155: Preferred

Three days after the preliminary round ended.

In grade 11, class 3 of Jiangcheng No. 1 High School, the atmosphere was as oppressive as a pressure cooker.

The trash can at the back was filled with crumpled paper; anyone passing by would think someone was practicing basketball shots.

Zhang Ya huddled in her seat,

her fingers rubbing the phone screen so hard sparks might fly as she frantically refreshed the official website of "Fu Zhi Yao Competition."

Every time the loading circle spun, her heart skipped a beat.

"It's still not out... still not out... this is way too slow!"

Zhang Ya bit her nails, muttering incessantly.

Li Bowen, next to her, wasn't doing much better.

He hadn't turned a page of the thick exercise book in his hands for half an hour; his gaze was fixed and vacant, as if he were in a trance.

Lin Que was the only outlier in the whole class.

He had his school uniform draped over his head, sleeping like there was no tomorrow.

A black gel pen had been tossed carelessly onto the corner of the desk,

vibrating slightly with the steady rhythm of his breathing.

He was the picture of relaxation.

"I have to say, Brother Que, you really have a big heart."

Wu Di leaned over, cautiously lifting a corner of Lin Que's uniform like a secret agent making a contact:

"It’s been three days. Look at those two; they’re practically losing it. Are you not worried at all?"

Lin Que opened his eyes groggily,

squinting at the harsh light from the window as he lazily rolled over:

"What's there to worry about? Is the grader going to crawl through the internet cables to hit me?"

"It's not about being hit."

Wu Di lowered his voice, his face full of conflict, his eyebrows furrowed into a knot.

"Rumors are flying everywhere. They say there's a huge pit in this year's questions,

and lots of top students came back with pale faces, saying they only realized later that it was a trap question."

"A trap?"

Lin Que sat up straight and stretched.

He glanced at the bare plane tree outside the window:

"Great joy is followed by great sorrow, and the peak of great sorrow is madness.

If they didn't see it coming, they deserve to fall into the pit."

After saying that, he lay back down:

"Do your best and leave the rest to fate. As for the rest, we'll see if those old scholars dare to take this strike of mine."

...Shanghai, Huaguang Building, Fudan University.

The air pressure in the marking room was terrifyingly low,

ten times more tense than the students waiting for their scores.

There was only one reason.

The system was stuck.

Over three thousand submissions, three rounds of preliminary review.

And yet, it got stuck on the very last essay.

In the entire computer room, except for Zhou Yu's computer which was running normally,

all other screens displayed "Suspended due to special reasons."

A crowd had gathered in front of the massive LED screen in the center.

The head of the Technical Department was sweating profusely,

his fingers flying across the keyboard like he was playing a piano.

"How is it? Still not finished?"

Chen Jingzhi stood at the front with his hands behind his back, his expression grave.

Behind him, Zhou Yu and the other grading professors didn't even dare to drink water,

staring intently at the red progress bar.

"Almost... just 1% left!"

The technician's voice was trembling.

The progress bar finally reached the end.

The flashing red box instantly turned into a reassuring green,

and then, a massive pop-up window took over everyone's vision.

There was only one line of text on it.

Extremely eye-catching, extremely shocking.

[Database Plagiarism Rate: 0.00%]

[Determination Result: Completely Original.]

A deathly silence followed.

It took a full five seconds before Zhou Yu gasped sharply,

his voice as dry as if he had swallowed a handful of sand:

"Zero... is it really zero?"

"That kind of writing style, sophisticated to the bone, that biting, incisive satirical portrayal of the old society's imperial examination system..."

"Was it actually written out of thin air by a high school student?"

This isn't scientific!

"It wasn't out of thin air."

Chen Jingzhi stared fixedly at that "0,"

a nearly fanatical light suddenly erupting in his eyes.

"This is talent. Is this God feeding him? No, this is God chasing after him to shove food into his mouth!"

"Dean Chen, then this score... how do we grade it?"

Zhou Yu looked at Chen Jingzhi.

Give it a low score? That would be blindness.

Give it a full score? The satire in this article is too strong,

it's practically pointing at the noses of all scholars and cursing their mothers. If word gets out and causes controversy, who will take the blame?

"How do we grade it?"

Chen Jingzhi turned around abruptly, his gaze like lightning as he scanned the room.

He walked over to Zhou Yu and pointed at the essay "fan jin passes the imperial examination."

"You think it's extreme? You think it's dark?"

Chen Jingzhi sneered:

"Did the author use any dirty words? Did he curse anyone? No!

He simply constructed an absurd framework and took that moment of Fan Jin's madness from extreme joy,

displaying it to us like a specimen slice!"

The old man's voice echoed in the computer room:

"He is tearing away the mask of that man-eating system!

If an article like this is buried because it's 'too profound' or 'non-conformist' being buried..."

"Bang!"

Chen Jingzhi slammed the table, spilling tea all over the floor.

