309: Chapter 309 The Storm Is Brewing

As the security door of Xisheng Mansion was pushed open just a crack,

the air was already thick with the scent of gunpowder, ready to ignite at any moment.

Two intense gazes instantly locked onto Lin Que.

On the sofa, his father, Lin Jianguo, sat with his hands on his knees, his face pale with anger.

By the dining table, Wang Xiulian held a bowl of seaweed and egg drop soup, her spoon suspended in mid-air.

Lin Que's foot, midway through changing shoes, hung in the air for a full two seconds.

"What are you standing there for? Go wash your hands and eat."

Seeing Lin Que, Wang Xiulian quickly nudged Lin Jianguo, though her voice was suppressed with a sense of deep grievance.

Lin Que didn't dare provoke them and obediently went to the sink to lather up with soap.

Sitting down at the table, the sweet and sour pork ribs gleamed with an inviting luster, and the stir-fried seasonal vegetables were a vibrant, crisp green.

But of the three family members present, no one picked up their chopsticks.

Finally, Lin Jianguo rapped the table roughly twice:

"Little Que."

"Yes, Dad, go ahead."

"The community group... has exploded."

Lin Jianguo irritably pulled his phone from his pocket, unlocked it, and slid it screen-up directly in front of Lin Que.

"Your Uncle Zhang, Uncle Li, and even Old Zhou from the square dancing downstairs—everyone is talking about you!

They're saying that your long-awaited debut book signing next Saturday just happens to clash with Teacher Jian Shen's new book release!"

At the mention of "Teacher Jian Shen," Old Lin's molars were nearly ground to dust.

To think he was the number one fan of Jian Shen in Jiangcheng, even changing his Microblogging platform avatar to the cover of ordinary world.

Not long ago, he was in the Community Pavilion every day, aggressively recommending it to the neighbors, praising it to the skies.

And the result?

Now his own idol was about to crush his flesh-and-blood son into powder offline.

Old Lin felt as if his face was being slapped swollen in front of the entire Community Service Department.

Lin Jianguo slapped his thigh hard:

"Today in the group, I didn't dare utter a single word! How embarrassing!"

Lin Que's hand holding the soup bowl jerked violently, nearly sending the egg drop soup up his nose.

The Matriarch, Wang Xiulian, finally couldn't hold back anymore, her wooden chopsticks clattering loudly against the edge of her bowl:

"If you ask me, that Xinchao Publishing House is just wicked! The country values you kids and is publishing books to encourage you.

Why does a money-grubbing commercial publisher like them have to pick the same day to join the fray?!"

The more she spoke, the angrier she became:

"Isn't this just using their power to blatantly bully these children!

And that big-shot author named Jian Shen has no grace as a senior at all!"

Snap.

The piece of gristle on the rib in Lin Que's mouth was snapped clean through.

His handsome face instantly stiffened, and he clenched his teeth hard to force back the wild surge of laughter bubbling up inside him.

The person his mother was just cursing as "wicked" and "bullying children" with spit flying everywhere was none other than himself.

"Mom, don't get upset."

Lin Que adopted a well-behaved look and handed her a tissue.

"The publishing schedule is just a coincidence. New Tide set that date months ago; they can't be expected to step aside just for a group of students, can they?"

"Coincidence my foot!" Wang Xiulian swatted the tissue away.

"Of all three hundred and sixty-five days in the year, they had to pick the same day as you? I think they did it on purpose!"

"Your mother's right!" Lin Jianguo added with a dark expression.

"Back when our Red Star Machinery Factory was selecting model workers, Workshop One and Workshop Two knew to schedule their ceremonies at different times!

How can such a large publishing house not understand basic social etiquette?"

Lin Que lowered his head, using the motion of shoveling rice to hide the glint of mischief he could barely contain.

He couldn't exactly slam the table and confess: "Dad, Mom, they actually wanted to make way for me, but I heroically stepped in and blocked the path myself."

If he said that, he'd probably be sleeping in the hallway tonight.

"Dad, don't be so quick to get angry." Lin Que pulled out his phone.

"Let me see what the sentiment is like online."

He opened the Microblogging platform and pulled down to refresh.

Good grief, in the top fifteen trending topics, he occupied three spots all by himself.

