10: He's a monster!

Shen Qingqiu clutched her phone, standing in the bleak autumn wind, her mind buzzing.

A freak?

For that word to come from the mouth of a highly respected university professor was truly shocking.

For a moment, she couldn't tell if it was a compliment or an insult.

"Professor Li, what... what do you mean? Is the result of the competition... very bad?"

Shen Qingqiu’s heart leaped into her throat, her voice tightening.

She was almost certain that the kid, Lin Que, definitely hadn't followed her instructions to "take it easy."

"Bad? No, it's not bad!"

Li Yuanchao immediately denied it on the other end, even letting out a couple of laughs.

"It's not just 'not bad,' it's... fantastic! So good that it almost made us old fogies flip our tables!"

Shen Qingqiu was completely bewildered.

What was going on?

"Professor Li, could you be a bit clearer? I... I don't understand."

"Hahaha, of course you don't understand, because you haven't seen that essay!"

Li Yuanchao's tone became excited again.

"The topic was 'Hope.' Do you know what he wrote?

He wrote about a world without a sun, about a person who spent their entire life nurturing a so-called spark of hope.

In the end, that spark didn't turn into a sun; it turned into a black monster that devoured everything!

He dragged the entire world into an even deeper darkness!"

Shen Qingqiu let out a sharp breath, goosebumps instantly covering her back.

It was that feeling again!

The exact same bone-chilling cold she felt when reading 'back to back.'

She could even imagine the exasperated expression on an old-school man of letters like Wang Shouyi when he saw such an article.

"This... isn't this just nonsense!"

Shen Qingqiu blurted out instinctively, but as soon as the words left her mouth, she felt something was wrong.

"Nonsense? Yes, that's exactly what Wang Shouyi said. He called it a poisonous weed, a sacrilege, and left in a huff on the spot."

Li Yuanchao's tone shifted.

"But for the rest of us, not a single person wasn't shaken.

Xiao Shen, do you understand?

How long has it been since we've seen writing like this?

Daring to take everything people believe in, throw it to the ground, and crush it to pieces!

And then making you look at that pile of fragments and think about what it originally looked like!"

"There's a devilish power in his writing—calm, precise, cruel, yet full of charm!

We judges almost came to blows over how to grade his essay!

I gave it a perfect score, and Teacher Zhao gave it a perfect score too!

In the end, Wang Shouyi stormed off, and the matter has been at a standstill."

Shen Qingqiu no longer knew what to say.

Her mind was a mess, caught between Li Yuanchao's near-manic praise and Lin Que’s face with its innocent smile.

"'I used a firefly as a metaphor for a dreamer... eventually, it realized its value and lit up the whole world.'"

That liar!

He had lied through his teeth without even blinking!

"Then... what about the competition results?"

Shen Qingqiu asked with difficulty.

"The results?"

Li Yuanchao sighed.

"He probably won't get a ranking. Wang Shouyi is the Chairman, after all. If he's dead set on suppressing it, there's not much we can do.

However, the ranking isn't important anymore, Xiao Shen.

Remember, your No. 1 Middle School has produced an incredible genius—no, a freak!

Protect him. Don't let him be ruined by those rules and conventions!

I'll find a way to let more people see this article!"

After hanging up, Shen Qingqiu stood there for a long time.

The autumn wind blew the hem of her trench coat, but she didn't feel the chill, for her heart was already in turmoil.

She looked back in the direction Lin Que had left; the boy's figure had already disappeared into the crowd.

She suddenly felt that...

As a strict teacher who prided herself on being a good judge of character, she had never truly known the boy who slept in class.

...

When Lin Que returned home, the house was empty.

His parents were still at the factory at this hour; they usually didn't return until after seven in the evening.

He changed his shoes, threw himself onto the peeling old sofa in the living room, and let out a long sigh of relief.

Dealing with those judges living in the past was far more mentally exhausting than writing a shocking story.

He still preferred the quiet of the moment, enjoying the feeling of everything being under his control.

He took out his phone again, opened the bank message, and stared at the two-million balance for a full minute.

Two million.

Lin Que's fingertips brushed over the string of numbers, feeling a burning weight.

It was no longer just a cold string of change from his scriptwriting fees in his previous life.

He remembered clearly.

Even when he was earning millions a year at twenty-seven,

His mother's hands were still as rough as sandpaper.

His father's waist throbbed with pain whenever it rained because of an injury sustained at a construction site in his youth.

He himself had been plagued by various illnesses at a young age due to staying up late for years.

Those were regrets he could never make up for, no matter how much money he earned in his previous life.

But now.

This money meant his mother could say goodbye to those skin-corroding chemicals, and his father could straighten the back that had been bent by the years.

This was a brand-new future that was ten years late, but one he could finally grasp with his own hands.

He took a deep breath and dialed his mother's number.

"Hello? Little Que, is the competition over? How was it?"

His mother's concerned voice came from the other end, mixed with the roar of machinery in the background.

"Mom, it's over. It was okay."

Lin Que smiled and changed the subject.

"You and Dad should come home early tonight. Don't work overtime."

"What nonsense are you talking? If we don't work a bit more overtime, where will the money for your university come from?

You don't worry about us. Find something to eat at home; there are leftovers from yesterday in the fridge..."

"Mom."

Lin Que interrupted her.

"Mom, listen to me. This is very important; I have to tell you in person. You must come back early today."

His mother was stunned for a moment on the other end.

"What's wrong with you today, child? Fine, fine, I'll go tell your father. We'll leave at six and won't work overtime."

After hanging up, Lin Que sat quietly on the sofa.

He watched the sky gradually darken outside the window, waiting for the door to be pushed open.

He walked into his small bedroom, looked at the buzzing old computer, and a smile appeared on his lips.

This tiny room was about to become history.

He needed a real creative space that belonged only to him.

A place where he could release the shocking stories in his head without any reservations.

At 6:30 PM, the door lock turned.

Lin Que’s parents, Lin Jianguo and Wang Xiulian, walked in one after another.

Their faces bore the fatigue of a day's labor at the factory.

"Little Que, why did you call us back so mysteriously? What is it?"

Wang Xiulian asked while changing her shoes.

Lin Jianguo walked to the sofa without a word and habitually thumped his lower back.

Lin Que poured them each a glass of water.

His gaze swept over his father's hand thumping his back,

Then landed on the abnormal red flush on his mother's wrist caused by years of contact with chemicals.

He didn't speak, but simply knelt by the coffee table and looked up at them,

The living room lights illuminated the silver strands at their temples.

He fell silent for a moment, then broke the silence with a voice that was both calm and firm.

"Dad, Mom."

"Tomorrow, quit your jobs."