chairs inside.

Lao Zhao arrived before him, standing at the entrance of the teahouse in a sharp suit with his hair slicked back with gel, looking as if he were about to attend an awards ceremony.

Seeing Lu Zhixian walking over with a bag of tangerines, Lao Zhao's expression became quite complicated.

"You actually bought them."

"I said I would."

Lao Zhao took a deep breath and said in a low voice, "When we go in later, don't talk too much, and don't be too casual. Elder Qin doesn't really like—"

"Doesn't really like what?"

"He doesn't really like young people who are too slick."

Lu Zhixian nodded. "Then I'll just speak normally."

"Is your 'normal' actually normal, bro?"

Lu Zhixian didn't reply to that and pushed the door open to enter.

There weren't many people in the teahouse. An elderly man sat in a corner seat by the window.

His hair was completely white, but he looked in good spirits.

He wore a gray, front-buttoning jacket, with a pot of tea in front of him and his cup only half-filled.

Senior Judge Qin Baichuan.

Seventy-eight years old.

Lu Zhixian walked over and placed the tangerines on the table.

"Elder Qin, I brought you some fruit."

Senior Judge Qin Baichuan looked up at him, his gaze pausing briefly on the bag.

"Sit."

Lu Zhixian pulled out a chair and sat down. Lao Zhao followed behind, finding a seat slightly further away, sitting with his back stick-straight.

Senior Judge Qin Baichuan poured him a cup of tea. His movements were slow, and his hand was steady.

The teahouse owner brought over a few small plates of peanuts and melon seeds. Senior Judge Qin Baichuan nodded at him, and the owner withdrew.

Silence fell for about ten seconds.

Lao Zhao felt like those ten-odd seconds stretched on for ten-odd minutes.

Senior Judge Qin Baichuan spoke.

"How old are you this year?"

"Twenty-eight."

"Twenty-eight," he repeated.

Then he raised his eyes and looked straight at Lu Zhixian.

"You are so young. How were you able to write Fugui?"

Lao Zhao's hands rested on his knees, his fingers twitching slightly.

A twenty-eight-year-old youth who previously made music and played the piano, having almost no intersection with literature.

But the Fugui he wrote about, spanning over seventy years of life—every hardship felt grounded, and every death rang true.

This wasn't something that could be solved by mere technique.

No matter how good one's technique is, if they haven't seen those things, they can't write them.

The relaxed smile on Lu Zhixian's face faded slightly.

Not out of nervousness.

But out of seriousness.

He thought for a few seconds.

"Elder Qin, I've never farmed, and I've never carried a gun."

Senior Judge Qin Baichuan didn't speak, waiting for him to continue.

"But I've seen it."

Lu Zhixian's voice wasn't heavy, and his pace didn't change; he just spoke very calmly.

"I've seen people sit in hospital corridors all night, only to stand up at dawn, wipe their faces, and go pay the bills..."

He paused.

"I've also seen people who didn't cry at a funeral, but when they got home, they sat at the dining table and stared blankly at a bowl of noodles for a long time."

The teahouse was very quiet. Two old men at the neighboring table were playing chess, and even the sound of the pieces hitting the board could be heard.

"Some hardships don't necessarily have to be experienced firsthand," Lu Zhixian said.

"But as long as a person has truly observed how others live, they cannot pretend they didn't see."

Senior Judge Qin Baichuan looked at him.

Lao Zhao noticed that the elderly man's hand holding the teacup stopped in mid-air, remaining motionless for several seconds.

This old man had spent most of his life as a literary judge, having read thousands of works and met hundreds of writers.

There were plenty of smart and talented young people, but most of them suffered from a common ailment.

They were either arrogant and eager to prove how amazing they were, or overly humble, constantly saying, 'I'm still young, I'm still learning.'

The young man before him did neither.

He didn't boast about his greatness, nor did he assume a low posture. He was simply stating a fact: I saw it, so I wrote it.

Senior Judge Qin Baichuan set his teacup down.

"When I read your book, there was one part I read over and over, three times."

Lu Zhixian didn't ask where it was.

Senior Judge Qin Baichuan said it himself.

"After Fugui buried Youqing and returned home, Jiazhen asked him where Youqing was. He said Youqing was at school, and the teacher wouldn't let him come back."

The old man finished speaking and fell silent for a moment.

"There are many who write about suffering. And not a few who write suffering as a tearjerker. But you didn't. You had Fugui tell a lie, deceiving his wife and deceiving himself. This lie is more painful than crying."

Senior Judge Qin Baichuan looked at Lu Zhixian and slowly nodded.

This was his first nod today.

"To be honest," Senior Judge Qin Baichuan's voice wasn't loud, but every word was steady.

"When I first saw your name on the recommendation list, I was hesitant."

Lao Zhao held his breath beside them.

"A musician, a champion pianist, suddenly running off to write a novel. No matter how you think about it, it just doesn't feel right."

