218: There are more experts? —Extra Chapter of "I'm a Clown, Don't Laugh"

The list on the big screen did not stop scrolling.

Instead, it continued to ruthlessly crush the nerves of the audience below.

Ninth place, eighth place, seventh place... every name announced stirred a small-scale commotion among the provincial representative teams.

These top students, who usually walked with their heads held high in their own provinces, now looked somewhat awkward standing on that stage.

Because they all knew that tonight's spotlight did not belong to them.

The true battle of the gods had only just begun.

Chen Jiahao in tenth place had already reached a score of 92.8.

This wasn't just a score; it was more like an impassable chasm.

"It's too competitive..."

Someone in the back row covered their face in despair.

"In previous years, 90 points would guarantee a spot in the top three. This year, 92 points is just the gatekeeper?"

A sense of oppression crept up everyone's spines from the backs of their chairs.

"Fifth place, from Shanghai, Fudan High School—Tang He!"

A girl with neat short hair stood up and walked onto the stage.

On the big screen, her work "glass" was being deconstructed.

It was a modern urban fable that compared the curtain walls of skyscrapers to transparent barriers isolating human hearts.

Final score: 94.66 (S-rank).

Immediately after, the fourth place was revealed.

From Shandong Confucius Institute, Yuan Ningning.

A piece titled "The Wall of Rituals," which cited classics and discussed the conflict between tradition and modernity.

Score: 95.12.

By now, the entire auditorium had become eerily quiet.

It was still S-rank.

The threshold for the top five had been raised to a suffocating level.

Lin Que sat in the third row, the mint in his mouth almost completely dissolved.

He keenly noticed that the boy in the black shirt to his right, who had been keeping his head down, was in an unusual state.

His pale fingers were tapping frantically on his knees.

Tap, tap-tap, tap-tap-tap.

The rhythm was fast enough to make one's head spin.

It wasn't just tapping; it was more like trying to grasp fleeting inspiration amidst extreme anxiety.

The entire row of seats was vibrating slightly, conveying an unsettling restlessness.

Lin Que glanced over from the corner of his eye.

He saw the boy's lowered head lift slightly. Under thick bangs, a pair of sunken eyes stared fixedly at the big screen.

His fingers, tensed with excessive force, showed a sickly bluish-purple hue.

He was craving.

Not a craving for fame or fortune, but an extreme hunger to be seen and recognized.

The host took a deep breath and looked at the card in his hand, a flash of surprise crossing his eyes.

"Third place."

The host's voice echoed through the auditorium:

"From Heilongjiang, Mochen High School—Danyi Lopivich!"

As soon as the name was announced, the crowd went into an uproar.

Whispers crackled like beans in a hot pan.

"Huh? A foreigner?"

"Not necessarily. There are many Sino-Russian mixed-race people in Mochen, but that name definitely smells like vodka!"

As the name was read, the vibration beside Lin Que came to an abrupt halt.

The boy in the black shirt, Danyi, suddenly stopped his tapping.

His hand trembled violently in mid-air before clenching into a tight fist.

At that moment, Lin Que heard the crisp sound of the boy's knuckles cracking.

Interesting.

Lin Que bit down on the last bit of the candy.

He had seen this kind of gaze—pure to the point of obsession—in the mirror before.

Danyi slowly stood up.

He was very tall but quite thin.

As he lifted his head, his face, with its distinct mixed-race features, was exposed to the light.

A high bridge of the nose, deep eye sockets, and gray eyes as cold and hard as Siberian permafrost.

He paid no mind to the surprised looks around him.

He simply stiffly adjusted his collar and strode toward the stage.

His pace never faltered, and he didn't even spare a glance for anyone else.

It was as if in his world, everything around him was just a void backdrop except for that podium.

"Has he spoken to you?"

A gentle voice came from a short distance to the right.

Xu Changge turned his head slightly, his gaze following the tall, thin figure.

Clearly, this Prince of the Beijing Circle had also long noticed this eccentric person who had been making "noise."

Lin Que spread his hands and leaned lazily against the back of his chair.

"No, he's even more of a closed book than I am.

I guess geniuses communicate via brainwaves. Anyway, I didn't receive any signal."

Xu Changge nodded thoughtfully and didn't ask further.

On stage, Danyi Lopivich stood as straight as a javelin.

The big screen flipped to show his work—"the ice surface of black river."

The evaluation was extremely high: "Using a style so cold it borders on cruel, it depicts the frozen river on the national border.

It is a physical wall, and also a wall of bloodlines.

The author uses a unique mixed-race perspective to write about the desolation and sense of fragmentation unique to the borderlands."

The final score froze at: 95.8.

The hall erupted in thunderous applause.

This kind of writing, with strong regional characteristics and personal life experience, was the most moving.

Danyi took the trophy and stood before the microphone.

