214: There is no first place in literature

"Good evening, dear young creators."

Besides the human voice, a faint background noise emanated from the loudspeaker.

This intentionally preserved static instantly pulled the magnificent auditorium into a quiet, bygone era.

The auditorium, previously filled with whispers, fell dead silent as even the restless examinees in the back rows held their breath.

Hundreds of eyes stared intently at the empty microphone in the center of the stage,

as if a white-haired, white-bearded elder were truly standing there.

"I am... Jian Shen."

These four simple words made the authors in the second row straighten their backs.

Sitting in the third row, Lin Que expressionlessly crunched a mint between his teeth.

When he recorded this segment last night, he had been wearing only a pair of boxers and flip-flops, putting on an act in front of his computer microphone.

Now, hearing that deep, post-processed voice echoing under the dome of the national-level auditorium,

Lin Que had to slightly adjust his sitting posture to suppress the urge for the corners of his mouth to turn up wildly.

This was practically a tag-team match of public execution and public coronation.

The recording continued.

"My thanks to the organizing committee for their kind invitation.

But I am a coward hiding behind words, accustomed to keeping company with solitude in the dead of night,

and I truly lack the courage to stand under the spotlight and look directly at the new power of the Huaxia literary world rising like the morning sun."

The voice carried a gentleness that was humble to the core, yet possessed a sense of clarity from having seen through the world.

"Is this the realm of a master?"

Chen Jiahao whispered from the back seat, his tone filled with nothing but admiration.

"He's clearly ridiculously strong, yet he calls himself a coward."

Lin Que's lip twitched.

No, I really do have social anxiety, and I'm afraid I'll be beaten to death if my secret identity is exposed.

The voice from the speakers paused, then shifted the topic to the main point.

"I heard that the theme this time is—[Wall]."

"A very interesting topic."

"Many people feel that a wall is a barrier, an obstacle, a cage that traps people in place. But in my view, a wall is more of a definition."

In the first row, Xue Hongchuan tilted his head slightly, his gaze becoming sharp.

"The mediocre seek shade beneath the wall, grateful that the wind and rain are blocked, while true creators..."

That aged voice suddenly grew deep.

"...should try to press their ears against it and listen to the heartbeat behind the wall."

"Listen to the blocked cries, listen to the muffled shouts. Only when you have heard the world behind the wall..."

The aged voice paused for two seconds, as if giving everyone time to think.

"...will this wall collapse under your pen."

The voice faded.

In the front row, Zhou Wenyuan quickly pulled out a fountain pen, nodding continuously while scribbling in his notebook.

Beside him, Tao Zhiyan's mouth hung open, looking as though he had just attained sudden enlightenment.

Even Xu Changge, sitting nearby, had completely lost his usual composure.

This 'Prince of the Beijing Circle' gripped the armrests tightly, staring intently into the void,

his lips silently murmuring the phrase, 'Listen to the heartbeat behind the wall.'

Watching this scene, Lin Que's sense of shame gradually faded, replaced by an extremely absurd sense of secret satisfaction.

These literary giants who were usually so high and mighty, these geniuses with their eyes at the top of their heads,

were all being completely hoodwinked by his few 'chuunibyou' lines.

It was like you had doodled something at random, only for a group of connoisseurs to hold magnifying glasses and analyze universal truths from it.

The recording neared its end.

"Finally, I want to say one thing to all the children."

"In literature, there is no 'first'."

"Trophies are just metal, and rankings are just numbers. Do not let them become new walls in your hearts."

"Please stay angry, stay compassionate, and maintain an 'inopportune' observation of this world.

For it is precisely these inopportune moments that constitute the most moving edge of literature."

"Until we meet again."

"Zzz—"

The static cut off, and the recording stopped abruptly.

Inside the vast auditorium, even the faint rustle of fabric vanished.

Only the lingering resonance of the electric current remained, vibrating against the eardrums of the hundreds present.

