154: Full database deduplication check!

"A farce?"

Chen Jingzhi didn't rush to respond, nor did he immediately look at the screen.

He first glanced at Zhou Yu, who was drenched in sweat.

The computer room was deathly silent at this moment, save for the monotonous humming of the mainframe fans.

Zhou Yu's outburst made him seem like a completely different person from the steady, old-cadre-like figure he usually was.

"Dean Chen, this can't be graded, it really can't be graded."

Zhou Yu's Adam's apple bobbed with difficulty:

"The topic is 'A Happy Event', but this examinee wrote about a madman.

Not only mad, but ugly.

He peeled off the dignity of a scholar, threw it on the ground, stomped on it twice, and finally spat on it."

Chen Jingzhi frowned slightly and lowered his gaze.

The eerie blue light from the screen reflected on his thick lenses, casting a cold gleam.

The article didn't waste any words at the beginning; it didn't even have any proper foreshadowing, just a straight hit right out of the gate.

["Yay! It's done! I passed!"]

Just one glance.

Chen Jingzhi's eyes suddenly fixed on the text.

Something was off about this flavor!

There was none of that student-like affectation, nor the plastic, flowery feeling of piled-up rhetoric.

The prose was crude and earthy, yet it exuded a sense of aged, fermented, sour pedantry.

That "Yay!"

Through the cold LCD screen, Chen Jingzhi seemed to see a middle-aged man in a tattered long gown, smelling of sour decay,

under the impact of immense ecstasy, the string in his brain that had been taut for decades,

"Snap" – it broke.

Chen Jingzhi leaned forward.

The mouse wheel scrolled, producing a dry, hurried "click" sound.

Once he started scrolling, he couldn't stop.

He saw Fan Jin stumble into a mud pond, covered in yellow mud, hair disheveled, revealing his ugly state.

He saw Butcher Hu, who was usually fierce and menacing, but was now being urged by the crowd to cure the madness.

He even saw the onlookers gathered in a circle, their faces like those of Peking Opera masks,

instantly switching from disdain and mockery to flattery—the speed of their face-changing was incredible.

[Butcher Hu walked up like a fierce god and said: "You deserve a beating!" before delivering a slap.]

Chen Jingzhi's eyelids twitched violently.

This slap was solid, it was loud!

Was this to wake Fan Jin up?

It was breaking the knees of everyone who knelt before fame and fortune!

Chen Jingzhi slowly straightened his back, took off his glasses,

and pulled a velvet cloth from his pocket to wipe the lenses, which were not even dusty.

"This is not a farce."

His voice was hoarse, yet firm as a nail.

The grading professors and doctoral students who were previously slumped around,

were drawn by the low pressure here, gathering around like sharks smelling blood.

"What happened?"

"What's wrong with Dean Chen? His face is red."

A professor from Nanjing University, slightly younger than Chen Jingzhi, squeezed in while holding a thermos.

"Did you run into another infuriating paper?"

He swept his gaze casually across the screen.

The next second, the goji berry water in his thermos jolted violently, nearly spilling out.

"This… did a high school student write this?!"

The professor from Nanjing University's eyes were about to pop out.

"This seasoned touch—I'd believe it if you said it was plucked straight from an ancient vernacular novel!"

More and more people gathered around.

"Look at this part, the description of the neighbors bringing eggs as gifts,

that look of the opportunistic commoners—it's truly incisive!"

"And this Butcher Hu, first cursing him as a disgrace, then praising him as a wenqu star—tsk, tsk, tsk, how ironic!"

Exclamations rose and fell, and the grading station exploded with activity,

the sleepy scent of medicated oil was diluted by this wave of heat.

"Dean Chen."

The young teacher who had previously been giving high scores to "positive energy" essays finally couldn't hold back,

her brows locked tight:

"The writing is good. But… isn't this off-topic?

The topic is 'A Happy Event'; the main theme should be the triumphant joy following success in the imperial examination.

Instead, he writes about madness and ugliness throughout—where is the joy in that?

The theme is too dark; if this gets out…"

As soon as she said this, a few people nodded in agreement.

After all, this is a middle school essay competition; no one dares to cross the red line, and political correctness is paramount.

Chen Jingzhi put his glasses back on, his movements slow and deliberate,

but his gaze, piercing through the lenses, was sharp as a knife, stabbing directly at the young teacher.

"Off-topic?"

Chen Jingzhi smiled faintly, his knuckles rapping on the table with a dull "thud-thud" sound.

"Xiao Wang, you only see the madness, you don't see the tragedy!

What is joy? Rain after a long drought is joy, but he tells you that this rain is too heavy—it will drown people!"

"fan jin passes the imperial examination, for him it is a massive happy event!

But this happy event is so big that his heart, suppressed for half a lifetime, cannot bear it, and it snaps directly!

This is high-level satire!"

The old man was fired up, his voice echoing through the computer room.

"Great joy leads to sorrow; the extreme of great happiness is madness!

The author uses the shell of an absurd comedy to wrap a bloody, tragic core.

He is deconstructing the four characters of 'success in the imperial examination'!

He is asking all of us: for the sake of this so-called joy, does one still have to treat oneself as a human being?"

"Compared to those cookie-cutter essays thanking suffering or thanking parents,

this 'fan jin passes the imperial examination' truly writes through the price behind a happy event!

What do you call this? This is called handling weight as if it were light!"

Dead silence.

The young teacher who had just questioned him blushed, bowing her head to stare intently at the tips of her leather shoes.

Zhou Yu stood to the side, staring at the madman on the screen, covered in mud and clapping with laughter,

his scalp tingling.

He had studied for twenty years, priding himself on being well-read.

Today, he had actually been taught a lesson by a high school student's essay; his face was swollen from the slap.

"However…"

The professor from Nanjing University pushed up his glasses, his expression becoming strange,

his voice lowered:

"Old Chen, are you sure this was written by a high school student?

This diction, this seasoned, vicious satirical technique…

Why does it feel like some master of Chinese studies put on a disguise to come and troll the pond?"

As soon as these words were spoken, the air froze again.

Indeed.

Kids these days are either led astray by power fantasies, or they have that smell of test-taking, eight-legged essays.

A person capable of writing such semi-classical, semi-vernacular prose with such rich flavor,

is impossible without an old writer who has been immersed in it for decades.

"Could it be… plagiarism?"

In the corner, someone muttered softly—the voice wasn't loud, but it sounded like a thunderclap.

"Or maybe copied from some lost unofficial historical notes?"

"After all, these days, people use all sorts of tricks to win prizes. A hired gun? A ghostwriter?"

Chen Jingzhi's expression suddenly darkened.

He stared fixedly at the cold barcode on the screen representing the examinee's identity, his eyes complex.

If it is plagiarism, this will be the biggest scandal of this year's competition.

But if it is original…

Chen Jingzhi took a deep breath, turned his head sharply to look at the technical station, his voice decisive:

"Immediately launch a full database plagiarism check on the Wenshu system!"

"Connect to the entire network database, including ancient book facsimile databases, local chronicles, and remnants of unofficial histories!

Even if it's a rare copy hidden in a library, don't miss it!

I want to see the results within three days!"

"If it is plagiarized, disqualify them immediately and report it to the whole province!"

…