There was no hostility in Senior Judge Qin Baichuan's tone. He was merely stating facts.

"But I have a habit. No matter what I think in my heart, once the work is placed before me, I will read it through first before saying anything."

Lu Zhixian nodded.

"I've finished reading it," Senior Judge Qin Baichuan said.

"After reading it, I understood that this isn't something built on mere technique. There is one thing in writing that cannot be imitated."

He paused.

"The eyes."

"Your book has a pair of eyes that have witnessed things."

Lu Zhixian didn't say anything.

Senior Judge Qin Baichuan picked up a thin kraft paper envelope from beside his teacup and slid it to the center of the table.

"Take this."

Lu Zhixian glanced at it.

"A recommendation preface. I wrote it last night," Senior Judge Qin Baichuan said. "It's not long, about eight hundred words. Take a look; if you feel it's inappropriate, it can be changed."

Lao Zhao almost stood up from his chair.

"A recommendation preface."

A recommendation preface written by Senior Judge Qin Baichuan himself.

This old man hadn't written a recommendation preface for any newcomer in thirteen years.

The last person to receive this treatment later won the Huawen Literary Award twice and is now one of the benchmark figures in the domestic literary scene.

Lu Zhixian reached out to take the envelope, not rushing to open it.

"Elder Qin, thank you."

Senior Judge Qin Baichuan waved his hand and took a sip of his tea.

"Don't thank me too early."

Lu Zhixian looked up at him.

Senior Judge Qin Baichuan set down his cup, his expression now somewhat different from before.

Still calm, but with something more.

"The current situation of your book is not as simple as you think."

Lao Zhao's heart sank.

"Although the recommendation qualification for the Huawen Literary Award has passed, some within the Review Committee have already proposed a motion to disqualify to live from the competition."

Lu Zhixian didn't rush to reply, waiting for him to finish.

"The reason is that your work was published on an online literature platform rather than as a traditional publication, which does not conform to the consistent entry conventions of the Huawen Literary Award."

Lao Zhao spoke up. "But hasn't the official announcement already confirmed it? The process is compliant."

Senior Judge Qin Baichuan glanced at him.

"The announcement confirmed the recommendation qualification. The recommendation qualification and the entry qualification are not the same thing. A recommendation is an individual judge's action, while entry requires a collective vote by the Review Committee."

Lao Zhao shut his mouth.

Senior Judge Qin Baichuan turned his gaze back to Lu Zhixian.

"At the review meeting, someone will definitely use this to make a fuss. There is no problem with the recommendations from the three of us—myself, Teacher Ye Minglan, and Song Yuanzhi. However, there are seventeen members in the Review Committee in total. To enter the official list of candidates, we need at least a majority vote."

"How many are explicitly opposing it right now?" Lu Zhixian asked.

"From what I know, at least three. And there are several whose stances are unclear."

Senior Judge Qin Baichuan stopped here for a moment.

After hearing this, Lu Zhixian neither frowned nor sighed.

He nodded. "I understand."

Senior Judge Qin Baichuan looked at his reaction, seemingly somewhat surprised.

"You're not nervous?"

"Being nervous won't change how others vote."

Senior Judge Qin Baichuan fell silent for two seconds.

Then he smiled.

"You, young man," Senior Judge Qin Baichuan said, "are quite different from anyone I've met before."

Lu Zhixian also smiled. "Elder Qin has met many people; I won't join in on that crowd."

Senior Judge Qin Baichuan stood up, and Lu Zhixian rose with him.

The old man walked to the door and looked back at him.

"Write well. As for other matters, I'll block what I can block for you. What can't be blocked, you'll have to carry yourself."

Lu Zhixian stood in place and bowed slightly to him.

"Take care, Elder Qin."

Quiet returned to the teahouse.

"You heard that, right?" Lao Zhao whispered. "Someone inside the Review Committee is trying to block you."

"I heard."

"What are you going to do?"

Lu Zhixian pulled his chair back, sat down, and picked up the bag of tangerines on the table.

"Elder Qin didn't take the tangerines."

"Is that what you're concerned about right now?"

Lu Zhixian pulled a tangerine out of the bag, peeled it, and ate a slice.

"Some things can't be resolved just by me going out and arguing a few words."

"They say the platform is wrong, so let's talk about whether the platform is actually wrong."

"How?"

Lu Zhixian took out his phone and opened Weibo.

Lao Zhao immediately became alert. "You're going to post again?"

"Yeah."

"Can you let me see the content first?"

Lu Zhixian's fingers had already finished swiping across the screen.

"Already posted."

Lao Zhao closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

He opened his own phone and tapped into Lu Zhixian's Weibo homepage.

The latest update was posted thirty seconds ago.

"Where literature belongs shouldn't be decided by the platform."

Lao Zhao stared at this line of text for a long time.

He knew that starting tomorrow, the entire literary circle would be in an uproar again.

But he also knew something else.

Every time Lu Zhixian said something like this, the one left standing frozen in place in the end was never him.