260: Chapter 260, "The Shadow of Innsmouth"

The light and shadows from the TV screen danced across the living room walls.

On the TV screen, the stirring opening theme had just finished, and the screen split in two.

On the left was the dazzling dome of the Golden Hall, where Ye Xi, dressed in a dark green gown, had her fingertips dancing across the black and white keys.

On the right, long queues snaked through the streets of Paris, with countless blonde-haired, blue-eyed foreigners clutching that deep blue book tightly in their hands.

Below the screen, a bold headline was particularly eye-catching:

"Eastern Twin Stars: A Cultural Calling Card Shining Upon the World."

The host's clear, resonant voice carried an unmistakable sense of pride:

"...Europe's art world has been completely conquered by two forces from the East.

One is a genius girl hailed by Western media as the 'Eastern Beethoven,'

and the other is a mysterious author who used words to break down the barriers of arrogance.

Although they are in different fields, it's as if they made a pact,

performing a Huaxia movement under the same starry sky..."

Along with the narration, the image froze on a backstage photo that had gone viral across the internet,

showing Ye Xi holding 'the ferryman,' reading quietly amidst the chaotic backstage.

This scene was portrayed by the media with a strong sense of destiny,

as if they were no longer two separate individuals, but rather a resonance on a soulful level.

"Oh my!"

Wang Xiulian, who was picking up a rib for Lin Que, gave a start, her chopsticks nearly poking the rim of the bowl.

She stared at the TV screen, her eyes wide as copper bells, before suddenly slapping her thigh.

"Old Lin! Look, look! Isn't that... that girl named Xiao Ye?"

Wang Xiulian slapped her chopsticks onto the table with a "clack," her voice rising unconsciously with excitement:

"Old Lin! Look! Isn't this Xiao Ye?

The girl who came to our house last time and loved the braised pork! Oh my goodness, she's so amazing, she's even on the evening news!"

Lin Que, who was busy wrestling with the rice in his bowl, gave a muffled "mm-hmm" in response:

"She is quite amazing."

"What do you mean 'quite'? She's incredibly amazing!"

Wang Xiulian adopted an eager expression.

"Son, you have her WeChat, right? When she gets back to the country, ask her if she's free to come over for a meal again.

She came in such a hurry last time that I didn't even have time to make my specialty, Squirrel-Shaped Mandarin Fish."

As she spoke, Wang Xiulian looked at Ye Xi's cool face on the TV again, becoming more and more pleased the more she looked, muttering to herself:

"Though she looks aloof, she's a sincere girl and has a good appetite. She's a good kid."

Lin Que helplessly buried his face in his bowl, mumbling indistinctly:

"Mom, she's at the Golden Hall in Vienna, not on the big stage at our neighborhood entrance.

Why do you sound like you're inviting the girl next door back for a village banquet?"

"Alright, stop trying to play matchmaker."

Lin Jianguo, who hadn't spoken until now, picked up his glass and took a sip of Wuliangtai,

but his gaze was locked onto the blurry silhouette on the right side of the screen.

"If you ask me, this author named Jian Shen is the one who's truly making us proud."

Lin Jianguo set down his glass, his tone carrying the weight and sentiment characteristic of the older generation.

"Your dad hasn't had much schooling, but I know how hard it's been for our country's books to sell abroad all these years.

It's not like no authors have tried before, but what happened?

Either no one read them, or those foreigners were picky, saying our stuff was rustic and lacked depth."

At this point, Lin Jianguo pointed at the TV, his voice rising a bit:

"But look at this time—those masters and foreign experts and professors are all completely won over.

Now that's what I call talent! That's what I call satisfying!"

Lin Que stopped his chopsticks.

The man across from him already had white hair at his temples,

but at this moment, because of a news item on TV, he sat up perfectly straight,

and downed the glass of fine liquor he usually couldn't bear to drink in one gulp.

That sense of triumph made him happier than if he'd gotten a raise himself.

Lin Que's gaze drifted over his father's shoulder, landing on the worn black notebook on the entryway cabinet.

It recorded the tombstones of Sarajevo and the coal dust of the Loess Plateau.

"Dad, I believe there will be more and more in the future," Lin Que said softly.

"Not just books, but other things too. Our stuff was never inferior to anyone else's."

"Exactly!" Lin Jianguo nodded heavily and picked up another piece of meat for Lin Que.

"Eat more, look how thin you've gotten."

Lin Que smiled, turned around, and pulled a glass jar wrapped in old newspaper from his backpack.

"Try this."

He unscrewed the lid, and the rich, sweet aroma of figs instantly filled the air around the dining table.

"What's this? Fermented bean curd?" Wang Xiulian leaned in curiously.

"Fig jam." Lin Que took a spoon and spread a dollop for each of his parents onto their steamed buns.

