32: October magazine commissioned articles

The internet war ended much faster than anyone could have imagined.

Wang Shouyi's denunciation essay, along with the man himself, was nailed to the pillar of shame.

The 'Jian Shen' he had personally propped up became the sharpest sword piercing through his own chest.

Meanwhile, the 'Hell Dream Weaver' he had tried so hard to suppress stepped over his remains and ascended to the altar of public obsession and pursuit.

Jiangcheng No. 1 High School.

"Brother Que! Look at this! Wang Shouyi is holding a copy of New Tide and charging at Hell Dream Weaver with the caption 'Eat my ultimate move!'"

"Then the Dream Weaver backhandedly throws a copy of The Miracles of the Namiya General Store and knocks him out! Hahahaha!"

Wu Di was rolling in his seat with laughter, shoving his phone screen in front of Lin Que.

Lin Que glanced at it. On the screen, a stick figure had Wang Shouyi's head photoshopped onto it.

It was charging righteously at a dark shadow; the image was as comical as could be.

"Yeah, quite creative."

Lin Que commented.

"It's more than just creative!"

Wu Di lowered his voice, his face flushed with excitement.

"The whole internet is playing with this meme now! That Wang Shouyi is completely socially dead! The Dream Weaver's move was brilliant! What do they call it? An official backstab is the most lethal!"

Lin Que withdrew his gaze and slumped onto the desk, looking like none of this concerned him.

...

Hong Guo Net Headquarters.

The entire editorial department was plunged into a state of extreme, contrasting ecstasy.

The ringing of phones, the clicking of keyboards, and the sounds of excited discussions merged into a noisy symphony.

"It's crazy! The data is all going crazy! Today's daily active users have tripled!"

"The servers are alerting again! The guys in the technical department haven't closed their eyes for three days!"

"The advertising department's phones are almost exploding! Those who ran away faster than anyone before are now crying and shouting to pay more to get their ad slots back!"

The editor-in-charge, Chloris, held a cup of coffee. Her hands were shaking as she looked at the data curve on the backend, which was rising almost vertically.

Just then, a call from Editor-in-Chief Hong Hu came in.

"Put Hell Dream Weaver on the line."

Hong Hu's voice was hoarse, yet it carried the excitement of someone who had survived a disaster.

Chloris didn't dare delay and immediately transferred the call through an encrypted line.

SOHO Future City, 28th Floor.

Lin Que looked at the caller ID, turned on his voice changer, and answered the call.

"Dream Teacher! We won!"

On the other end of the phone, Hong Hu's voice sounded like a long-suppressed volcano finally erupting.

"Mhm."

Lin Que's voice remained calm.

"You have no idea. For the past two days, those old geezers in the group almost ate me alive!"

"The board of directors held three consecutive meetings, all demanding that I immediately take down the human world is like a prison and issue a public apology to Wang Shouyi and his lot!"

Hong Hu's voice carried a hint of lingering fear, but more so a gambler's sense of pleasure.

"I made a bet with them. I said if the human world is like a prison caused irreparable losses to the company, I'd cough up all my original shares in Hong Guo Net and get lost."

"And now."

He paused, letting out a hearty laugh.

"Those bastards are lining up to offer me cigarettes! Every single one of them says I'm farsighted and have great courage!"

Lin Que listened quietly without interrupting.

"Dream Teacher, I'm calling first to share the good news. Second, to apologize for the grievances you've suffered. And third, to tell you another piece of good news."

"Speak."

"Last month's manuscript fees, plus the advertising revenue share from this incident, group profit dividends, gift shares, and various other tips... the finance department just calculated it..."

"After tax, it's a total of 8.74 million. It will be credited to your account sometime today."

Even for Lin Que, his heart skipped a solid beat when he heard this number.

He didn't answer immediately; Hong Hu's ecstasy through the receiver seemed to come from another world.

It wasn't until the other party called out "Teacher" several times that he snapped back to reality.

His Adam's apple bobbed as he replied in as steady a voice as possible:

"Understood."

After hanging up, the studio was deathly silent.

Lin Que didn't move; he just sat in his chair, looking out the window.

After a long while, he slowly raised his hand.

He looked at his young and strong knuckles, then slowly clenched them into a fist.

8.74 million.

In his previous life, he had exhausted his heart's blood, yet his savings had never even reached a tenth of this wealth.

And now, it was just sitting there quietly.

He looked out the window silently, and after a long time, he raised his young and powerful hand.

He slowly clenched it, feeling the power originating from within himself that was enough to change everything.

8.74 million was no longer just a cold string of numbers.

It was the foundation for his parents' security in the latter half of their lives.

