206: Urgent letter

Wenjin Pavilion Hotel, Eighth Floor.

The curtains were tightly drawn.

The air conditioning in the room was running high, and the only sound source was a freshly opened can of cola on the table, the bubbles crackling inside the aluminum can.

Lin Que sat cross-legged on the bed, rapidly tapping the screen with his thumb while on a video call.

“Mom, I'm really fine.”

Lin Que held his phone slightly farther away and rolled his eyes helplessly at the air.

“The news is all nonsense.”

On the other end of the line, Mother Lin's voice carried unconcealed anxiety.

In the background, Comrade Lin Jianguo could be heard cursing at the TV, likely railing against the unscrupulous media for spreading rumors.

“Still smart-mouthing! Your Auntie Wang next door came over with her phone to ask me, saying it's all over the internet,

saying a test-taker went crazy from the pressure, and asking if it was our Little Que.

It scared me half to death!”

“Mom, what are you talking about? They didn't even show a face in the news, how did you know it was me?”

“You're my flesh and blood! That silhouette in the news, your left shoulder is slightly lower than your right when you walk—that's from carrying your schoolbag when you were little!

And that flattened cola can in your hand, you always squeeze things when you're nervous or relaxed. Could Mom be wrong?”

Mother Lin's voice was tearful.

“Those Marketing Accounts are describing it vividly, saying the test-taker suffered a nervous breakdown right there from the stress... Son, if you're feeling bad, just come home. We don't need to suffer through this!”

Lin Que stared at the screen, his throat tightening slightly.

Everyone outside was waiting to laugh at that “lunatic,”

but only his Old Mom, separated by thousands of kilometers of signal, was worried if he was truly ill.

“Don't worry, Mom, it really wasn't me.”

Lin Que was both touched and exasperated as he complained about the unscrupulous Marketing Accounts.

A message popped up on the WeChat interface.

It was Ye Xi, whose avatar was a cartoon Grumpy Rabbit.

[Fugitive Beethoven]: The Trending Searches are so exciting right now.

[Fugitive Beethoven]: [Link: Exclusive! Mental State of First Test-Taker to Abandon Exam Remains a Mystery; Experts Recommend Strengthening Psychological Intervention for Youth]

[Fugitive Beethoven]: Experts recommend seeking medical attention early. I agree. Who normal could sleep soundly in there? [Dog Head Emoji.jpg]

[Fugitive Beethoven]: How does this “lunatic” feel now? Need me to play a Requiem for you?

Lin Que looked at the screen and couldn't help but let out a short snort of laughter.

“Pfft.”

This laugh was particularly abrupt in the quiet room,

and clearly traveled through the phone signal to Jiangcheng, thousands of kilometers away.

The nagging on the other end of the phone abruptly stopped.

“...Son?”

Mother Lin's voice changed pitch, tinged with suspicion.

“I'm talking to you about something serious, what are you laughing at? What was that noise just now?”

Lin Que's fingers froze, and he inwardly thought, 'Oh no.'

“No, nothing.”

He quickly adjusted his expression and spoke solemn nonsense.

“I just saw a joke and couldn't hold it in.”

“Saw a joke?”

Mother Lin clearly didn't believe him, and her tone instantly switched to Detective Mode.

“Who are you chatting with? You sound so happy? When I used to call you, all you ever said was ‘uh-huh’ and ‘yeah’.”

“No one special, just a classmate asking how the exam went.”

“A classmate?”

Mother Lin's voice began to carry a deeply meaningful eagerness.

“Was it that girl... the one who came over to eat last time?”

Lin Que's scalp tingled.

Was this the sixth sense of Middle-aged Women?

Did this radar have a Phased Array installed, capable of accurately locking onto a target thousands of kilometers away?

“Mom, what are you talking about?”

Lin Que quickly interrupted the 'Spellcasting,' trying to pull the conversation back.

“It's just a normal classmate, everyone is concerned about the competition results. Don't overthink things. Where's Dad?

Let him take the phone, I need to report on my Ideological Progress to him.”

“Stop trying to fool me.”

Mother Lin wasn't buying it at all; her tone became more certain instead.

“Fine, I won't ask anymore, so you don't complain I'm nagging.

When you come back, invite that classmate over for a meal.

Mom recently learned Squirrel Mandarin Fish, a specialty of Su Cuisine,

several old ladies in the neighborhood have been chasing me for the recipe. It'll be perfect for you two to try.”

Lin Que held the phone, momentarily speechless.

This wasn't an invitation to dinner; this was the rhythm of the Feast at Hong Gate.

“...We'll see, she's quite busy.”

Lin Que spoke vaguely and quickly shifted the focus.

“Well, Mom, I'm a bit sleepy here. I didn't sleep well last night, so I want to catch up on some rest.”

“Alright, alright, go to sleep quickly! Your health is what matters!”

As soon as she heard her Son needed rest, Mother Lin immediately withdrew her Divine Power.

“Remember to cover yourself with the blanket, don't set the AC too low. Hanging up now!”

“Beep—”

Hearing the dial tone, Lin Que let out a long breath and tossed the phone onto the quilt.

Dealing with his mother was harder than dealing with the Old Men from the Writers Association these days.

The phone vibrated once.

[Fugitive Beethoven]: Where are you? Did the experts take you away for treatment?

Lin Que picked up his phone and replied.

[Mu Xia]: Just finished reporting to the Empress Dowager. I was nearly executed on the spot for laughing inappropriately.