That phrase, 'inopportune observation,' wasn't particularly deafening,

but it was like an extremely thin fishbone, precisely stuck in the throats of all the creators present,

unable to be swallowed or spat out, leaving them only to savor the sweet aftertaste following the sting.

No one knew who clapped first.

"Clap."

Immediately following.

"Clap, clap, clap, clap, clap—!!!"

The applause was like a bursting flood, instantly drowning the entire auditorium.

Someone stood up involuntarily, followed by a second, then a third.

The applause was no longer a polite gesture but carried a sort of cathartic force, their palms turning red without them even noticing.

In the back row, Chen Jiahao was so excited his face turned red, his round face flushed like a ripe tomato.

As he clapped, he looked around smugly, his eyes filled with pride:

"Did you hear that? Did you hear that! That's my idol! That's Jian Shen! With this vision and poise, who among you can compare?"

His attitude made it seem as if he were the one who had made the recording.

Beside Lin Que, Xu Changge did not stand up.

He remained seated, maintaining that stiff posture, his gaze extremely complex.

There was shock, and a kind of fervor that comes from being shattered and then rebuilt.

"Inopportune..."

Xu Changge murmured under his breath.

"So that's it. My 'soul of the ancient wall' was too opportune,

too consistent with everyone's definition of a good article. But Lin Que..."

He turned to look at Lin Que.

Lin Que was leaning lazily against the back of his chair, peeling his third mint, oblivious to the surrounding fervor.

This out-of-place sense of relaxation, in Xu Changge's eyes,

actually overlapped perfectly with the 'inopportune observer' Jian Shen had spoken of.

And in the seat to Lin Que's right...

...sat a young man in a black shirt.

Since entering, he had been keeping his head down as if in thought, not even looking up once.

Now, amidst the boiling applause of the entire venue, he finally raised his head.

But he wasn't excited like the others; he just slowly raised his hands and clapped half-heartedly.

His movements were perfunctory, yet through the gaps in his bangs, his eyes stared intently at the empty microphone on stage.

Lin Que's peripheral vision caught this, and his brow twitched slightly.

This guy... is a bit strange.

Meanwhile, the bullet comments in the online livestream room had gone completely wild.

"I'm kneeling! Truly kneeling!"

"This is a master! This is prestige! These words have directly elevated this competition by more than one level!"

"Where are the haters who said Jian Shen didn't dare to come? Come out and take your beating! He just disdains competing for fame and profit!"

In the first row of the guest seats...

...Chairman of the Writers Association Xue Hongchuan slowly lowered his clapping hands and turned to sigh softly to Ding Huaijin, the Minister of Education, beside him:

"Old Ding, not meeting this person is truly our loss."

Ding Huaijin pushed up his glasses and nodded in deep agreement.

Xue Hongchuan looked at the stage, his gaze profound:

"But if he were to truly come out of seclusion, I'm afraid this hall full of so-called experts and giants would all feel ashamed of their own inferiority."

"Indeed." Ding Huaijin smiled.

"However, to have someone like that watching from the shadows, these kids can be considered fortunate."

The applause gradually subsided.

The host stepped back onto the stage.

His face was also slightly flushed; clearly, he hadn't completely recovered from the shock of the recording.

He took a deep breath, adjusted the microphone, and his voice returned to a passionate, professional tone.

"Thank you! Thank you, Teacher Jian Shen, for this precious gift."

"These words are like a great bell, deafening and enlightening."

The host paused, his gaze scanning the audience before finally landing on the sealed golden envelope in his hand.

"The easter egg segment is over."

"Next, following Teacher Jian Shen's words, let's return to the most exciting moment of the evening."

The image on the big screen instantly switched.

Intense drumbeats sounded rapidly, and lights began to sweep wildly across the venue, creating a suffocating sense of tension.

"The final rankings for the 3rd 'Fuzhiyao' National Essay Competition..."

"...are about to be revealed!"

...