Number 3: #Jian Shen and Fu Zhi Yao Competition's Clash of the Century#

Number 7: #High Schooler Collides with a God#

Number 11: #Rising Literary Star Faces Dimensional Strike#

Lin Que clicked on the third entry, marked with the "Hot" tag; the battle in the comments section was more lively than New Year's.

The top comments included a few clear-headed readers.

"Isn't this move by New Tide a bit too greedy? Fu Zhi Yao Competition has official backing, yet they insist on a same-day release. Are they using Jian Shen's fame to suppress a newcomer?"

"I feel for Lin Que. It wasn't easy for a seventeen-year-old to win a national championship, and now his first signing event will face an empty bookstore. How tragic."

But as he scrolled down further, the tone suddenly shifted.

The trolls from the depths of the internet had come out in full force.

A comment with a yellow V verification for "Deputy Editor-in-Chief of a traditional literary magazine" stood out:

"The literary market has its own laws.

The official intention to encourage young people is good, but forcing a student's work into a position where it competes with a contemporary masterpiece...

...is not only irresponsible to readers but also sets the youth up for a fall through excessive praise."

Lin Que stared at the ID, a cold, mocking smirk playing on his lips.

Right below it was a second one, verified as a "Senior Member of the China Literature Research Association":

"The market doesn't believe in tears; strength speaks in competition. Stop making excuses about age—if it doesn't sell, it doesn't sell."

The third comment had the most likes, verified as "Renowned Book Critic Qiu Chan":

"New Tide's approach is perfectly fine. One is a grand masterpiece destined for the history books, the other is a student's essay like playing house.

Comparing the two is an insult to Teacher Jian Shen themselves.

What, just because the opponents are a group of high schoolers, adults can't even choose their own publication dates anymore?"

Lin Que's finger paused.

He knew these jumping IDs all too well.

When ordinary world first began serialization online, these old scholars were the ones who jumped the highest and cursed the loudest.

Back then, they were full of talk about "insulting culture" and "self-degradation," wishing they could throw the name "Jian Shen" into a septic tank.

And now?

The tables had turned; "Jian Shen" had silenced them with sheer, terrifying quality.

Seeing the wind change, these old fogies immediately pivoted.

But the condescending, pedantic rot in their bones remained. They looked down on Jian Shen,

but they feared a young genius like "Lin Que" even more—someone with official backing who directly threatened their status.

Thus, Jian Shen became the perfect brick in their hands, which they shamelessly swung to bash Lin Que's head in.

Under the banner of "defending orthodox literature," they carried out their filthy business of eliminating dissenters.

"What a bunch of characters."

Lin Que chuckled as he took screenshots of these comments one by one.

Keep jumping, go ahead and jump. The more you jump now, the harder your faces will be peeled next Saturday.

"What are you looking at that's making you laugh?" Wang Xiulian snatched the phone and brought it to her eyes.

Not five seconds later.

Bang!

Lin Jianguo slammed his palm onto the dining table, causing the seaweed in the soup bowl to surge.

The old man's eyes were red as he pointed at the screen and cursed:

"What kind of trash are these people!"

He gasped for breath, his chest heaving violently:

"My son earned his national number one spot fair and square!

What are these people hiding behind screens and wagging their tongues? If they're so capable, why don't they go win a championship themselves!"

"Old Lin, keep your voice down! Think of your blood pressure!"

Wang Xiulian rushed to soothe him, though her own tears were about to fall.

"Little Que, we're not going on Saturday! We won't take this abuse!"

Seeing his parents trembling with rage, Lin Que took his phone back, turned off the screen, and placed it face down on the table.

He slowly and methodically picked up the piece of rib he hadn't finished and put it in his mouth.

The sweet and sour juices exploded in his mouth.

Lin Que swallowed the meat, wiped his mouth with a tissue, and stood up to walk over to his parents.

He pressed down on Lin Jianguo's trembling shoulders, his tone exceptionally steady:

"Dad, Mom, don't worry. I have nothing to lose, so why should I fear those who do?"

He looked at Wang Xiulian's reddened eyes and added softly but firmly:

"The harder they curse now, the more their faces will hurt next Saturday.

Your son isn't going to be anyone's stepping stone.

We'll eat as usual, and I'm going to that signing event as planned.

Not only am I going, but I'm going to go in style."

...