301: Chapter 301 The Senior Who's Like the Wind

September 1st.

The summer in Jiangcheng finally loosened its grip.

At six-thirty in the morning,

the air carried a hint of reluctant coolness, as if the sweltering heat had been yanked from behind and stumbled half a step back.

The entrance of Jiangcheng No. 1 High School was so crowded it was hard to find a place to step.

Parents' cars lined up for over two hundred meters, their horns blaring one after another.

Electric scooters squeezed into every available gap, while the security guard waved his arms and shouted directions.

Suitcase wheels rolled over the asphalt road with a rustling sound.

Grade 10 freshmen sported tan lines from military training, their eyes filled with clear curiosity.

The 'old oil slicks' of Grade 11 moved in groups of three to five with their arms around each other's shoulders,

exchanging information on whose summer homework they had copied.

Grade 12 students, meanwhile, sported dark circles under their eyes, faces written with a lack of will to live, clutching vocabulary books they were halfway through memorizing.

Lin Que carried his backpack over one shoulder, his pace neither fast nor slow.

Before leaving, he had specifically picked out a dark gray T-shirt, looking as low-profile as a lamppost, intending to blend into the crowd unremarkably.

Just as he reached the entrance, he looked up.

A banner with red background and yellow characters spanned across the entire school gate.

The font size was so large that one could see it clearly from three hundred meters away without glasses.

【Warmly Congratulate Our School's Student Lin Que for Winning the Fuzhiyao National Championship! A Peerless Scholar!】

Lin Que's footsteps froze in place.

The four large characters for "Peerless Scholar" swayed in the autumn wind,

the golden tassels glinting in the morning sun, painfully bright.

This thing had been hanging for over two months; Old Jiang actually hadn't taken it down yet.

Lin Que quickly pulled the brim of his baseball cap lower, bowing his head and quickening his pace to walk inside.

The second he stepped into the school gate, the surrounding gazes seemed to sprout hooks, latching onto him one after another.

Some whispered to each other, while others pointed with their fingers.

Lin Que acted as if he didn't see them, focusing inward and keeping his composure,

his mind rapidly calculating the matters at hand to distract himself.

Currently, his two aliases, Jian Shen and Dream Weaver, had both fulfilled their respective duties.

The online serialization of "ordinary world" was on track.

The popularity of "cthulhu mythos" remained high.

The fans on both sides had just been pressed back into their seats by a poem titled "snow plum" and an acrostic poem, finally quieting down.

A brief peace.

But who knew when some other nonsense would crop up.

The casting battle for "soul ferry" had just begun; sending that email to Director Guo Changhe

could be considered drawing a clear bottom line. The follow-up would be constant screening until the original cast appeared.

And then there was that "Qinglan Project"...

During the holidays, quite a few calls had come in,

from the National Writers Association, the Provincial Writers Association, the Jiangcheng Writers Association, the Tsinghua-Peking Admissions Offices...

But none of them explained exactly what this Qinglan Project was,

only receiving the reply "you'll know when the time comes" from the mouth of the Provincial Writers Association Chairman Gu Changfeng.

Just as he was pondering, his path was blocked.

Two girls in brand-new school uniforms stood in front of him, their faces flushed red, the marks from military training on their arms not yet fully faded.

The two stood side by side, their bodies appearing somewhat stiff.

The girl with the ponytail mustered her courage first, her voice thin and trembling:

"Excuse me... are you Senior Lin Que?"

Lin Que stopped.

He looked left and right, confirmed they were speaking to him, and then nodded.

"It's me."

Within half a second, the expressions of the two girls skyrocketed from nervousness to ecstasy.

The ponytail girl's voice rose an octave:

"Senior Lin! We're Grade 10 freshmen!

The military training instructor asked us to write an essay, and the Chinese Language Teacher recommended your competition article! The whole class is passing it around!"

The girl with glasses next to her nodded repeatedly, her speech so fast it was like her tongue was burning:

"Yes, yes, yes! That piece 'listening to snow', my roommate cried right after reading it! Could you give us an autograph?"

As soon as she finished speaking, both of them simultaneously pulled out brand-new notebooks from their backpacks, holding them out with both hands.

That air of earnestness was exactly like fans at a meet-and-greet holding out albums for an idol's signature.

Lin Que looked at the two pairs of sparkling eyes, and a subtle sense of déjà vu surged up.

In his previous life as a screenwriter, he had also been asked for autographs, though what he signed were contracts for the gratuitous transfer of copyrights...

The admiration in these two young girls' eyes right now was the real deal, without a drop of insincerity.

Quite interesting.

"Alright, give them here."

He took the notebooks, fished a black sign pen out of his pocket, and scribbled his name in two quick strokes.

The handwriting wasn't exceptionally beautiful, but it excelled in its crisp strokes and smooth flow.

"Thank you, Senior!"

Clutching the signed notebooks, the two were so excited their faces were completely red, nearly jumping for joy on the spot.

Lin Que capped the pen, about to nod and leave.

Too late.

In just those twenty seconds, the surrounding atmosphere had completely changed.

Three meters away, a boy with a large backpack stopped and craned his neck to look over.

Five meters away, two girls were pushing each other; one was pushed forward half a step, then shrank back.

Ten meters away, a crowd of freshmen turned their heads all at once, like sparrows catching a scent.

"That's Lin Que!"

"It really is him!"

"He was just giving autographs!"

"Really? I want one too!"

The tide of people from all directions began to close in.

The first wave to rush up was three boys; the one in the lead shoved a notebook directly under Lin Que's chin: "Senior! Sign one for me too!"

The second wave followed closely behind as five or six girls swarmed around, chattering,

clutching notebooks and textbooks in their hands, with one even tugging at his school uniform sleeve to get closer.

The third wave formed an outer circle of encirclement, squeezing inward on tiptoes and shouting "make way."

Lin Que looked at the growing crowd and sighed helplessly.

He didn't want to become a campus tourist attraction on the first day of school.

Casually scribbling his name on the few notebooks closest to him, he capped his pen, his tone calm yet slightly urgent.

"Sorry everyone! My homeroom teacher is checking attendance, I have an emergency. I'll sign next time!"

Shouting was useless.

The crowd didn't disperse; instead, they pressed forward another half-step.

Without another word, he stuffed the sign pen into his pocket, gripped his backpack straps tight, and turned sideways to squeeze through a gap between two stunned boys.

Run.

He could navigate the paths of No. 1 High School with his eyes closed.

Turn left around the flower bed, pass through the covered walkway, and turn right straight for the side entrance of the Grade 12 teaching building.

Relying on his intimate knowledge of the school's terrain, he turned his body slightly and slipped through the gaps in the crowd.

Exclamations rose one after another behind him.

"Senior! You haven't signed yet!"

"Where is he? Where'd he go?"

"Senior really writes well and runs... so fast!"

Turning the last corner, he dove into the stairwell of the Grade 12 teaching building, finally shaking off that group of overly enthusiastic underclassmen.

He leaned against the stair railing to catch his breath, raising a hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead.

Adjusting his breathing, he stepped upstairs.

Third floor. End of the corridor.

Grade 12 Class 3.

The classroom door was half-open, and the commotion leaked out twenty meters away.

The clatter of tables and chairs mixed with loud, boisterous greetings.

Lin Que reached out to push the door open and stood in the doorframe.

The sound waves in the entire classroom were cut off as if by a knife.

Over forty pairs of eyes turned in unison, staring blankly at the doorway.

Silence.

A second of absolute silence.

Immediately following that, the roof was nearly blown off.

"QUE——GE——!!!"

...