207: The Shadow Clone Problem at the Physics Level

Lin Que stared at his phone screen, his fingertip tapping intermittently against the newly opened can of Coke.

The aluminum can let out a dull metallic sound.

On the screen, the scan of the red-headed document sent by Wang De'an was glaringly bright.

The bright red official seal sat at the bottom right of the paper, exuding authority and weight.

"Teacher Jian Shen, are you listening?"

The phone screen jumped again as Wang De'an sent a fifty-nine-second voice message:

"This is a name personally mentioned by Chairman Zhou Wenyuan!

Teacher, we are completely killing it this time!

The mainstream literary world already regards you as a leading figure. This isn't just for the prestige of New Tide, it's even more..."

Lin Que tossed the phone onto his pillow and collapsed onto the bed.

A leading figure?

What was on his mind right now wasn't some literary status, but rather the Shadow Clone problem at the level of physics.

He knew the destructive power of folding beijing better than anyone.

In his previous life, it was a masterpiece that could make the Hugo Award judges stand and applaud as one.

In this culturally barren world, once this manuscript was unboxed,

it would be like a heavy tank entering the field, directly crushing the other contestants into dust.

When the time came, he would have to stand in the spotlight as "High Schooler Lin Que" and accept the head-pats from those Old Professors.

If "Jian Shen" also showed up then... unless he performed a disappearing act in public, this carefully maintained Secret Identity would shatter into a mess of lost dignity on the spot.

"Teacher Jian Shen?"

Wang De'an's message popped up again.

Clearly, the Editor-in-Chief was waiting at his desk, anxiously anticipating a nod from this literary hermit.

Lin Que rolled over and picked up his phone again.

His movements were slow and deliberate, his fingertips dancing lightly across the virtual keyboard.

[Editor-in-Chief Wang, when men of letters associate, the value lies in the communion of spirits.]

[My words have already gone in my stead; what does it matter if this physical shell goes or not?]

After sending these two lines, Lin Que felt it wasn't quite stylish enough, so he added another paragraph:

[Fu Zhi Yao is a battlefield for the youth, the place where the morning sun rises.]

[If I were to appear, the readers' gaze would inevitably drift away from the text itself, which doesn't align with the purity of literature.]

[Leave the spotlight for the children who need it more.]

After sending it, Lin Que turned off the screen and let out a long sigh.

On the other end of the line, Wang De'an held his phone, completely stunned for a full three minutes.

He had originally been pacing around his office in excitement over this invitation letter.

Seeing these two replies, he felt as if he had been instantly struck by a clear, refreshing aura.

An image automatically surfaced in his mind: a hermit wearing a faded green robe, brewing tea with melted snow in a deep, ancient forest.

Outside the window, the cold wind howled, while inside, the aroma of tea swirled.

This master calmly waved his hand, offering a faint, indifferent smile toward the world's vanity fair.

Wang De'an even felt that his previous excitement was simply a desecration of Teacher Jian Shen.

"Vision... his vision has truly reached a new level!"

Wang De'an wiped his face and replied with trembling fingers:

[Wang De'an]: Teacher is truly a master of this age.

It was I who was caught up in trivialities, thinking only of hollow fame and nearly disturbing Teacher's quiet cultivation.

Lin Que looked at the screen and laughed out loud.

This Editor-in-Chief Wang's ability to over-imagine things was getting more and more ridiculous; it was a waste that he wasn't a screenwriter.

However, Wang De'an clearly didn't want this grand event to leave any regrets.

[Wang De'an]: Teacher, I understand your difficulties.

But the organizing committee, especially Chairman Zhou, truly desires to hear your voice.

Since your person cannot appear, could you... record a short audio message?

[Wang De'an]: It could be played as the ultimate Easter Egg at the end of the award ceremony.

This would be an immense encouragement to the children participating.

Lin Que looked at the proposal and rubbed his chin.

A recording?

That was doable.

There would be much more room to maneuver with a recording.

He replied:

[Very well.]

He opened his personal laptop and launched an audio processing software.

As a gold-medal screenwriter in his previous life, he had spent plenty of time in post-production suites.

He was very familiar with technical tasks like voiceprint mixing.

He didn't need a professional recording studio; he just needed to create a voice.

A voice that didn't belong to the youth Lin Que, nor to any known individual.

He cleared his throat and pressed the record button.

"Respected..."

Lin Que's voice was originally clear and bright, but under the software's intervention, the frequency began to undergo subtle changes.

He added a slight simulation of background noise, creating the characteristic hiss of an old record player.

Then, he boosted the low and mid frequencies.

His voice became as warm and thick as an ancient bell, carrying a texture that seemed to pierce through the years.

He sounded like an observer drifting outside of time, standing under the starry sky and whispering to the earth.

After recording, to confirm the effect,

Lin Que specifically turned up the external volume and enabled virtual surround sound.

He listened to it several times and couldn't help but mock himself:

When the time comes, I'll be standing on the award stage, listening with a face full of piety as I lecture myself through the speakers,

while the old men below all nod in agreement...

This scene... "Alright, this will do."

Lin Que renamed the audio file "A Letter to Fu Yao" and clicked send.

Five minutes later, Wang De'an's reply came back,

only a few simple words, but the shock could be felt even through the screen:

[Wang De'an]: Teacher Jian Shen, these words are not just for the newcomers, they are a bell tolling for the entire literary world!

[Wang De'an]: I'll go contact the organizing committee right away!

Lin Que closed the chat box and leaned back in his chair.

Just as he was about to shut down and go to sleep, there was suddenly movement outside the door.

"Knock, knock, knock!"

The knocking was urgent.

Lin Que's fingertips flew across the keys; the processing window on the screen vanished in a second, and the background processes were wiped clean within moments.

He quickly put on a different expression, rubbed his eyes, and mussed up his messy hair until it looked even more like a bird's nest before dragging his feet to the door.

"Click."

The door opened.

Shen Qingqiu stood at the door, clutching a bag of fruit, her brow furrowed and her eyes full of suspicion.

"Teacher Shen? What time is it..."

Lin Que feigned the exhausted look of someone who had just woken up, even taking the opportunity to yawn.

Shen Qingqiu didn't enter the room; she just stared at him, her voice carrying a hint of uncertainty:

"Lin Que, just now... who were you talking to?"

...