166: No. 18 Liuye Lane

"Dong—"

Five o'clock sharp in the afternoon.

The bronze bell atop the Jinling Grand Auditorium was struck, its heavy, distant toll echoing over the campus.

The heavy, intricately carved wooden doors, which had been tightly shut for a full eight hours, slowly swung open to either side with a grating, teeth-grinding sound.

To the parents and teachers waiting outside, the sound was like floodgates opening.

But for the examinees inside, it felt like the signal of some judgment coming to an end.

As soon as the door cracked open, a wave of stuffy human odor and the scorched smell of overheated machinery hit them right in the face.

Then, the crowd surged out.

These top students from across the province, who had been full of ambition and determination to make a name for themselves in Jinling that morning,

now looked like a group of defeated soldiers retreating from the battlefield.

Most had pale faces, vacant stares, and unsteady steps as if walking on cotton.

A few girls even stepped over the threshold, not yet seeing their supervising teachers,

before tears unexpectedly fell, silently hitting the steps.

Mental exhaustion brought not just fatigue, but a deep-seated emptiness and self-doubt rising from the soul.

Yet, amidst this gray, despondent tide of people, one figure stood out as incongruous.

Lin Que, with one hand in his pocket, leisurely drifted out with the flow of people.

His other hand raised high, he stretched broadly,

a slight "crack" sound coming from his spine as he let out a satisfied sigh.

His expression was as if he had just woken from a comfortable nap in an air-conditioned room, ready to go out for food.

In fact, he really had slept.

After completing that grandly conceived story,

for the last two hours, with nothing else to do, he simply lay his head on the desk and caught up on sleep,

until the bell toll dragged him back from his dreams.

This sense of relaxation, set against the surrounding atmosphere of mourning, seemed especially glaring,

even somewhat cruel.

Just as he descended the high steps of the grand auditorium, Lin Que ran into Zhang Ya and Li Bowen, who had also just come out.

These two weren't faring much better.

Zhang Ya, the study committee member who usually kept her back ramrod straight, now had slightly reddened eyes,

her lips bearing a row of deep bite marks from her own teeth, the transparent document folder in her hand crumpled out of shape.

Li Bowen, who had always remained unflappable even in the face of a collapsing mountain, now seemed to have developed obsessive-compulsive disorder, constantly taking off his glasses to wipe them, putting them back on, then taking them off to wipe again.

His gaze was fixed dully on the ground, as if there were an unsolvable quantum mechanics problem there.

The three of them gathered.

Under normal circumstances, Zhang Ya would have eagerly pressed him:

"Lin Que, what was your theme this time? What allusions did you use?"

But today, the air was terrifyingly quiet.

Walking side by side toward the assembly point at the North Building, they covered a full two hundred meters without anyone speaking.

A desperate kind of understanding flowed between the three.

Zhang Ya and Li Bowen didn't even glance at Lin Que, as if asking that question about the "topic" would be the final straw that broke the camel's back.

Along the way, their ears were filled with various suppressed groans.

"Was this topic set by humans? Eight hours... my hand was shaking by the end..."

"Don't ask me, I want peace and quiet, I want to go home..."

"I feel like my logic completely fell apart, I couldn't tie up that reversal in the middle..."

...Under the shade of the plane trees at the base of the North Building, the Jiangcheng No. 1 High School group had already gathered, though sparsely.

Dean of Students Fei Yuncheng still held that megaphone in his hand,

but he just stood there, his gaze sweeping over the dejected students returning one by one.

All the prepared, impassioned speeches—the official talk about "competing with style and level"—were swallowed back down.

Fei Yuncheng's half-raised megaphone hung in the air for two seconds before he silently lowered it.

Looking at these students, wilted like frostbitten eggplants,

he swallowed back the prepared impassioned speech along with his saliva.

"Is everyone here?"

Fei Yuncheng cleared his throat, his voice unconsciously softening.

"Take a headcount. If everyone's here, get on the bus. Everyone's tired, let's head back to the hotel to rest first."

No review, no lecture, just silence.

The bus drove back to the Zhuangyuan Lou Hotel in the twilight.

The hotel lobby was resplendent, the light from crystal chandeliers spilling onto the cold marble floor, yet unable to brighten the gloom in these young hearts.

Shen Qingqiu stood at the front of the group, looking at these students wilted like frostbitten eggplants, and sighed inwardly.

As the homeroom teacher, she keenly sensed that the taut string in everyone's minds was on the verge of snapping.

What was needed now wasn't comfort, but release.

"Alright, everyone, lift your heads!"

