193: Folding the Capital

Yuyuan Technology Building, Command Center Hall.

On the massive LED monitoring wall, one thousand and five squares were all in motion.

Some examinees were frantically pounding on keyboards, some were scratching their heads in frustration, and others had already begun pacing back and forth in their rooms, muttering to themselves.

Only screen number 0816 in the corner remained as still as a JPG image.

A dark blue suit jacket was draped tightly over a head, with two long legs stretched out casually. The chest rose and fell slightly with the rhythm of breathing.

"This is a silent protest."

Someone raised a question.

"This kind of twisted seventy-two-hour competition format, locking people in cages—what hot-blooded young person can stand it? He's probably just giving up and trying to spite the organizing committee while he's at it."

"This..."

"Could he be feeling unwell?"

Another judge frowned.

"Looking at that posture, he hasn't moved for five minutes. I hope he hasn't suddenly fainted from some acute illness. Should we send the medical team in to check?"

The discussion grew louder.

"Don't be in such a hurry."

A steady voice cut in.

Gu Changfeng held a purple clay teapot in his hand and didn't even stand up from his chair. He only lazily lifted an eyelid.

"Don't panic, and there's no need for the medical team. This kid's health is perfectly fine."

"Old Gu, aren't you being a bit protective here?"

Tao Zhiyan slammed his thermos onto the table, eyes wide with indignation.

"The situation is urgent, yet he's lying there like a corpse. Is there even enough time left?"

Gu Changfeng took a sip of tea and cast his gaze toward the figure covered by the suit, a hint of a smile appearing at the corner of his mouth.

"Old Tao, your memory is failing you."

Gu Changfeng said slowly.

"Last year, at the Su Province 'Jieyou Cup' site, there was also a student who fell asleep as soon as he entered the exam hall. He woke up, finished writing in half an hour, submitted his paper, and won the first prize winner."

Tao Zhiyan was stunned for a moment, then quickly realized.

"You mean..."

"Great talents always have eccentricities."

Gu Changfeng set down his teapot, his eyes becoming deep.

"Ordinary people rely on diligence; geniuses rely on inspiration. He is 'entering a state of meditation'; he knows what he's doing.

We old fogies just need to watch the results. For now..."

He pointed at the screen: "Let him sleep."

Gu Changfeng's words effectively settled the scene.

Although everyone still had their doubts, no one brought it up again.

However, the gazes directed at screen 0816 became even more complex... Wenjin Pavilion.

Heavy blackout curtains blocked out the midday sun, leaving the room dim and quiet.

Under the suit jacket, Lin Que was not actually asleep.

His eyes were tightly shut, but his brain was operating at an unprecedented speed.

The topic: [Wall].

This was an excellent topic, so good it was almost cunning.

Ninety percent of the examinees, upon seeing this word, would definitely write about "walls of the heart" as their first reaction.

Barriers, generation gaps, and misunderstandings between people—this was the safest and most likely angle to produce a decent result.

The remaining nine percent might write about prisons, besieged cities, or some specific physical obstruction.

But none of these were enough.

In this technologically advanced world, people were used to skyscrapers and neon lights,

yet they lacked a cold, critical reflection on what lay behind this prosperity.

Lin Que's thoughts wandered through the void.

On his left was the warm redemption of Jian Shen; on his right was the dark destiny of the Dream Weaver.

Light and dark—it seemed complete, yet it was missing a corner.

It lacked a rivet that could forcibly stitch together this world's "high technology" and "low humanity."

It lacked an absolutely rational voice belonging to Lin Que himself.

Sci-fi humanism.

Not just the hard sci-fi filled with laser cannons and interstellar warships,

but using the shell of science fiction to extrapolate social structures to their extreme,

to explore how far human dignity has been squeezed in that cold steel forest.

Lin Que's mental tentacles finally settled on a single book.

It was a masterpiece that had won the Hugo Award in his previous life, commanding the attention of the Western world.

It wasn't about alien invasions or superheroes.

It was about a city.

A city that was folded up.

There, time was a commodity and space was a privilege.

The "wall" was no longer a dead object made of brick and stone, but a cruel severance under the laws of physics.

Twenty-four hours belonged to the elite of the First Space.

Sixteen hours belonged to the middle-class white-collar workers of the Second Space.

The remaining eight hours of night belonged only to the bottom-tier underdogs of the Third Space.

They lived on the same land,

yet were isolated in different dimensions by that invisible "wall of time," never interacting from birth to death.

This was the ultimate "wall."

A physical wall, a class wall, a wall of time.

Lin Que slowly opened his eyes in the darkness. The lining of the suit jacket obscured his vision,

but he seemed to already see that steel behemoth flipping, folding, and letting out a massive roar in the dawn... Time passed minute by minute.

People in the command hall cycled in and out.

5:00 PM.

Many judges who were just watching for fun couldn't hold out any longer and left, leaving only a few chairmen like Gu Changfeng, Zhou Wenyuan, and Tao Zhiyan still guarding the screens.

Most examinees' screens were already densely packed with thousands of words.

Xu Changge's document already had a clear outline and opening.

Judging by the style of the writing, he seemed to be writing a profound prose piece about the historical changes of the ancient city walls of Beijing, with ornate language and high-minded themes.

Yet screen number 0816 remained a complete blank.

That figure had maintained that same posture for a full five hours.

"Old Gu, I'm really starting to feel uneasy."

Tao Zhiyan looked at his watch, his brow furrowed.

"Five hours. Even for conceptualizing, this is too long. If he doesn't start writing now, he won't be able to keep up with the progress over the next three days, even if he doesn't eat or drink."

Zhou Wenyuan also sighed.

"For structured long-form pieces, the biggest taboo is getting stuck at the start. Once the mindset collapses, everything follows in a total defeat."

Just then.

A young clerk who had been staring at the screen suddenly let out a low cry.

"0816 moved!"

With that cry.

The several chairmen, who were originally a bit drowsy, instantly sat up straight, more than a dozen eyes pinning themselves onto screen 0816 in unison.

In the image.

That slender hand slowly rose.

The suit slipped down.

Lin Que sat up straight.

Compared to his peers on the screens who already had bloodshot eyes and crooked ties, he had slept quite well.

His hair wasn't messy, and there was no panic in his eyes from being chased by the countdown—only the clarity of someone who had just woken up.

It was the sharpness of a blade about to be unsheathed after being honed to the limit.

He was in no hurry to type.

He slowly unscrewed the mineral water on the desk, tilted his head back to take a large gulp, his Adam's apple bobbing.

Then, he stretched his neck and wrists.

He pulled his chair closer, his hands resting lightly on the mechanical keyboard, fingertips hovering.

In this moment, the command hall actually fell into an eerie silence.

Everyone held their breath, wanting to see what kind of earth-shattering story this "Sleep God," who had made them wait for five hours, could actually write.

Lin Que looked at the large word [Wall] on the screen.

No need for a draft, no need for hesitation.

Fingertips fell.

The crisp sound of keyboard clicks seemed to pierce through the screen, exploding in everyone's hearts.

No hesitation, no revisions.

A line of large, black SimSun characters appeared in the center of the pure white document, carrying a suffocating metallic texture and sense of pressure.

folding beijing

...