242: Chapter 242 The situation is critical at the front, and equally critical at the rear.

Vienna, Café Demel.

The old velvet seats gave off a musty scent of age mixed with the aroma of coffee.

Lin Que held a small silver fork, his brow furrowed at the slice of Sachertorte on his plate, known as the "national treasure of Austria."

He tentatively cut a small piece and put it in his mouth.

"..."

Sweet.

Sickeningly sweet.

That thick layer of chocolate icing mixed with apricot jam was like having a whole jar of white sugar shoved directly down one's esophagus.

Lin Que picked up the black coffee beside him and took a large gulp, barely managing to suppress that cloying taste.

"So this is the so-called aristocratic enjoyment?" Lin Que grumbled inwardly.

"It's just famous. In terms of texture, it's not even as satisfying as the five-yuan-a-pound jujube cake from the shop near my house."

He put down his fork, completely losing interest in this dessert worth 9.9 euros.

Just then, the phone at the corner of the table vibrated.

An unknown Jiangcheng number jumped onto the screen.

He glanced at his surroundings.

The café was noisy; two blonde old ladies at the next table were chatting in German about last night's opera.

No one noticed the young Eastern man in the corner.

Lin Que skillfully opened the voice-changing software built into his phone and adjusted the vocal parameters to a preset level.

Connected.

"Hello, who is this?"

The voice was deep, with a grainy quality that seemed to have pierced through the dust of time.

There was a noticeable pause on the other end of the line, followed by Chairman Lv Songran's slightly tense voice:

"Ah, is this Teacher Jian Shen? I'm Chairman Lv Songran from the Jiangcheng Writers Association. I hope I'm not disturbing your rest?"

"Chairman Lü, hello." Lin Que looked out the window at the bustling Kärntner Straße.

"Is something the matter?"

"It's like this—today, our Jiangcheng Writers Association is truly graced by distinguished guests!"

Chairman Lv Songran's voice rose a few pitches, revealing an irrepressible excitement.

"Chairman Xue Hongchuan of the National Writers Association, as well as Old Zhou from Beijing and Old Gu from Su Province—the three titans have gathered here."

"They've come specifically for tomorrow's global release of the ferryman and want to have some tea and a chat with you."

Lin Que's hand holding the fork paused slightly in mid-air.

Holy cow.

The Chairmen of the Provincial and National Writers Associations were personally visiting.

This was no simple tea and chat.

It seemed that in the eyes of the higher-ups, the weight of the ferryman's overseas venture was much heavier than he had anticipated.

This was no longer just the promotion of a novel, but a cultural battle that could not afford to be lost.

As soon as the words fell, a hearty, resonant male voice took over the receiver.

"Comrade Jian Shen, I am Xue Hongchuan."

No official jargon, no pretension—it was like an older brother greeting his own sibling.

"Pardon the intrusion. The three of us old fogies happen to be in Jiangcheng today for field research. Thinking that tomorrow is the big day for our Huaxia literature to go global, we couldn't help but feel a bit restless."

"So, we thought we'd invite you out for a cup of tea."

"To personally see you off and, while we're at it, discuss our subsequent support plans."

Jiangcheng, Writers Association conference room.

The air conditioning was on full blast, but the big shots' eyes were all fixed intently on the phone in the center of the table.

Xue Hongchuan's words had shown great respect.

For a national-level Chairman of the Writers Association to personally invite him, and even bring up "support plans"—real, substantial benefits...

Any other man of letters would likely be overwhelmed by the favor at this moment, wishing they could grow wings and fly over.

However, there was only a brief silence on the other end of the line.

Then, that deep voice slowly spoke, his tone calm and neither humble nor arrogant:

"Chairman Xue, I appreciate the kindness of all the seniors. It's just... quite unfortunate."

"I am not in Jiangcheng right now."

The air in the conference room froze for a moment.

The smile on Chairman Lv Songran's face stiffened, and he subconsciously looked at Xue Hongchuan.

Not in Jiangcheng?

This reason... was a bit too perfunctory.

Everyone present was a shrewd veteran; this kind of talk about "eating another day" or "not being in town"...

In the social etiquette of adults, such excuses usually meant a polite refusal.

Perhaps it was the unique loftiness and reclusiveness of a writer, unwilling to be tainted by too many mundane affairs.

Or perhaps he was at a critical stage of secluded creation and it wasn't convenient to see guests.

Gu Changfeng couldn't sit still.

He had a quick temper and truly cherished talent.

He was terrified that this great talent might miss out on national-level resources because of a writer's loftiness.

He was about to speak up and persuade him, but was stopped by Xue Hongchuan raising his hand.

A smile still hung on Xue Hongchuan's face, but there was a bit more scrutiny in his eyes:

"Oh? Not in Jiangcheng. Then we've come at an inopportune time."

"I wonder where Comrade Jian Shen is currently? If it's not far, it wouldn't hurt for us old bones to go find you."

This was a checkmate.

Having put it that way, if you were still in the country, how could you have the heart to decline?