"A landlady in Sarajevo gave it to me. She had a very strange temper, scolding me every day and nagging me for half an hour over a few dollars for the water bill.

But when I was leaving, she stuffed a whole year's worth of jam she'd saved into my hands."

The sweet flavor dissolved on their tongues, carrying a slight graininess unique to fruit pulp.

That sweetness wasn't from saccharin; it was a sweetness that came from long simmering, locking in both sunshine and patience.

"So sweet," Wang Xiulian said, squinting her eyes.

"That old lady's craftsmanship is really good."

"Yeah."

Lin Que looked at the radiant Ye Xi on the TV, then at the mysterious silhouette of "Jian Shen," and finally let his gaze rest on his parents' satisfied, smiling faces.

On one side was glory in the clouds, and on the other, the simple joys of life.

This feeling wasn't bad at all.

...

After dinner, Lin Que washed his face and retreated into his studio.

Once the door closed, the midsummer noise of Jiang City was instantly shut out.

Only the faint hum of the computer case remained in the room.

Lin Que pulled out his chair, sat down, and skillfully opened the writer's backend of the Hongguo Novel Website.

"Twenty-three days."

Lin Que glanced at the calendar.

Since finishing the prologue and the first few chapters of the 'cthulhu mythos' and wiping out the Sanity points of readers across the internet,

he had just up and left for Sarajevo, acting like a completely hands-off boss.

Over these twenty-plus days, the ID "Hell Dream Weaver" had seemingly vanished from the face of the earth, without even posting a hiatus notice.

He opened the comment section.

The resentment there was so thick it could have sustained ten Evil Sword Immortals.

[Mental Hospital Patient]: Dream Maker, where are you? Can the missing person please return?

[Tentacle Lover]: Is this what a top-tier scumbag looks like? Driving people crazy with teasing and then just running off?

[Evaporation of Reason]: Brothers, I feel like my Sanity points are recovering. Yesterday, I saw the closet door wasn't closed tightly, and I actually dared to reach out and close it. Is this normal?

[Physics Doesn't Exist]: Same here, person above. The day before yesterday, I actually dreamed about solving advanced math problems instead of being chased by unspeakable monsters. Looks like the effects have worn off!

Lin Que scrolled with his mouse, looking at the screen full of wails begging for updates, and couldn't help but laugh out loud.

These readers were like gamblers who forgot the pain as soon as their wounds healed;

as soon as their Sanity points were refilled, they started testing the boundaries of courting death again.

This was exactly the most charming part of horror novels.

Fear has a tolerance level.

If one keeps up a high-intensity bombardment, readers will become numb.

But this twenty-day hiatus was like a perfect cooldown period.

It allowed them, in their dull and tedious real lives, to once again miss that shiver of being dominated by the unknown.

"Since you've all recovered well, don't blame me for being ruthless."

Lin Que opened the folder named "Unspeakable."

These were drafts from during the Fu Zhi Yao competition.

His experience in Sarajevo made him no longer satisfied with the grandeur of deep-sea behemoths.

While that kind of grand fear was shocking, it was too far removed from daily life.

True fear often comes from the most familiar places.

For example, a closed-off, xenophobic seaside town filled with the smell of fish.

For example, those "hybrid" residents with strange looks, eyes set too far apart, and gill slits on their necks.

the shadow over innsmouth.

This is a chapter in the cthulhu mythos system that pushes bloodline theory and the fear of alienation to their extremes.

It isn't as high and mighty as Cthulhu; instead, it takes that sticky, damp, inescapable sense of destiny

and smears it bit by bit onto the readers' senses.

Lin Que took a deep breath.

The oppression and heaviness he felt in Sarajevo were now transformed by him into another, even colder literary power.

The clattering of the keyboard echoed in the quiet room, like a sudden downpour of raindrops.

[Chapter One: The Bus Smelling Only of Fish]

[Chapter Two: The Legend of Devil Reef]

[Chapter Three: They... Have Come Ashore]

The words in the document began to turn viscous.

[On the corridor of the dilapidated hotel, that strange scraping sound drew closer and closer.]

[It wasn't the crisp sound of soles on the floor, but rather the sound of some wet, broad fleshy palms dragging and slapping against the ground.]

["Plap, plap..."]

[The doorknob was turning with extreme slowness, and indistinct murmurs drifted from the room next door.]

[It sounded like thick phlegm stuck in a throat, or like someone blowing bubbles underwater.]

...

Two and a half hours later.

Lin Que stopped his fingers, looked at the new chapters in the document, and nodded with satisfaction.

This dosage was enough to give them total insomnia tonight.

He moved his mouse and clicked upload.

He didn't choose to release them separately, but threw them all out in one go.

[Published Successfully].

At the same time,

countless phone screens that had "Special Follow" set,

in this unsuspecting late night,

quietly lit up.

...