21: Three identities?

Holding the brand-new issue of New Tide magazine, Lin Que walked down the corridor of the teaching building.

The afternoon sunlight filtered through the windows, casting dappled shadows across his body.

He opened the magazine, his fingertips lightly brushing over the two characters for 'Jian Shen.'

The strange smile at the corner of his mouth could finally no longer be suppressed.

"An elder who has seen the world, with a transparent and compassionate heart?"

He muttered in a low voice, nearly laughing out loud.

He stuffed the magazine into his backpack and whistled a cheerful tune.

Just as he reached the stairwell, the phone in his pocket began to vibrate.

He pulled it out and saw it was Professor Li Yuanchao's number.

He had saved the contact information after receiving a text from Professor Li last time.

"Hello, Professor Li."

"Student Lin Que."

On the other end of the line, Li Yuanchao's voice sounded a bit weary.

"It's me, Li Yuanchao. I hope I'm not interrupting your class?"

"No, class just ended."

"That's good."

Li Yuanchao paused, his tone carrying a hint of apology.

"Regarding the essay competition, you've been wronged.

But don't worry, gold will always shine; Wang Shouyi can't cover the sky with one hand."

"I understand. Thank you, Professor Li."

Lin Que's tone was very calm.

His calmness actually made Li Yuanchao admire him even more.

This youth remained unruffled by favor or humiliation, possessing the air of a great general.

"I'm calling to tell you something."

Li Yuanchao's tone became excited again.

"I recommended your piece, 'firefly,' to jiangcheng literature and art."

Shen Qingqiu had already mentioned this.

Lin Que knew about jiangcheng literature and art.

It was the official mouthpiece of Jiang City.

Although its status couldn't match major journals like New Tide,

it was an absolute symbol of authority in the local literary world.

"The Editor-in-Chief of jiangcheng literature and art, Chen Liangsheng, is an old friend of mine.

After reading your article, he was full of praise!

He decided on the spot to publish it!"

"However..."

Li Yuanchao's tone shifted, becoming more somber.

"As you know,

Wang Shouyi is, after all, the Chairman of the Writers Association. Old Chen can't be too blatant about it and openly oppose the Chairman.

Therefore, this article cannot be placed on the front page or as a headline."

"Then where will it be placed?"

Lin Que asked.

"It will be placed in a new column at the end of the journal called 'New Voice.'

This column is specifically for publishing controversial works.

Although the position is a bit obscure, Editor-in-Chief Chen promised me

that he will personally write an editor's note to guide the readers' thinking."

Li Yuanchao explained.

"Is that so? That's quite good."

Lin Que's answer was still simple.

To him, where it was published or in what position didn't matter.

What mattered was that his writing could be seen by more people.

Whether it brought fear or controversy.

"I'm relieved you think that way!"

Li Yuanchao's tone lightened slightly, filled with some emotion.

"I was just afraid that you, being young and proud, wouldn't be able to stand this grievance.

Remember, writing is a matter for the ages; its success or failure is known only to the heart.

Momentary praise or criticism means nothing.

Time is the most impartial judge.

Don't let those noises disturb your pen."

After saying some words of thanks, Lin Que hung up the phone.

He stood where he was, not leaving immediately.

He leaned against the wall and laughed silently.

A malignant tumor in the eyes of the Chairman, a hidden gem in the words of the professor.

This controversial Lin Que

was itself the most perfect mist, isolating everything at just the right distance.

No one would suspect that these three completely different identities

belonged to the same person.

What he had to do was maintain this student persona—slightly talented, slightly rebellious, but ultimately harmless.

This game of chess was becoming more and more interesting.

...

The weekend was the day the Lin family officially moved.

That old, small apartment, which held decades of the family's memories, was now piled high with various packed cardboard boxes.

Wang Xiulian directed the moving company workers while wiping away tears and rambling.

"This sofa has been with us for over a decade. Even though the leather is peeling, it's comfortable to sit on. It's such a shame to throw it away."

"And that old wardrobe, your dad built it with his own hands back then. You can't find such good wood anymore."

Lin Que's gaze fell upon his father, Lin Jianguo.

He saw the man, who was always taciturn,

carefully wrapping a faded old teacup in layers of newspaper,

then placing it preciously into his breast pocket.

That was the first and only Father's Day gift Lin Que had made in a handicraft class back in elementary school.

Lin Jianguo noticed his son's gaze, paused his movements, and looked up.