Vienna, Café Demel.

Listening to the probing from the other end of the phone, Lin Que sighed helplessly.

He understood the logic of these big shots within the system all too well.

If he didn't provide hard evidence today, these kinds of calls would never end.

Someone might even squat at the door of his so-called "seclusion spot" every day.

"Wait a moment."

Lin Que's voice was calm, even carrying a faint hint of a smile.

He hung up the phone and switched to camera mode.

He aimed the lens at the iconic Gothic spire of St. Stephen's Cathedral in the distance, looking solemn and grand under the azure sky.

Click.

Photo sent.

Ding—

In the Jiangcheng conference room, Chairman Lv Songran's phone screen lit up, and a multimedia message popped out.

"Hmm?" Chairman Lv Songran hurriedly picked up the phone.

The three heads of Xue Hongchuan, Zhou Wenyuan, and Gu Changfeng instantly crowded around.

The photo was very clear.

The foreground was the street in front of Café Demel, and the background was the world-famous Michaelerplatz.

No location tag, no text description.

But the photo itself was the most powerful language.

"This is..." Zhou Wenyuan pushed up the reading glasses on the bridge of his nose and cried out in shock.

"St. Stephen's Cathedral? This is Vienna?!"

"Vienna?!"

Gu Changfeng suddenly straightened up, looking at Xue Hongchuan with a face full of disbelief.

A deathly silence fell over the conference room.

Everyone had thought it was just an excuse made up to avoid a meeting. Who could have imagined it was actually true!

Moreover, he wasn't traveling domestically; he had directly crossed six time zones and charged into the heart of Europe!

Xue Hongchuan stared at the photo.

The displeasure that had arisen from being rejected vanished in an instant.

Replacing it was an unprecedented shock and emotion.

"Good... what a Jian Shen!"

Xue Hongchuan stared at the screen, his chest heaving twice.

The stomach full of official rhetoric he had prepared was now completely stuck in his throat.

"We old fogies are still here in the country holding meetings to study how to pave the way for him and create momentum."

"And the result? He already went without a word, charging alone into the enemy's base!"

His voice carried a surge of emotion as he pointed at the photo on the phone screen.

"Tomorrow is the global debut of the ferryman. Why did he go to Vienna?"

"That is the bridgehead of Western culture, the so-called capital of art!"

"He's going to the scene to see with his own eyes how our Huaxia words take root in that arrogant land!"

Gu Changfeng was also listening with boiling blood, nodding repeatedly:

"I knew it! How could someone who could write a soul-stirring work like the ferryman be a coward? This is solitary courage!"

"Going to the meeting alone, facing the Western cultural barriers head-on." Zhou Wenyuan took off his glasses and rubbed his slightly aching eyes, sighing with emotion.

"This level of guts, this attitude of being responsible for his work, truly makes the likes of us feel ashamed."

"We're still thinking about using policies to pave the way, while he's already using his feet to measure the battlefield."

For a moment, the atmosphere in the conference room shifted from awkwardness to solemn respect.

In the big shots' imaginations...

A tragic and heroic back view of a proud, determined man who shouldered the rise of Huaxia literature alone and traveled to a distant foreign land had vividly stood up.

Vienna.

After sending the photo, Lin Que pushed that sickeningly sweet slice of cake aside with disdain.

"Whoever wants to eat this can eat it."

He waved over the waiter in a tuxedo to pay the bill, calculating in his mind:

"I seemed to see a hot dog stand when I passed the street corner earlier. That kind of grilled sausage with cheese and pickles should be better than this crappy cake."

The phone ringtone came again.

He picked up the phone and pressed it to his ear again.

Before he could speak, this time, there was no probing.

No pleasantries, only a heavy kind of respect.

"Comrade Jian Shen, we've seen the photo."

Xue Hongchuan's tone was as solemn as if he were reading an oath.

"You are fighting at the front; we will never let you down at the back!"

"Rest assured, leave the domestic public opinion to us. There will be plenty of promotional resources!"

"Just stay in Vienna with peace of mind and take a good look at the scenery there on behalf of our Huaxia literary world!"

"No matter the outcome, the National Writers Association will always be your strongest backing!"

Lin Que was stunned for a moment.

Fighting at the front?

He glanced at the bill he had just settled, then at the tourists leisurely feeding pigeons outside the window.

Fine.

Since the leader said so, then fighting at the front it is.

"Thank you, Chairman Xue." Lin Que's tone remained steady. "Then I... will get back to work."

"Take care of yourself. We'll wait for your triumphant return!"

Hung up.

Lin Que let out a long breath, took off his hat to fan himself, and strode out of this stuffy, luxurious café.

On the streets of Vienna, the wind was a bit cool.

He found that hot dog stand, bought a cheese-grilled sausage loaded with mustard and pickles, and took a large bite while standing on the street.

The juice exploded in his mouth, mixing with the spiciness of the mustard, finally washing away that cloying sweetness from earlier.

"Now this is real food."

...