[Mu Xia]: Don't gloat. When the results come out, you'll know who needs to see a Psychiatrist.

[Fugitive Beethoven]: Humph, Conceited Jerk.

The top of the chat box showed “The other party is typing,” and after a while, a line of text appeared.

[Fugitive Beethoven]: Oh right, in two weeks, I'll be going on Tour.

[Fugitive Beethoven]: The first stop is Vienna, then Berlin.

The schedule is very full this time. I might... be away for a month.

Lin Que looked at the line of text, his finger hovering over the screen for a moment.

[Mu Xia]: That's good news.

[Mu Xia]: Let those Foreigners see what the Beethoven from the East is like.

[Mu Xia]: When you stand in the Golden Hall, remember to save me a ticket. Even if I don't go, the Gesture must be made.

The reply came quickly.

[Fugitive Beethoven]: Of course!

[Fugitive Beethoven]: That spot will always be reserved for the person who can understand my music.

[Fugitive Beethoven]: [Grinning Face Emoji.jpg]

[Fugitive Beethoven]: It's getting late. You should go to sleep too, don't actually turn into a lunatic.

Ending the chat, Lin Que smiled and tossed his phone aside.

The room fell silent again.

He stretched, walked to the desk, and opened his Laptop.

As soon as the webpage refreshed, the Background Data of Hongguo Novel Website jumped up dramatically, as if a pot had exploded.

Late last night, under the account “Hell Dream Weaver,” he had posted a New Book Announcement.

There was no main text, only a black cover and a synopsis that looked like garbled code.

[Book Title: cthulhu mythos]

[Synopsis: That is not dead which can eternal lie, and with strange aeons even death may die.]

[Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn.]

The comment section already had nearly ten thousand replies, with a peculiar atmosphere, completely resembling a scene of “Sanity Value dropping crazily.”

“??? What the heck is this synopsis? Did Great Master Dream Weaver's cat step on the keyboard?”

“I checked all the Translation Software, this string of letters isn't human language at all! Did Dream Weaver go crazy writing soul ferry?”

“This synopsis... My god, I just tried to read that string of letters, and my tongue almost tied itself in a knot. And I don't know why, but after reading it, I felt a chill down my spine, like something outside the window was watching me.”

“Me too! Staring at that black cover for too long, I felt the lines on it moving! Is this really a novel synopsis? Why does it feel like some kind of Cult spell?”

“Dream Weaver has gone too far this time. I know every word, but put together, I can't understand it at all. Yet, it's this incomprehensible feeling that makes me intensely uneasy. That line, ‘even death may die,’ is too arrogant, and too terrifying.”

“I don't know if you guys feel this way, but when you pronounce the three characters of the book title ‘Cthulhu,’ there's a viscous gurgling sound in your throat. It's disgusting, but also so exciting!”

Lin Que looked at the comments and tapped the desk with satisfaction.

This is exactly right.

In this world that advocates absolute rationality, where even ghosts must adhere to Physical Magnetic Fields,

unknown, unspeakable fear is the heavy hammer that shatters their Psychological Defenses.

Right now they think it's garbled code, but once the main text is released,

when the Great Old One sleeping in R'lyeh opens his eyes, they will know what “incomprehensible greatness” means.

Humanity's oldest and strongest emotion is fear,

and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown.

This grand gift from Lovecraft will be enough to give the readers of this world a hard time.

Closing Hong Guo Net, Lin Que clicked open the Folder named “Jian Shen.”

Several Documents lay quietly inside.

The sales of the little prince were still climbing, and its reputation was already starting to ferment in the adult world.

The next phase of the plan should naturally return to Jian Shen's main track.

Since Dream Weaver prepared Cthulhu to tear apart the readers' sanity,

then Jian Shen naturally needs to produce something weighty enough to stabilize the ship.

That will be the most unadorned cry from the Loess Plateau, a realistic epic about suffering and struggle.

However, there's no rush yet.

The time had already passed midnight.

Lin Que yawned, preparing to shut down the computer and sleep.

The Green Icon in the bottom right corner of the screen suddenly began to flash.

Who would be looking for him at this hour?

He clicked it open, and Lin Que's eyebrows raised slightly.

It was Wang De'an, the Editor-in-Chief of New Tide Magazine.

[Wang De'an]: Teacher Jian Shen, are you resting?

The tone was overly polite, even carrying a hint of cautious probing.

Lin Que replied “No.”

The response was almost an Instantaneous Reply, clearly indicating he had been watching his phone.

[Wang De'an]: Teacher Jian Shen, forgive me for disturbing you late at night. I just received an Urgent Dispatch, and since it's highly important, I decided to forward it to you immediately.

[Wang De'an]: It was sent directly to the Magazine Headquarters by the National Writers Association, specifically addressed to you by name.

Lin Que's finger paused.

The National Writers Association?

His current identity is “Jian Shen,” a Bestselling Author. Although popular, in the eyes of the mainstream literary circle, he's just a “storyteller.”

A Behemoth like the National Writers Association usually only deals with people at the level of the Provincial Writers Association Chairman. Why would they contact him directly?

[Mu Xia]: What kind of dispatch?

Wang De'an sent an Image.

It was a scanned copy of a Red-headed Document, with the official seal glaringly bright red.

—“Invitation to the Award Ceremony for the 3rd 'Fu Zhi Yao Competition' National Essay Contest”

...