The father and son's gazes met in the air without words,

but in Lin Jianguo's eyes, which were usually stern,

there was now a flow of clumsy warmth, knowing his son understood.

He looked away somewhat unnaturally and cleared his throat:

"What are you looking at? Hurry up and get to work!"

Lin Que smiled and said nothing, just silently helped move things.

This was probably the unspoken understanding between father and son, a man's bond.

Lin Que looked at the furniture in the room, both strange and familiar.

Unlike his parents' nostalgia, he didn't have much attachment to this place.

It held his difficult youth, but more so, in his past life's memories, the sight of his parents' backs becoming increasingly hunched as they struggled for a living.

He just wanted to leave here as soon as possible.

"Little Que, come quickly and see, what's this?"

Wang Xiulian pulled an old photo album out of a box under the bed.

She slapped away the dust and flipped it open.

A yellowed photograph appeared before the three of them.

In the photo,

there was a sturdy five- or six-year-old boy wearing ill-fitting overalls,

his face smeared like a little calico cat,

yet he was holding up a 'Triple-A Student' certificate high, grinning so wide his eyes were nearly shut.

"Pfft."

Wang Xiulian was the first to laugh out loud.

"Look at how silly you were as a kid. You got a Triple-A Student award and were so happy your snot bubbles came out."

The corners of Lin Jianguo's mouth also couldn't help but turn up, the sternness in his eyes softening:

"Back then, he took this certificate

and ran around the courtyard all afternoon, showing it off to everyone he saw."

Lin Que looked at the unfamiliar 'self' in the photo and smiled too.

It was a strange feeling,

like peeking into a past that didn't belong to him, yet was connected to him by blood.

"Alright, alright, stop looking. Hurry up and pack, we're wasting the workers' time."

Lin Jianguo urged them verbally, yet he couldn't help but steal two more glances at the photo.

A semi-old truck, carrying all of a family's belongings,

along with their farewell to the past and hope for the future, slowly drove away from the old alley.

When the family stood in the 140-square-meter,

bright and clean new home at Xisheng Mansion, Wang Xiulian couldn't hold back her tears again.

"It's... it's so bright."

She stroked the clean, new walls, her voice trembling.

Lin Jianguo stood in front of the massive floor-to-ceiling window for a long time.

He looked at the wide river view outside and suddenly turned around to say to Lin Que:

"Son, how is that... studio of yours coming along?"

"It's all set up, and all the equipment is ready."

Lin Que said.

"Mm."

Lin Jianguo nodded, his gaze holding a solemn entrustment.

He wanted to say more, but couldn't find the words.

That night, Lin Que lay in his spacious and bright new bedroom.

It was more than three times larger than his previous small room,

with a soft large bed, a separate walk-in closet,

and a small balcony with a view of the river.

But he found himself a bit sleepless.

In his mind, two scenes were flashing back and forth.

On one side, in the human world is like a prison,

the protagonist Yang Jian was in a deathly silent hallway, facing a knocked-upon door, his eyes filled only with cold calculation.

On the other side, in The Miracles of the Namiya General Store,

Grandpa Namiya was under the lamp, writing a reply letter to a troubled young girl, gentleness flowing from his pen.

Fear and healing, destruction and redemption.

He picked up his phone and logged into the author backend of Hongguo Novel Website;

the bright red '99+' notification was still glaring.

The ID 'Cures Low Blood Pressure,' ranked first on the donation list, was still firmly pinned at the top.

Lin Que smiled, exited that noisy battlefield, and clicked on another email inbox.

An email from Xu Lan of New Tide lay there quietly.

[Hello, Teacher Jian Shen.]

[After the magazine was released, the editorial department was overwhelmed by the enthusiasm of the readers. Phones and letters have piled up like mountains, all inquiring about the person who lit a lamp for them and resolved their worries.]

[Your story has warmed this autumn.]

[Additionally, I have a humble request.]

[Many readers have written in, hoping to receive a reply from the 'Namiya General Store.' I wonder if you would be interested in occasionally selecting a few letters to continue this warmth in the form of emails?]

Selecting reader letters to reply to?

Lin Que's fingertip stopped on the screen.

This suggestion was very interesting.

A real-life version of the Namiya General Store seemed quite good too.

He pondered for a moment and typed a line of text.

[If I can resolve the confusion of others, it would be my great pleasure. Please forward the letters.]