148: Genetic infertility

Time is something you can neither grasp nor keep.

In the blink of an eye, it was Friday.

During the last English class, the loudspeaker played listening materials with a British accent, sounding like chanting.

The newly graduated English teacher was outputting passionately on the podium, while chalk dust danced wildly in the shafts of sunlight.

The back rows had long since collapsed.

Only a few top students in the front row, holding on by sheer willpower, were still making rustling sounds on their test papers, trying to catch those garbled words.

Lin Que twirled his pen.

His gaze drifted past the window frame and landed on the plane tree by the playground.

The newly sprouted green leaves swayed in the wind; in this winter that refused to leave, this touch of green seemed quite eye-catching.

He was conceptualizing the next chapter of "soul ferry".

"the fox immortals medicine" had such a strong aftertaste that online discussions had escalated from simple horror to philosophical speculations on skin and soul.

Last night, Hong Hu sent a message saying that several film and television companies had caught the scent and arrived, offering high prices, all without exception wanting to discuss film and television adaptations.

Lin Que didn't give in.

In this world barren of entertainment, every brick he threw could smash out a bottomless pit.

The timing wasn't right yet.

Burning too fast would easily scorch this barren land.

He still had to let the bullets fly for a while longer.

"Ding-a-ling—"

The bell for the end of class was a pardon.

Before the English teacher's "Class is over" could even land, the back door was pushed open.

Fei Yuncheng walked in.

This usually stern Dean of Students had a rare, relaxed look on his poker face today.

He swept his gaze across the classroom and said in a solemn tone, "Lin Que, Zhang Ya, Li Bowen. Come out for a moment."

The noise in the classroom instantly dropped.

Those "foodies" who were originally preparing to sprint to the cafeteria for food slammed on the brakes, and dozens of eyes gathered in unison.

These three were the seed members of their class for "Fu Zhi Yao Competition" competition.

Calling them out together, could it be for special training next Monday?

The students whispered and speculated endlessly.

The three followed behind Fei Yuncheng, walking through the long corridor.

"Director, what's the matter?"

Zhang Ya felt uneasy and asked in a low voice.

Fei Yuncheng didn't turn back, his leather shoes clicking crisply on the marble floor: "Good things. There are guests who want to see you."

They walked all the way to the Dean of Students' office on the third floor of the administration building.

The door was slightly ajar, and a faint scent of tea drifted out; it was the kind of smell that only good tea leaves had.

Fei Yuncheng knocked on the door twice and pushed it open: "They've arrived."

Lin Que followed at the very back, sauntering into the room.

Two people were sitting on the leather sofa.

The one on the left had gray hair but looked energetic, holding a purple clay teapot in his hands, eyes squinting as he blew on it.

The one on the right was a bit younger, in his forties, wearing silver-rimmed glasses and exuding an elegant air, looking at the door with a smile.

Lin Que recognized the old man.

A guest professor at the School of Liberal Arts at Jiangcheng University, Li Yuanchao.

"Professor Li?"

Zhang Ya was startled and bowed quickly, "Hello, Professor Li."

Lin Que also bent his waist: "Hello, Professor Li."

Only Li Bowen.

It was as if he had been hit by a freezing spell; he stood stiffly at the door, his face turning red at some point.

He hung his head, desperately shrinking behind Lin Que, trying to use Lin Que's frame to block his own large body.

"What are you hiding for?"

Li Yuanchao put down the purple clay teapot and snorted impatiently.

Zhang Ya was stunned.

She looked at Li Yuanchao, then at Li Bowen, who was curled up like a quail, looking confused: "Li Bowen, why aren't you saying hello? That's too rude."

Li Bowen closed his eyes in despair.

He moved out from behind Lin Que, his voice smaller than a mosquito's: "Gr...Grandpa, why are you here?"

"Cough—"

Zhang Ya almost choked on her own saliva.

She widened her eyes, her mouth forming an "O" shape, pointing at Li Bowen and unable to speak for a long time.