It was the first solid fulcrum for him to leverage the future world.

He finally smiled.

...

In the evening, when Lin Que returned to his new home at Xisheng Mansion, the expression on his face had returned to its usual calm.

Instead of going back to his room first as usual, he walked directly to the kitchen door and said to the busy Wang Xiulian:

"Mom, don't cook. Let's go out to eat."

"Eating out is such a waste of money."

Wang Xiulian didn't even turn her head.

"While we're at it, let's go to the mall and get you both some new clothes."

"I have plenty of clothes, no need to buy more."

Lin Que didn't argue with her further. He simply walked over,

turned off the gas stove, took the spatula from her hand, and put it back in its place.

"Let's go."

Half an hour later, at Jiangcheng's most high-end Hang Lung Plaza.

Wang Xiulian was like Grandma Liu entering the Grand Prospect Garden.

She looked at everything with caution, even afraid of stepping on the polished, mirror-like floors.

When Wang Xiulian's gaze swept over the price tag of a cashmere sweater,

she felt as if she had been burned, snapping her hand back instantly.

She grabbed Lin Que's sleeve and started heading out.

"Let's go, let's go, Little Que. We're not shopping here. This isn't selling clothes; this is robbery!"

Her voice was practically trembling.

"One piece of clothing costs as much as our family used to spend on food for a whole year!"

"Mom."

Lin Que didn't move. He took hold of his mother's somewhat rough hand.

His tone was gentle.

"The past is the past. Now, I earn money so that you can wear these 'robbery' clothes.

Just try them on. Whether they look good or whether you like them—don't worry about the money."

"It's the kid's intention, so stop being so fussy!"

Lin Jianguo chimed in from the side.

"That's right, Mom!"

He stuffed the clothes into Wang Xiulian's arms without letting her argue and pushed her into the fitting room.

"Try all of these on."

"Come, ma'am, the fitting room is this way."

The shopping guide, who initially had a hint of professional indifference,

instantly became ten times more enthusiastic after seeing the black card Lin Que casually pulled out.

When Wang Xiulian changed into the new clothes and walked out of the fitting room tentatively,

she looked at herself in the mirror—appearing as if she were ten years younger.

There was a sense of unfamiliarity and surprise in her eyes, which finally turned into a bit of moist mist.

That night, Lin Que almost compulsively replaced his parents' entire wardrobe from the inside out.

After returning home, Lin Que's phone rang.

"Mr. Lin, the car you ordered has been delivered downstairs."

"Okay, thanks for the hard work."

Lin Que walked over to Lin Jianguo, who was watching TV, and acted mysteriously:

"Dad, let's go downstairs together. There's a delivery I need your help to pick up."

Lin Jianguo grumbled, "What kind of delivery requires me to go down in person?"

He followed Lin Que downstairs reluctantly.

Downstairs, a brand-new black Mercedes-Benz sedan gleamed steadily under the streetlights.

The car's lines were smooth, looking low-key yet elegant.

A staff member in uniform respectfully handed the car keys to Lin Jianguo.

Lin Jianguo was stunned.

"This..."

"I bought it for you."

Lin Que stood behind him, his tone relaxed.

"That little beat-up car of yours has been driven for over ten years; it's time to change it. It'll give you more face when you go out in the future."

Lin Jianguo didn't say a word.

As if he didn't recognize it, he walked around the new car again and again.

He reached out, wanting to touch it,

but pulled his hand back halfway.

He wiped his hand vigorously on his pants before carefully stroking the cool, smooth car door.

He turned around, his back to Lin Que, and his shoulders twitched slightly.

Lin Que saw his father raise his hand and quickly wipe the corner of his eye with the back of his hand.

"Ahem."

Lin Jianguo cleared his throat. He didn't look at Lin Que immediately.

Instead, he walked around the car one more time before asking in a somewhat hoarse voice:

"...Little Que, tell Dad the truth. This money... there's really no problem with it, right?"

His voice was very low, tinged with a bit of nervousness.

Lin Que looked at his father's tense back and smiled:

"Dad, I earned this with my pen, word by word. It's harder than steel and more solid than cement. Just drive it with a peace of mind."

...

Late at night.

Lin Que sat at the computer in his studio, feeling an unprecedented sense of peace and satisfaction.

He opened the email account belonging to 'Jian Shen' to see if there were any new letters from readers.

An unread email lay quietly in the inbox.

Sender: October Magazine Agency Editorial Department.

Subject: [Manuscript Commission Invitation]

October,

a top-three literary journal in Su Province.

Its status in the literary world was even a level higher than New Tide.

Lin Que clicked on the email.

...