"Then it is a disgrace to the 'Fu Zhi Yao Competition' competition! And a tragedy for all of us in literature!"

The room was pin-drop silent.

Zhou Yu watched the usually gentle and refined Dean Chen act like a lion protecting its cub,

and the blood in his own heart began to boil.

This is the true spirit of a man of letters!

"I propose."

Chen Jingzhi took a deep breath to calm his emotions and spoke with conviction:

"that we designate 'fan jin passes the imperial examination' as a 'premium selection'."

premium selection?!

As soon as those two words were uttered, everyone's expression changed drastically.

'premium selection' was the highest honor in 'Fu Zhi Yao Competition,'

it didn't just mean a perfect score; it meant this article would be treated as a trump card,

bypassing all subsequent review processes to be sent directly to the desks of the highest authorities.

It even meant top-tier resources like direct publication after the competition.

"Dean Chen..."

A young assistant spoke up weakly.

"The number of premium selection slots is limited, and they are usually decided after the provincial rounds,

if we use one up during the preliminaries, there might not be enough slots later..."

"The slots are fixed, but people are flexible!"

Chen Jingzhi waved his hand, cutting him off directly:

"premium selection is meant for geniuses!

Now that a piece of gold-inlaid jade is right in front of us, who else are we saving the slot for?"

"What do you all say?"

Chen Jingzhi looked at the crowd, his gaze sharp.

"Agreed!"

"No objections!"

"Give it! We must give it!"

The professors nodded one after another; at this point, anyone who opposed would be going against literature itself.

In the face of absolute strength, all concerns were trivial.

Chen Jingzhi sat back down at the computer, took out a small notebook he carried with him,

and solemnly wrote down the anonymous candidate code displayed on the screen.

"Go contact the organizing committee."

Chen Jingzhi instructed without looking back:

"The moment the identities are unsealed, find out the name of this candidate for me immediately!

I want to see exactly what kind of person can see through human nature so clearly at this age and play with satire so masterfully."

After handling all this, the system proceeded normally to the secondary review stage.

Chen Jingzhi then clicked on a few other high-scoring essays from the preliminary round.

Articles he had previously thought were decent—with flowery language and sincere emotions—

now seemed as bland as chewing wax in the shadow of "fan jin passes the imperial examination."

"I can't read them, I really can't read them anymore."

Chen Jingzhi took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose:

"It's like being used to the spicy and numbing flavors of Sichuan cuisine, and then being asked to drink chicken soup. It's utterly tasteless."

...Beijing, the Writers Association compound.

The early spring sunlight spilled thinly over the red brick walls, carrying a hint of vitality.

Zhou Wenyuan had just finished a meeting and returned to his office with a tired body.

An alert suddenly popped up in the bottom right corner of his computer screen,

an urgent email from the grading team at Fudan University in Shanghai.

"premium selection?"

Zhou Wenyuan raised an eyebrow, a bit surprised:

"One was designated during the preliminary round?

Did Old Chen drink too much or did something set him off?"

He opened the attachment with some curiosity.

Ten minutes later.

Zhou Wenyuan leaned back in his chair, not moving for a long time.

The blue light from the computer screen reflected on his face and in his eyes, which had seen countless people and the ups and downs of the literary world.

"What a Fan Jin... what a Butcher Hu..."

Zhou Wenyuan murmured to himself, his voice carrying an irrepressible amazement.

He stood up and walked to the window,

watching the withered yellow leaves swirling in the wind outside.

This writing style, this structure,

this ruthless drive to dissect the world for others to see, to strip away faces amidst laughter and mockery... it was so familiar.

Familiar enough to make one's scalp tingle.

He suddenly remembered something.

He hurried back to his seat to flip through the records of the examination centers and grading team assignments.

When he saw that the Fudan University grading team corresponded to Jiangcheng, he laughed knowingly.

"It really is that kid!"

Zhou Wenyuan shook his head helplessly, but the corners of his mouth couldn't stop turning up, his eyes filled with mirth:

"I asked him to write about a happy event, and he turned around and wrote something like 'The Bureaucracy Exposed'.

"He's going to turn the world upside down. He's truly a troublesome little monster."

He took out his phone and skillfully dialed a number.

The phone rang twice before being picked up.

"Hello, Wenyuan?"

Gu Changfeng's voice sounded like he was in a good mood,

there seemed to be the sound of Peking Opera in the background; he was humming a little tune.

"Old Gu, stop listening to the opera."

Zhou Wenyuan looked out at Beijing, his tone complex yet tinged with a hint of teasing:

"You told me before that the kid was self-taught?"

"What? Did he get into trouble?"

The tune on the other end stopped instantly, and Gu Changfeng's voice tightened:

Zhou Wenyuan laughed.

His laughter was hearty, making the receiver buzz:

"Trouble?"

"It's far more than just trouble!"

...