134: Even Lin Que cried like this.

A winter morning; dawn comes late.

Xu Lan pushed open the doors of New Tide; the wall clock had just passed seven.

The central air conditioning wasn't on yet, and a chill crept up her pant legs.

She rubbed her hands together and was about to turn on the lights when her gaze was drawn to the end of the corridor.

Behind the frosted glass of the Editor-in-Chief's office, a dim, yellow halo of light shone through.

She frowned and walked toward the Editor-in-Chief's office.

The door had just been pushed open a crack,

when choking blue smoke billowed out, making Xu Lan cough.

"Editor-in-Chief?"

Xu Lan pushed the door open and was startled by the scene inside.

Wang De'an hadn't gone home.

He was still wearing yesterday's gray sweater, with dark circles under his eyes.

His stubble had grown out quite a bit, making him look rather disheveled.

But in the ashtray before him, cigarette butts had piled up into a small mountain,

and he still held a half-finished cigarette that was about to burn his fingers.

On the desk in front of him, several printed A4 sheets were spread out.

The edges of the paper were already frayed, clearly from being handled repeatedly.

"You're here."

Wang De'an's voice was hoarse.

He didn't look up, his eyes still fixed on those pages as if he were trying to bore a hole through the words.

"You... didn't sleep all night?"

Xu Lan walked over and cracked open a window.

A cold breeze rushed in, dispersing some of the smoke.

Wang De'an stubbed out his cigarette in the already overflowing ashtray,

took a gulp of the cold, strong tea beside him, and let out a long breath:

"I couldn't sleep. I finished reading it."

Xu Lan's gaze immediately locked onto the frayed A4 sheets on the desk.

The title caught her eye—the ferryman: Final Chapter.

Her breath hitched; she didn't even stop to ask if it was good or bad.

Her body reacted faster than her mind, and she reached out to grab the stack of manuscripts.

"Editor-in-Chief, the ending... how is it?"

Xu Lan asked tentatively.

"Is it a tragedy? Based on Jian Shen's previous foreshadowing, Dylan and Tristan are separated by life and death; they're destined to be apart, right?"

Wang De'an didn't speak; he just pushed the pages toward Xu Lan.

"See for yourself."

Xu Lan took them, puzzled.

The office fell into a deathly silence.

There was only the sound of the wind outside and the crisp rustle of pages being turned.

Until she reached the very end.

Xu Lan's eyes lingered on the final line.

["Hi," he said.]

["Hi," she smiled, tears streaming down.]

There were no flowery words, no heart-wrenching sentimentality.

Just a simple "Hi."

Xu Lan felt as if her chest had been struck hard by something,

aching, yet incredibly clear.

She put down the manuscript and looked up at Wang De'an, her eyes reddening:

"He... he let him come back?"

"Yes, he's back."

Wang De'an leaned back in his chair and shook another cigarette out of the pack,

but he didn't light it, just held it under his nose to smell it.

"I read it six times."

"Six times?"

Xu Lan was surprised.

"The first time, I thought he was messing around. The rules of the Wasteland are absolute; how can they be broken just for love? It doesn't fit realistic logic."

Wang De'an said slowly, his eyes closed.

"The second time, I saw Dylan's courage.

The third time, I understood Tristan's fear."

He paused, opened his eyes, and his gaze became profound:

"It wasn't until the sixth time that I savored something else.

He's not messing around; this is called ambition."

"Ambition?"

"He's not writing a love story at all; he's writing about going home!"

Wang De'an pointed at the manuscript.

"Our generation always thinks tragedies are high-class and flaws are profound.

But he insists on piecing back together the two most broken people,

letting them carry their scars and still dare to smile at this shitty world.

This spirit is just too wild."

Wang De'an gave a self-deprecating laugh:

"Come to think of it, I really was too obsessed with suffering before."

"Editor-in-Chief, when this chapter is published, will the readers be able to accept it?"

