103: I dare not refuse a gift from an elder.

Shen Qingqiu felt her head buzzing.

Waiting for Lin Que?

In this cold wind?

And for a while already?

This kind of treatment—not to mention a student, even if the city's leaders came, they might not get it!

"The chili oil at that small shop is a bit pungent, Student Lin, is it to your liking?" Gu Changfeng asked, his hands behind his back, looking at Lin Que with a smile, his tone as familiar as if he were greeting a junior of his own family.

Lin Que did not show any sign of being flattered.

He simply bowed slightly, polite and neither servile nor overbearing, and replied:

"The flavor is authentic, spicy enough, and has a kick. It has much more character than the tea at the venue."

Shen Qingqiu's heart tightened; she subconsciously tensed her arm, her fingertips almost digging into Lin Que's sleeve.

"Hahahaha!"

Gu Changfeng laughed heartily and pointed at Lin Que as he said to Liang Wenyou beside him:

"Old Liang, look, didn't I say this kid is a fascinating person? This wild spirit is just like us when we were young."

Liang Wenyou also laughed and pushed up his glasses:

"Indeed. There are many young people nowadays who can write, but most are potted plants in a greenhouse—exquisite, but shallow-rooted. A wild rose like Student Lin, who dares to show his thorns in the wind, is a rare species."

After laughing, Liang Wenyou composed his expression:

"Student Lin, because of some unexpected situations at the meeting earlier, we didn't get a chance to chat properly. Chairman Gu and I both think the theory you proposed today is very interesting. Literature should be a hundred flowers blooming; it cannot have only one flavor. Some comrades have sat in the same position for too long and are used to the taste of light tea, so occasionally tasting strong liquor makes them feel it's harsh—this is very normal."

He paused at this point:

"Therefore, we two old men would like to specifically invite you to visit the Provincial Writers Association to have a cup of tea. Don't worry, we won't talk about rules, only literature. I wonder if Student Lin would do us the honor?"

Shen Qingqiu listened from the side, heart pounding.

Go to the Provincial Writers Association to sit?

This isn't just having tea; this is validation! This is an endorsement!

It is putting Lin Que at an unprecedented height in front of the entire provincial literary scene!

But at the same time, an inappropriate thought suddenly popped into her mind.

Is this the legendary "recruitment"?

If Lin Que goes, will he be bound by the rules of this older generation?

Will he become the next Fang Zhenyun?

She subconsciously wanted to refuse on Lin Que's behalf, but then immediately shook her head.

She was just overthinking out of concern.

The two people in front of her were true masters, people who truly cherished talent—how could they do something that would destroy someone!

Lin Que looked at the two old men.

Their eyes were clear and frank, without condescending scrutiny, only equal appreciation and anticipation.

This was a pure respect that transcended age and status.

Lin Que smiled.

He straightened his slightly messy collar, put away his cynical attitude, and bowed deeply to the two old men.

"A gift from an elder, one dare not refuse. Since the two seniors do not mind a high school student like me, then this cup of tea, I must ask to have."

Gu Changfeng nodded with satisfaction and gestured with a "please," actually letting Lin Que get into the car first.

"Let's go. I have a jar of premium Dahongpao that has been stored for several years. Tonight, we will use it to accompany your stories."

Lin Que did not refuse, bowed again, and walked calmly toward the Hongqi sedan.

Shen Qingqiu watched Lin Que's back and looked at the two Chairmen with worry:

"Chairman Gu, Chairman Liang, Lin Que is a good kid, he's just blunt. If he offends you in any way after going over there..."

"Ah." Liang Wenyou waved his hand to interrupt.

"Teacher Shen, you are overthinking. Inviting Student Lin over this time is purely the personal wish of Chairman Gu and myself, out of a deep appreciation for talent. We wanted to meet him after the Jieyou Cup, but were afraid of delaying his studies. This time is a coincidence; we're just chatting. We guarantee to send him back to you after we finish."

Shen Qingqiu finally let out a long sigh of relief.

Before getting into the car, Lin Que seemed to remember something.