He remained silent for a full ten seconds until the audience began to stir.

"I want to thank my parents for letting me get this far."

"Many people think it's cold where we are."

His Chinese had a slight, stiff trill, and his voice was very soft.

"But under the ice where we come from, the water is warm and the fish are alive. Yet those standing on the ice often fail to see it."

After speaking, as if he had completed some arduous task, he hurried off the stage as if escaping.

In the back row, Chen Jiahao had finally snapped out of his joy of winning an award.

He stared at the scores on the big screen, and his face, which had been flushed with excitement, suddenly became extremely animated.

He held out his chubby fingers and counted them one by one.

"Fifth... fourth... third..."

Chen Jiahao's pupils suddenly constricted.

Something was wrong!

There were only two spots left!

And Xu Changge's name had yet to appear on the big screen!

Could it be that Xu Changge, the one hailed as the Prince of the Beijing Circle and the favorite to win, still hadn't appeared?

Chen Jiahao took a sharp breath, his eyes looking toward the white-clad figure in the third row with terror.

Just then, the host walked back to the center of the stage.

This time, he was in no hurry to read the name.

His meaningful gaze fell directly on the third row.

"I believe everyone has been waiting for this next name for a long time."

The host's voice suddenly rose, carrying an excitement that felt like witnessing history:

"Second place, from Beijing, Qingbei University Affiliated High School—Xu Changge!"

Boom!!!

These words were like a depth charge, nearly blowing the roof off the auditorium.

"What?!"

"Young Master Xu is second?!"

"Did I hear that right? The Prince of the Beijing Circle is only the runner-up?"

If Xu Changge is second, then the first place... there's another expert?!

Questions, gasps, and roars of disbelief intertwined, the sound waves nearly bursting through the heavy oak doors.

Everyone had thought Xu Changge was a shoo-in for the top spot.

And now they were being told the Prince had been bested?

This was easily the biggest upset of this competition!

However, Xu Changge, at the center of the storm, remained exceptionally calm.

He showed no anger, no disappointment; he didn't even twitch an eyebrow.

He slowly stood up, elegantly smoothing out the white Tang suit that seemed particularly plain at this moment.

Then, he turned around, not looking at the stage, but nodding slightly toward Lin Que beside him.

In that look, there was no resentment.

Only a sense of relief and an imperceptible... respect.

Sitting in his chair, Lin Que met Xu Changge's gaze and gave a small smile in response.

Xu Changge turned and walked calmly onto the stage amidst the noisy chatter.

The big screen displayed his final score.

[97.5 points (S-rank)]

Upon seeing this score, the noisy crowd instantly fell silent.

97.5 points!

In any previous year, this score would have been enough to achieve legendary status and win the championship without suspense!

The evaluation even praised it for having "the weight of a thousand pounds, glimpsing a century of rise and fall through the cracks of bricks and stones."

Yet, even with such a high score, he could only settle for second place.

An almost absurd sense of unreality enveloped the entire auditorium.

97.5 points is only the runner-up?

This realization shattered everyone's common sense.

If even Xu Changge lost, then just what kind of monster was sitting in the first-place spot?

Xu Changge took the trophy, his fingertips rubbing against the cold base.

He stood before the microphone, silent for a moment before slowly lifting his head.

Those eyes, which usually always held a hint of a smile,

now had less gentleness and more of a clarity that came after being baptized.

"Just now, Master Jian Shen said in the recording that we should maintain 'untimely' observations."

Xu Changge's voice carried through the speakers to the whole hall, clear and sincere:

"I am ashamed. My article seems to be too 'timely,' too much in line with everyone's definition of a good essay.

I wrote about the weight of history and the backbone of the nation, but I forgot to listen to the heartbeat behind the wall."

He gave a self-deprecating laugh, his gaze passing through the layers of people to land precisely on the lazy figure in the third row.

"There are always high mountains in this world that make you see your own insignificance."

Xu Changge gripped the trophy in his hand, his gaze shifting away from Lin Que as his tone became incredibly solemn:

"Losing to him, I am fully convinced."

After speaking, he gave a deep bow and turned to leave the stage.

The entire hall was dead silent.

Everyone's curiosity was piqued to the extreme.

Just who could it be?

Who could make the proud Prince of the Beijing Circle admit defeat in public?

The stage was empty, the big screen was pitch black, and only a single spotlight hit the center in isolation.

The host held the final golden envelope, his palms drenched in sweat.

"Alright, thank you to the audience here and in front of the screens for staying with us. Now we have reached the most exciting moment."

The host's voice dropped, carrying a stillness like the calm before a storm.

"Next up!"

"The national champion of this year's Fu Zhi Yao National Essay Competition!"

...Thanks to Great Master [I am a Clown, Don't Laugh] for the [God-Tier Certification] *1.

Here is the sponsored bonus chapter!