Xu Lan wiped away a tear, her voice nasal.

"That's exactly why—I want them to find it unacceptable!"

Wang De'an stood up, a fierce look in his eyes.

"Jian Shen's strike was precise and ruthless.

He stabbed right into the hearts of those people hiding in their comfort zones."

At 10:00 AM, the New Tide app updated on schedule.

the ferryman Final Chapter: The Return.

The reader groups and comment sections, which had been silent all night,

completely boiled over within half an hour of the update.

Readers who had prepared themselves to be stabbed until they were bloody,

were collectively speechless when they saw that unexpected ending.

【Comment Section】

[Midnight Knocking]: I thought it was a BE, but you gave me an HE?

But why is this HE even more heart-wrenching than a BE! Jian Shen, give me back my tears... [A Raincoat of Mist and Rain]: I've read books about life and death; they're either about being separated by the veil or about reincarnation.

Only this book makes me feel that "living" itself is the greatest miracle.

That "Hi" was a stroke of genius.

[Jiangcheng's Most Devoted]: The person above is right.

I used to think the ferryman was a god, but now I realize Dylan is Tristan's ferryman.

She ferried a soulless husk into a person of flesh and blood.

This twist is incredible.

[Old Scholar]: This isn't just a twist.

Has everyone noticed?

In soul ferry, Hell Dream Weaver emphasized that "obsessions never die,"

while Jian Shen wrote in the ferryman that "love can flow against the tide."

One writes about the helplessness of death, the other about the courage of life.

It's terrifying... [Cantaloupe-Eating Crowd]: After reading the ending, does anyone else really want to call the person they like?

Even if it's just to say "Hi."

As Xu Lan scrolled through the skyrocketing backend data and read those heartfelt long reviews, she turned to Wang De'an:

"Editor-in-Chief, this data..."

Wang De'an stood by the window, watching the bustling street below, and blew out a smoke ring.

"Jian Shen, oh Jian Shen, just what have you been through,"

"to be able to write with such a sense of finding life in death?"

...1:00 PM, Jiangcheng No. 1 High School.

After finishing lunch, Lin Que strolled back to school.

Usually at this time, the classroom would either be full of people napping on their desks,

or people frantically cramming for upcoming exams.

But today, the atmosphere was very strange.

A low pressure hung over the room, and a few suppressed sobs could be heard.

As soon as Lin Que entered, he saw several girls in the front row with eyes as red as a rabbit's,

their desks piled with crumpled tissues used to wipe away tears.

Even the physics class representative, Luo Ji, who usually loved showing off by explaining problems during lunch break,

was now staring blankly at his phone, looking like he was questioning his life choices.

"What's going on?"

Lin Que asked, knowing full well the answer, as he pulled out his chair and sat down.

"Teacher Jian Shen... is too ruthless."

Zhang Ya slapped her phone face down on the desk and sniffled, her voice thick with a sob.

"I thought that based on Teacher Jian Shen's usual narrative style,"

"Tristan was definitely a goner. I was even ready to send razor blades to the editorial department,"

"but... he came back."

Her deskmate, Xu Xinqi, a top-five student in the class,

who had final exams next week, was also rarely not doing practice problems.

She held her phone, the screen showing the ending of the ferryman,

but she was just staring blankly out the window.

Lin Que pulled out his chair and buried his face in the crook of his arm.

No one saw that under the cover of his school uniform sleeve, the corners of his mouth were curling up wildly.

His shoulders twitched from holding back his laughter,

which, to outsiders, actually looked like he was overcome with grief.

"Sigh, even Lin Que is crying like this. It seems Teacher Jian Shen's ending..."

Whispers came from the desk behind him.

Just then, the phone in his pocket vibrated.

He took a stealthy peek under the desk; on the screen,

the avatar of that irritable "Rabbit Smashes Piano" was pulsing.

【Fugitive Beethoven】: [Sobbing] [Sobbing] [Sobbing]