177: Sorry, I acted before you all.

"the metamorphosis?"

The Chairman of the Lu Province Writers Association frowned, staring at the three bold characters on the cover, his tone carrying a hint of confusion:

"This title... why does it look like a children's book? Or maybe one of those fantasy novels?"

Several people around also showed looks of doubt.

Those present were all experts in the craft of writing, accustomed to titles with grand narratives or deep metaphors,

Seeing such a straightforward, even slightly childish title at first glance, it was inevitable to feel a bit of a psychological letdown.

Zhou Wenyuan didn't explain; he just picked up his teacup,

Gently blew away the foam, and gestured with his eyes for everyone to look down.

With a hint of scrutiny and nonchalance, Tao Zhiyan flipped to the first page.

His gaze fell.

It was only for a second.

Tao Zhiyan's originally casual sitting posture froze as if struck by an electric current.

The first line smashed into everyone's skulls without any frills.

[One morning, as Gregor Samsa was waking up from anxious dreams, he discovered that in bed he had been changed into a monstrous verminous bug.]

"Hiss—"

Sharp intakes of breath sounded throughout the conference room.

No buildup, no hints of a dream,

Nor any cliché background like "influenced by technology."

It was just such a straightforward, cold, even physiologically disgusting statement.

A person had turned into a bug.

"This..."

One Chairman subconsciously wanted to call it absurd,

But his gaze seemed glued to the paper, unable to look away.

As the reading deepened, that initial sense of curiosity quickly faded,

Replaced by a chill seeping from the marrow of his bones.

The protagonist, having turned into a beetle, wasn't worried about his terrifying body or whether he could change back into a human in the first instance, but rather—

[Oh God, if I don't get out of bed quickly, I'll miss the seven o'clock train.]

[If I don't go to work, what will the boss think of me? The perfect attendance bonus for this quarter will be gone, and how will the family's debts be repaid?]

Those present were all titans of the literary world; how could they not understand the deep meaning behind this?

Where was this writing about a bug? It was clearly writing about people!

Writing about the modern person who has been completely alienated by the social machine, where even after turning into a monster,

Their first reaction is still "I am still a spare part."

Tao Zhiyan reached the middle, his finger suddenly stopping on a line of text, and he read it out with a trembling voice:

[To gain a life, people must abandon living.]

He looked up, his eyes glistening:

"To stay alive, one must abandon a human-like life... This isn't writing about bugs; this is writing about every person who turns themselves into a tool for a few pieces of silver!"

As the pages turned, that absurd cruelty intensified layer by layer.

When Gregor dragged his repulsive beetle shell, trying to express love to his family, he received not a hug but an apple angrily thrown by his father.

That apple embedded itself into the beetle's soft back, rotting and becoming inflamed.

The former pillar of the family, after losing the functional role of "earning money," quickly devolved into a burden that had to be cleared away.

A man like Tao Zhiyan, who was used to writing about the heavy emotions of the Loess Plateau,

Now felt a tightness in his chest. He irritably unbuttoned his collar, grabbed a bottle of mineral water from the table, and took a large gulp,

Yet he couldn't suppress the agitation in his heart.

The ending was cold to the extreme.

The beetle died in loneliness and hunger.

And his family members weren't sad; instead, they felt a sense of relief.

They put on beautiful clothes to go for an outing. The parents looked at their daughter's young and plump body,

Already dreaming of finding her a good husband and starting a brand new, hopeful life.

The sun was bright, yet it felt deathly still.

Clap.

The final document was closed.

A deathly silence lasted for a full minute in the conference room.

"This..."

A Chairman of a Southern Writers Association took off his glasses, wiped them repeatedly with a cloth, and frowned:

"The technique is master-level, but this tone... it's too cold.

For a high school student to dissect human nature so bloodily, isn't it too cruel?"

"Old Zhao!"

A roar interrupted his hesitation.

Tao Zhiyan slapped the table, making the teacup lids dance.

His eyes were red, and he pointed at the document, spittle flying in his excitement:

"Cruel? You call this cruel? This is reality! This is peeling off the human skin to show you the bones!"

"This is called Absurd Realism!"

Tao Zhiyan stood up, waving his arms:

"Using the most absurd shell to contain the most real suffering.

Who is this bug? It's you, it's me, it's every screw in this massive social machine that doesn't dare to stop!

How is this an essay? This is practically a textbook-level work!"

"I also agree with Old Tao's view."

Another Chairman, known for theoretical research, pushed up his glasses with a solemn expression:

"Look at this passage about 'suffering'; it's simply a stroke of genius."

[The heart is a house with two bedrooms; one houses suffering, and the other houses joy. One cannot laugh too loudly.

Otherwise, the laughter will wake the suffering in the next room.]

That Chairman took a deep breath and looked at everyone:

"The reason the laughter of that family at the end is so piercing is that they laughed too loudly,

So loudly that they completely ignored the 'suffering' that had just died in the next room.

This literary interpretation of the theory of 'alienation,' even if placed in the contemporary literary world, is of the highest caliber.

The premium selection given by Dean Dai Shengzong is well-deserved."

The argument instantly subsided.

In the face of absolute strength, the so-called sensitivity of the subject matter was merely the groundless worries of mediocre people.

Zhou Wenyuan looked at this group of old friends who were flushed with excitement, a meaningful smile curling at the corner of his mouth.

He tapped the table, signaling for everyone to be quiet.

"It seems everyone has a very high opinion of these three premium selection works."

Zhou Wenyuan held up three fingers, listing them one by one:

"fan jin passes the imperial examination, with its biting satire, fully depicts the nature of how fame and fortune devoured people in the old society.