Shen Qingqiu clapped her hands, a relaxed smile appearing on her face:

"Although the exam is over, our trip isn't. Director Fei just said we're not eating the hotel buffet tonight; everyone is free to go out."

She pointed to the brightly lit street outside the hotel:

"The Confucius Temple is right nearby. Tonight, Director Fei is treating everyone to Jinling Street Food Stalls!"

"No trouble can't be solved with a good meal. If there is, then two meals!"

"Wow—"

A scattered cheer finally rose from the crowd, though it still sounded a bit weak,

but that suffocatingly oppressive atmosphere finally cracked a little.

"I'm not going."

Just then, a hand lazily raised.

Everyone turned to see Lin Que standing at the back of the group, twirling his room card, his expression calm:

"Teacher, I'd like to rest in my room. I won't join the fun."

Shen Qingqiu glanced at him but didn't insist.

In her view, a player of Lin Que's caliber might have his own unique way of coping, or perhaps needed to review alone.

"Alright, then you make your own arrangements. Be careful, don't go too far."

The classmates weren't surprised at all.

A Great Master was always unconventional.

And honestly, everyone secretly felt a bit relieved.

If they couldn't help asking Lin Que how he did during the meal and got discouraged again, this meal would probably be hard to digest...

Back in the room.

"Beep."

The lights came on, the room still holding the chill from when he left that morning.

He threw himself onto the soft bed and pulled out his phone, which had been off all day.

As soon as he pressed the power button and the screen lit up, a series of rapid vibrations exploded in his palm.

The red notification number on the green bubble icon jumped frantically.

The avatar of a rabbit smashing a piano was flashing wildly.

The messages spanned from three in the afternoon until now.

[Fugitive Beethoven]: Where's Master Lin? Not done yet?

[Fugitive Beethoven]: No way... it's already four! Are you guys in prison or taking an exam?

[Fugitive Beethoven]: Hey hey hey! If you don't come out soon, I'll assume the test paper ate you!

[Fugitive Beethoven]: [Frenzied][Frenzied][Smashing Piano]

[Fugitive Beethoven]: It's already five!!!

Looking at that series of messages overflowing with frustration and worry, Lin Que's somewhat weary nerves instantly relaxed.

His fingers tapped lightly on the screen.

[Mu Xia]: Just got out, still alive.

Less than five seconds after sending the message.

The "typing..." indicator at the top instantly popped up, astonishingly fast.

[Fugitive Beethoven]: [Shocked] Eight hours?!

[Fugitive Beethoven]: Nine to five? Is this an exam or a job? They really want to drain people dry!

Are your Organizing Committee devils? I've already practiced three sets of scales and fed the cats twice!

Even through the screen, Lin Que could imagine Ye Xi's wide-eyed, incredulous expression.

[Mu Xia]: It is the Semifinals, after all. Has to be a bit challenging.

[Fugitive Beethoven]: That's too insane... How are you? Still have energy to eat?

If you're exhausted, I can order takeout delivered to your hotel?

Lin Que rubbed his long-empty stomach.

During the exam, that eight-hour mental marathon had long since depleted his body's sugar reserves.

Right now, with that traitorous "gurgle" sound,

all thoughts of exam results and literary dreams were tossed aside.

His mind was now filled only with that bowl of steaming noodles, covered in chili oil and Pork Skin.

[Mu Xia]: No need. I saved room for this bowl of noodles. Send me the location.

Ding.

Immediately, a map location was sent.

[Old South City · 18 Willow Leaf Lane]

Lin Que clicked to look.

The location was indeed remote, in the deepest alley of Old Gate East,

the map not even showing a specific shop name, just a vague coordinate point.

[Mu Xia]: Be right there.

Lin Que pocketed his phone and got up, heading into the bathroom.

Lin Que turned on the faucet, scooped a handful of cold water, and vigorously scrubbed his face.

Water droplets dripped from his chin into his collar, a chilling jolt that finally woke him from his drowsiness.

Changing out of the conspicuous school uniform, he put on a simple white T-shirt and black casual pants,

then pulled a baseball cap low over his head.

His stomach let out a protesting gurgle at just the right moment.

The so-called nutritious lunch provided by the Organizing Committee at noon was barely enough to fill a tooth gap.

Those calories had long been exhausted while he was plotting the story.

Now, he urgently needed a bowl of steaming noodles, covered in chili oil and Pork Skin,

to comfort this body that had "dedicated" eight hours to literature.

And, of course, that long-unseen online friend.

Lin Que pushed open the door, avoiding the noisy direction of the main group, and alone, melted into Jinling's bustling night.

Streetlights stretched his shadow long.

Tonight's moonlight should be nice...