He looked back at Shen Qingqiu, who was standing where she was, and blinked:

"Teacher, today's self-reflection paper might not get written!"

Watching the black Audi merge steadily into the traffic and eventually disappear into the night, Shen Qingqiu stood in the cold wind for a long time before withdrawing her gaze, a wry expression appearing on her face.

Inside the car, the atmosphere was not as serious as imagined.

Gu Changfeng closed his eyes to rest, his fingers tapping a rhythm on his knees.

Liang Wenyou looked at the passing streetscape outside the window and asked casually:

"Student Lin, what is your impression of Jinling?"

Lin Que nodded: "The Huai River flows gently, the moon is veiled in light gauze, the golden dust of the Six Dynasties, ten miles of prosperity."

"Compared to the painted boats of the Qinhuai River, I still prefer the smoky atmosphere of the alleys in the old city south."

Liang Wenyou was startled by these words, then smiled at Gu Changfeng, who had opened his eyes.

The car turned into a quiet road, the branches of the plane trees on both sides interlacing into a net under the streetlights.

They had arrived at the Su Province Writers Association.

...

The office building of the Su Province Writers Association was located in the Yihe Road Mansion District, an old Western-style house from the Republic of China era.

Green bricks and gray tiles, shaded by plane trees.

In the night, it was so quiet that one could only hear the sound of falling leaves, as if it were a different world from the noisy forum at Zijin Mountain Villa a few hours ago.

Lin Que followed behind Gu Changfeng and Liang Wenyou, stepping on the solid wooden floor, and walked into a large study room full of scholarly atmosphere.

Several calligraphy and painting works hung on the walls, with vigorous brushstrokes.

The bookshelves were piled with books, some of the spines worn and white, clearly having been read often.

The air was filled with a faint fragrance of ink and the smell of aged wood.

"Sit wherever you like."

Gu Changfeng took off his coat, hung it on the rack, and like an ordinary neighbor's grandfather, walked to the tea table to start boiling water and scalding the cups.

Lin Que was not polite either; he chose a round-backed armchair and sat down.

This chair was hard to sit on, but it required one's back to be straight, making one involuntarily straighten their posture.

Liang Wenyou sat opposite him, pushed up his glasses, and looked at Lin Que with a gentle gaze:

"Lin Que, asking you to come over so late, I wonder if you are curious about our intentions?"

Lin Que took the teacup handed over by Gu Changfeng with both hands, sniffed the tea fragrance lightly, and smiled:

"Probably because I overturned Editor-in-Chief Fang's table on stage today, and the two seniors want to see how much courage this kid who overturned the table actually has?"

"Hahahaha!"

Gu Changfeng laughed and looked at Liang Wenyou.

"Look, I told you he is clear-minded. This kid is as clear as a mirror inside."

Liang Wenyou also smiled:

"We heard everything you said at the meeting. Fang Zhenyun has his position, but in the literary world, there cannot be only one voice. Sometimes, some noise is needed to wake up those who are drowsy."

"But the reason we two old men waited for you specifically is actually because of one sentence you said at the meeting."

Lin Que's eyes flickered slightly:

"Which sentence?"

"You said, the true mainstream is people."

Gu Changfeng restrained his smile, his eyes becoming deep.

"Living, breathing people who can feel pain, cry, and bleed."

The old man's fingers gently rubbed the wall of the purple clay teapot and sighed:

"This sentence is easy to say, but difficult to do. The current literary world is too impetuous. It is either moaning about imaginary illnesses in romanticized writing or fast-food text purely pursuing sensory stimulation. There are too few people truly willing to lower their bodies and listen to the joys and sorrows of all living beings."

"Lin Que, I have read your 'the person waiting to die'. And I have also read the script of 'coco' that you recited at school."

Gu Changfeng raised his head, his gaze like a torch, staring straight into Lin Que's eyes.

"Your writing has a sense of vicissitudes that doesn't belong to your age. It's as if you have brewed someone else's life of bitterness and sweetness in your heart. Lin Que, we are very curious, where did this wind and frost on you come from?"