311: Chapter 311 Premieres Tomorrow – Bonus Chapter Sponsored by <The New Type of Salted Fish>

The promotional machine of Xinchao Publishing House,

within forty-eight hours after Wang De'an’s "whetstone" remark, completed a comprehensive upgrade that could only be described as violent.

On Wednesday morning, New Tide's official Weibo posted a poster.

Black background, white text, without any fancy design elements.

There were only two lines of text in the center, the font size large enough to be used as road signs:

"True literary integrity is standing tall in the midst of a storm."

"Competing on the same stage is the highest form of respect."

Signed: Jian Shen.

A line of small text at the bottom: September 13th, no date change, no backing down. The physical book of "ordinary world," nationwide simultaneous debut.

Within the first hour of its release, the poster's reposts exceeded two hundred thousand.

Immediately after, several self-media accounts with keen senses quickly followed up, their headlines more explosive than the last.

"Jian Shen Refuses to Make Way for the Official: The Hardest Bone in the Literary World in Ten Years"

"When Giants Meet Rising Stars: A Head-on Collision Destined for the History Books"

"'Being Pitied is More Embarrassing Than Being Defeated'—Jian Shen's Email Tears Away the Fig Leaf of the Literary World"

Public opinion instantly split into two camps.

Jian Shen's hardcore fans were the first to explode, with the slogan "Each Guarding Their Own Universe" flooding the comments of every related topic.

Their logic was simple and blunt:

Our Jian Shen doesn't even care about national-level award ceremonies; would he care about a collection of high schoolers' essays?

Not backing down is the normal move; backing down would be suspicious.

But another force was also rapidly gathering.

A large number of passers-by flooded into Lin Que's related search terms, and the style of their comments was completely different.

[Protect Our Damage Dealer]: "Suddenly, I feel so sorry for this kid... Seventeen years old, publishing a book for the first time, and he has to face an opponent of this caliber."

[Keyboard Warriors Have Hearts Too]: "Jian Shen is right, literature isn't a greenhouse. But logic aside, seeing a high schooler get crushed like this is still painful."

[Late Night Health Club]: "Is there anyone like me who thinks Jian Shen is cooler the more they see his statement, but the cooler he is, the more they worry for Lin Que?"

Sympathy points poured into Lin Que's account in waves.

...

September 5th, Friday.

The last class meeting.

Inside the Grade 12 Class 3 classroom, it was so quiet that it felt stifling.

Wu Di lay on his desk, face buried in his arms, with half an earphone cord peeking out from his sleeve.

For once, Fang Zhiyuan wasn't on his phone; his hands were folded on the desk, thumbs twiddling around each other.

Zhang Ya was clicking her highlighter cap on and off, repeating the motion mechanically.

Tomorrow was Saturday.

Although the debut was set for next Saturday, the online discussion about the "Clash of the Century" hadn't stopped all week.

Every time they opened their phones, the screen was filled with predictive analyses of "Lin Que about to be crushed."

These seventeen-year-old kids were experiencing for the first time the helplessness of "watching a friend walk into the eye of the storm while being unable to do anything."

The sound of high heels came from the end of the hallway.

Shen Qingqiu pushed the door open and entered, not carrying any lesson plans.

She walked up to the podium, didn't flip through the class log or read any announcements, but braced her hands on the edge of the desk and scanned the faces below.

"No class rules today. I'll tell a story."

A few heads lifted.

"In the thirteenth year of Jian'an, Cao Cao led an army of eight hundred thousand south. Zhou Yu, on the opposite bank, had only thirty thousand men."

Shen Qingqiu's voice wasn't loud, and her speaking pace was half a beat slower than usual.

"Everyone advised Sun Quan to surrender. Only Zhou Yu said one thing—'Cao is sending himself to his death'."

The classroom was so quiet that the cicadas outside the window could be heard.

"Thirty thousand against eight hundred thousand. A single fire at Red Cliff carved out the Three Kingdoms."

She paused for two seconds.

Her gaze swept over the window seat in the last row.

"Victory or defeat in literature is never about sales. It's about whether you dare to swing the blade."

After speaking, Shen Qingqiu picked up a piece of chalk, turned around, and wrote four words on the blackboard.

"The Brave Have No Fear."

...

After school, while Lin Que was packing his bag, his peripheral vision caught an unusual detail.

Wu Di was crouching under his desk, sneakily stuffing a palm-sized notebook into his bag.

His movements were incredibly fast; he zipped it up immediately after, terrified that Lin Que might see.

Lin Que didn't say anything.

But he remembered that this was already the third time this week he had seen Wu Di doodling in that little notebook during break.

"What have you been writing lately?" Lin Que asked casually as he put on his backpack.

Wu Di's neck visibly stiffened.

"No—nothing! Math notes!"

"You use a notebook with a pink cover for math notes?"

"That... my mom bought it! I couldn't help it!"

After saying that, Wu Di grabbed his bag and bolted for the door, his speed comparable to a hundred-meter sprint.

Lin Que watched the fleeing figure and didn't chase after him.

He could more or less guess.

These people were up to something.

He wasn't sure exactly what, but it was likely related to next Saturday.

Lin Que adjusted his backpack strap and walked out of the classroom.

In the hallway, the sunset stretched his shadow very long.

He didn't look back at the classmates still whispering in the classroom.

But his pace slowed down slightly.

This kind of thing was something he hadn't seen in the screenwriting circle of his past life.

The rules in that circle were simple:

If you're useful, I'll drink with you; if you're useless, I'll turn on you.

All "brotherhood" had a price tag, and every "sacrifice" came with terms and conditions.

But what about these people?