Hutong Happy Events, with its rich Beijing flavor and skilled technique.

the metamorphosis, absurd and cold, strikes directly at the pain points of modern civilization."

Everyone below nodded in agreement.

"These three young authors can be said to represent the three peaks of Huaxia's younger generation of literature."

One Chairman lamented:

"A tripod of three, each leading in their own style. This session of Fu Zhi Yao Competition is likely going to be a battle of the gods.

I can't wait to recruit these three talents into the Qinglan Project."

"Yes, three geniuses, three styles."

Everyone echoed, their words full of appreciation for talent.

"Um..."

Zhou Wenyuan suddenly spoke, interrupting everyone's imagination.

The smile on his face became a bit strange.

"Everyone, you seem to have misunderstood one thing."

Zhou Wenyuan unhurriedly picked up his teacup, his gaze sweeping across the room,

Finally stopping on Gu Changfeng's face, which was as steady as Mount Tai.

"The ones shortlisted for the premium selection this time are not three students."

Zhou Wenyuan put down his teacup and held up two fingers, waving them in the air.

"But rather, two."

The conference room instantly fell silent.

Everyone looked at each other, their eyes filled with confusion.

Amidst everyone's uncertain gazes, Zhou Wenyuan dropped a bombshell.

"Because fan jin passes the imperial examination and the metamorphosis..."

Zhou Wenyuan paused, his words carrying immense weight:

"...come from the same person."

As his voice fell, the conference room lapsed into silence.

Even the most composed Chairmen couldn't control their expressions now, looking up in shock.

Tao Zhiyan's mouth hung open, his eyes bulging like copper bells,

Looking at the piece about the ancient mad scholar, Fan Jin, on his left, and then at the metamorphosis piece about the modern bug-man on his right.

"Old Zhou, are you... are you serious?"

Tao Zhiyan's voice cracked:

"How is it possible that these were written by the same person?!"

One was in the Ming and Qing vernacular style, seasoned and sharp, where every joke and curse became literature.

The other was Western modernism, cold and oppressive, with a bone-chilling coldness between the lines.

How could these two completely different, even diametrically opposed styles be governed by the pen of a single person?

Not to mention, this person was still a high school student!

"The left hand writes of the old society, while the right hand dissects the new era."

The Chairman of the Lu Province Writers Association took a sharp breath, muttering to himself:

"To have such a massive stylistic span and still handle it with such ease... this isn't just a genius; this is clearly a monster!"

At this moment, everyone's gazes turned in unison toward Gu Changfeng.

If gazes had temperature, Gu Changfeng would probably have been burned to ashes by now.

"Old Gu!"

Tao Zhiyan suddenly turned around and grabbed Gu Changfeng's sleeve, his look suggesting he wanted to eat him:

"So those two premium selection spots for Su Province were actually occupied by one person? Is this something a human would do?"

"You old fellow, you sure kept it well hidden!"

Facing everyone's siege, Gu Changfeng still sat firmly.

He slowly picked up his Yixing clay teapot, took a sip from the spout,

And wore that humble smile that made people's teeth itch with hatred.

"Oh, I didn't expect this kid to be so good at writing either."

Gu Changfeng waved his hand with a breezy air:

"I originally thought writing Fan Jin in the preliminary round was his peak. Who knew he'd just casually write the metamorphosis in the Semifinals?

This kid is just too honest; he doesn't know how to hide his light."

Humblebragging.

Blatant humblebragging!

The Chairman of Lu Province's eyes turned red, and he suddenly slapped his thigh:

"Old Gu, let's not beat around the bush. What's this kid's name? Which school is he from?

Our Lu University Chinese Department is willing to give him a special admission spot!

No, as long as he's willing to come, I can even apply to let him directly join the Provincial Writers Association as the youngest director!"

"I want him too!"

Tao Zhiyan wouldn't be outdone:

"Let him come to the Northwest! This kind of absurd touch is naturally meant for our yellow earth! I'll mentor him personally!"

A war for talent was about to break out.

Just then, Liang Wenyou, the Vice Chairman of the Jiangsu Provincial Writers Association who had been sitting silently next to Gu Changfeng as a background character, added a subtle blow.

"Everyone, it's too late!"

Liang Wenyou pushed up his glasses, his tone carrying a hint of pride:

"Chairman Gu already recruited him as an honorary member of our Jiangsu Provincial Writers Association after the Jian Shen Cup last year."

"What?! That early?"

"You old fox!"

Tao Zhiyan pointed at Gu Changfeng and laughed:

"Usually you look so upright, but I didn't expect you to make your move faster than anyone!

An honorary member? And still a high school student? You've already broken the record for the youngest member!"

Gu Changfeng chuckled and didn't argue, just held his Yixing clay teapot a little tighter.

One person as an entire army.

This was Su Province's greatest confidence in coming to the capital this time.

"Alright."

Zhou Wenyuan looked at this group of noisy old children and shook his head with a smile.

He reached out and closed the thick document in front of him, looking out the window.

"Whether he's a monster or a true dragon, we'll see him at the end of next month."

Zhou Wenyuan stood up, straightened his collar, his eyes shining with a long-awaited expectation.

"For this final, I will also go to the scene personally."

As soon as these words were spoken, everyone's hearts skipped a beat.

To have the Vice Chairman of the National Writers Association personally go to the scene to oversee,

This youth named Lin Que's prestige had truly reached the ceiling.

Tao Zhiyan tightened the cap of his bottle hard, his eyes burning bright.

"I'm going too!

I want to see exactly what other terrifying things are inside the head of someone who can write the metamorphosis!"

...