After all this time, this science nerd who only knew how to obsess over logic and wrote essays like solving math problems was actually Li Yuanchao's grandson?

Wasn't this genetic mutation a bit too outrageous?

This isn't even a mutation; this is genetic fraud!

"I'm classmates with your principal, can't I come?"

Li Yuanchao rolled his eyes at his grandson, but when he turned to look at Lin Que, his wrinkled face instantly blossomed into a smile, his speed of changing expressions comparable to Sichuan opera.

"Student Lin, long time no see."

Lin Que adjusted his expression and responded with a smile: "Professor Li, I didn't expect to see you here. I've always remembered how you stood your ground for the students' essays back then."

Li Yuanchao waved his hand with a smile.

"That's because you wrote well yourself; I just didn't want talent to be buried."

Then he pointed to the middle-aged man next to him.

"Oh, let me introduce you; this is the new Chairman of the Jiang City Writers Association, Chairman Lv Songran."

Chairman Lv Songran examined Lin Que carefully, a flash of approval in his eyes.

He stood up unhurriedly and reached out kindly: "Student Lin Que, I wonder if you still remember me? We met at the Qingyun Cup. I've read your piece "firefly" many times!"

Lin Que shook his hand, the touch dry and firm: "I remember. You flatter me, Chairman Lü."

He scrutinized the new Chairman subtly.

Chairman Lv Songran smiled gently; this seamless elegance was clearly more suitable for navigating the deep waters of the literary world compared to the rigidity of Wang Shouyi.

"Don't be reserved, everyone sit down."

Fei Yuncheng gestured for them to sit, while he stood to the side pouring water, content to be a waiter.

"Coming here this time is actually against the rules."

Li Yuanchao took a sip of tea and said slowly.

"There are over a hundred people in the school who made it to the Preliminary Round; calling only you three over is a bit suspicious, like giving special treatment."

"So, Chairman Lü and I are here in a private capacity today, not representing the Writers Association or Jiangcheng University."

Li Bowen curled up by the armrest of the single sofa, half his body almost sinking into the shadows, his head buried even lower than when he was doing problems.

This was the definition of a social death scene.

"The main thing is that the competition is next week."

Chairman Lv Songran took over the conversation.

"The level of this "Fu Zhi Yao Competition" is very high, and the higher-ups attach great importance to it."

"Although Jiang City is a major educational city, in terms of literature, it has really been a bit embarrassing these past few years."

"We also hope to give you some encouragement."

"Especially you, Lin Que."

Li Yuanchao put down his teacup, his gaze burning.

"I read your piece "listening to snow". It really is a good article."

"Compared to the "firefly" from back then, it has less sharpness and more depth."

"That sense of compassion for the world has a bit of the style of a master; rare, truly rare!"

Lin Que said modestly: "Professor Li, you flatter me. I just wrote it casually; it's not as good as you say."

"Oh? Just wrote it casually?"

Li Yuanchao glanced at his grandson in the corner, his tone instantly becoming one of exasperation: "Some people couldn't write that kind of flavor even if they scratched their scalps raw."

"Wenwen, I read your manuscript for the Preliminary Round; the logic is sound, but that's an expository essay, not prose!"

"Are you treating the judges like unfeeling grading machines?"

Li Bowen shrank his neck and muttered softly: "Genetics aren't guaranteed to ripen..."

"What did you say?"

Li Yuanchao raised his eyebrows.

"No... nothing."

Li Bowen quickly shut his mouth, his desire to survive maxed out.

Watching this pair of funny grandfather and grandson, the atmosphere in the office became much more relaxed.

Lin Que leaned on the sofa, a smile hanging on the corners of his mouth.

Although this world is barren in culture, with these vivid people, it doesn't seem so boring after all.

Li Yuanchao cleared his throat, leaned forward slightly, his expression becoming a bit more serious: "Xiao Lin, there's something I want to ask your thoughts on."