A group of sixteen or seventeen-year-old kids whose combined pocket money might not even be enough for a decent dinner in Shanghai.

They didn't understand the operational logic of the publishing industry, nor did they understand competitive analysis.

They only knew one thing.

Their brother was going to the battlefield, and they had to help.

Lin Que walked down the stairs and looked back at the classroom's back door,

the curve of his lips tightening and relaxing, then relaxing and tightening again.

Forget it.

Let them do as they please.

...

September 11th, Thursday.

Less than ten hours remained before departure.

In the living room of Xisheng Mansion, an urban workplace drama was playing on the TV; the male lead, dressed in a suit, was speaking passionately in a conference room, the dialogue written in a hollow and fake way.

Lin Jianguo sat on the sofa, clutching a black leather shoe and a shoe polish cloth, wiping back and forth.

That pair of leather shoes was his "bottom of the trunk" attire; the last time he wore them was three years ago for an old factory leader's retirement banquet.

Lin Que glanced over.

The surface of the shoes had already been polished to a mirror finish, but Old Lin was still wiping.

Wang Xiulian brought a tote bag out of the bedroom and stuffed things into it.

Stomach medicine, band-aids, a pack of tissues, two boxes of compressed biscuits, a bottle of mineral water, and a light jacket.

"The temperature difference between morning and evening in Shanghai is large; don't try to be brave and wear short sleeves."

"I know, Mom."

"Standing all day at the book signing, your legs will ache. I've packed two medicinal patches for you."

"...I know, Mom."

"Also, don't eat at random roadside stalls in Shanghai. Your stomach is just like your father's; as soon as you eat spicy food—"

"Mom!"

Lin Jianguo kept his head down and polished the shoes, not saying a word.

The workplace drama on TV went to a commercial.

The living room was quiet for a few seconds.

Lin Que leaned back on the sofa, watching his parents—one polishing shoes in silence, the other carefully packing medicine.

He felt as if his chest had been struck by something solid.

To hide his stinging nose, he reached for his vibrating phone.

The phone vibrated.

[Fugitive Beethoven]: "I say, Master Lin, your luck is really something else. You just left the starter village and bumped into a max-level boss like Jian Shen [facepalm]"

Lin Que typed with one hand.

[Mu Xia]: "Then do you think I can win?"

The message was sent, and the other side replied in seconds.

[Fugitive Beethoven]: "Whether you win or not isn't important. What matters is that you went, you stood there, and the book was displayed. The rest... just leave it to the readers [fighting]"

After a two-second pause, another message came.

[Fugitive Beethoven]: "And who knows, maybe Jian Shen's readers will finish browsing his side and wander over to your stall? Leeching traffic isn't embarrassing [doge]"

Lin Que almost laughed out loud.

[Mu Xia]: "May I ask which master taught you your ability to comfort people?"

[Fugitive Beethoven]: "Hahahaha, thanks. My main job is playing the piano, my side job is being sharp-tongued, and comforting people is my third profession—still in training [tongue out]"

[Mu Xia]: "By the way, school has been in session for over a week. Why haven't you returned yet?"

The input status on the other side flashed for several seconds.

[Fugitive Beethoven]: "[Shh.jpg]"

[Fugitive Beethoven]: "I have a big plan. You'll know when the time comes."

[Mu Xia]: ?

[Fugitive Beethoven]: "Not telling you~ Gotta go, good luck Master Lin, waiting for your good news! [wave]"

Lin Que stared at "big plan" twice, shook his head, and didn't ask further.

...

September 12th, Friday.

Jiangcheng High-speed Railway Station.

Seven-thirty in the morning.

People were coming and going in the waiting hall, the sound of announcements and rolling suitcases mixing together.

Lin Jianguo and Wang Xiulian stood outside the security check.

Old Lin was wearing a navy blue jacket today, his hair smoothed down with gel until it was shiny.

Even though he wasn't the one departing, he had gone all out on his appearance.

Wang Xiulian adjusted the straps of the backpack on Lin Que's shoulders.

"Once you arrive and get settled, let us know you're safe."

"Mhm."

Lin Jianguo stood nearby, his lips moving a couple of times, but he didn't manage a full sentence.

Finally, he reached out and gave Lin Que a heavy pat on the shoulder.

That pat was quite forceful.

He said nothing, yet he said everything.

"Lin Que!"

Just as Lin Que was about to turn and enter security, a crisp sound of high heels came from behind him.

Shen Qingqiu.

She was wearing a beige trench coat, her hair tied in a low ponytail, and she was carrying a cup of coffee.

It looked like she had made a special trip.

Lin Jianguo and Wang Xiulian exchanged a look and tactfully moved a few steps away.

Shen Qingqiu walked up to Lin Que, offering no long-winded speech.

"Don't worry about who the opponent is. Remember, the blade is in your hand."

She handed him the coffee.

Lin Que took the coffee and nodded.

He turned, passed through security, and entered the station.

He didn't look back.

At eight-eleven, Train G7791 departed Jiangcheng Station on time.

Lin Que sat in the window seat, his backpack on his lap and his luggage tucked under the seat.

The coffee in his hand was still warm.

The scenery outside the window began to accelerate.

Suburban factories and farmland were left behind, and high-voltage power towers receded one after another.

The skyline shifted from the gray silhouette of the city to vast stretches of rice fields and ponds.

The September sun draped over the water, breaking into a floor of gold.

The train sped up.

The scenery blurred into a long ribbon of color.

Lin Que placed the coffee cup on the small table and checked his phone.

The number one spot on the trending list, with a deep red "Hot" tag:

#Tomorrow's Debut, Jian Shen vs Fu Zhi Yao Competition#

He locked the screen and flipped the phone over on the table.

He leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes.

...