324: Chapter 324 Crushing Through the Rings of Time

The air in the second-floor venue froze at this moment.

The sounds of frenzied shopping from the first floor surged up through the floorboards.

The louder those sounds grew, the more embarrassing the dead silence on the second floor became.

Everyone's gaze was focused on Chen Jiahao, who had suddenly stood up.

This second-generation rich kid, usually dressed in haute couture and carrying a hint of cynicism, now stood with his back perfectly straight.

The Vice Chairman of the Guangdong Province Writers Association, sitting below the stage, had a slight change in expression; the hand holding his teacup paused mid-air.

His brows furrowed as his gaze passed over the front-row reporters,

staring sternly at Chen Jiahao, attempting to suppress this reckless young master with his eyes.

The official media reporters in the front row immediately raised their cameras.

The lenses were all aimed at Chen Jiahao, ready to record the impulsive words this hot-blooded youth was about to blurt out.

Chen Jiahao completely ignored the Vice Chairman's hint. He also paid no mind to the flashing cameras.

He looked directly at the old scholar of the Lingnan literary world, known for his sharpness, and continued:

"You just said that the writing of young people lacks a grand historical perspective as support.

You believe we cannot distinguish the boundary between recording suffering and consuming suffering."

Chen Jiahao's voice spread through the venue via the speakers; his pace was not fast, and his articulation was extremely clear.

The old critic had already been half-bent, preparing to sit down.

Hearing this, he stopped his movement and stood up again.

The old man raised his head, his sharp gaze locking onto Chen Jiahao once more.

He wanted to hear what kind of profound reasoning this wealthy kid, decked out in designer brands, could possibly offer.

Chen Jiahao held the microphone, meeting the old man's gaze.

"Grand narratives aren't something that can only be looked down upon from a God's-eye view!"

He raised his empty left hand and made a forceful downward stroke in the air.

"Our younger generation indeed lacks the magnificent era-defining experiences of the older generation.

But our unique perspective is precisely using the individual's smallest pain receptors to perceive and deconstruct the operational logic of this massive social machine!"

The second-floor venue instantly fell silent.

Even the noise from the first floor seemed to be shut out by these powerful words.

Several senior journalists stopped typing on their keyboards.

They realized that the theoretical depth of this statement had completely exceeded the cognitive range expected of a high school student.

Chen Jiahao looked at the slightly stunned old scholar below the stage and dropped the final hammer.

"We don't write about the annual rings of the era."

He paused briefly, his gaze sweeping over the equally shocked Wei Yiming beside him before finally settling on the old man's face.

"We only write about the dust crushed by those annual rings. This, in itself, is a literary structure!"

His voice trailed off.

The vast second floor of the Southland Bookstore fell into absolute silence.

These words were like a knife; they not only precisely dismantled the old man's deep-seated doubt that 'individual experience cannot support social themes,'

but also dissolved the contradiction between the tiny individual and the grand era into nothingness.

The old critic remained in his half-bent posture, completely frozen in place.

In his eyes, which were usually as calm as a deep well, great surprise and disbelief were now surging.

"Using the individual's pain receptors... to deconstruct the social machine..."

The old man's lips moved slightly as he whispered Chen Jiahao's words back to himself.

"Only writing about the dust crushed by the annual rings..."

The old scholar mulled over these words; the more he pondered, the deeper the shock in his eyes grew.

As a staunch defender of traditional literature, he had spent his whole life pursuing the depth of writing and historical profundity.

He was accustomed to standing on high ground and looking down upon the changes of the era.

But he had never considered

that the younger generation could use such an extremely microscopic and poignant angle to complete another piece of the grand narrative puzzle.

This literary deconstruction ability—using a small force to move a huge weight—made him feel as if he were seeing a brand-new possibility for the Chinese Literary World.

The old man slowly stood up straight.

He didn't speak immediately; instead, he stared fixedly at Chen Jiahao with his weathered eyes for several seconds.

Then, the tight line of his jaw relaxed slightly, and he let out an extremely complex, long sigh.

"What a phrase: 'only writing about the dust crushed by the annual rings'..."

The old man's voice was hoarse yet full of vigor, echoing through the hall.

"The youth are to be feared! Truly, the youth are to be feared!"

He said 'the youth are to be feared' twice, unable to hide the excitement in his tone.

The old critic turned his head to look at the Vice Chairman of the Writers Association, who was still in a daze.

"Today's launch event was well worth my time."

The old man pointed to the physical books on the signing table.

"I take back my earlier prejudice against these kids."

He faced the youths on the stage again, his tone becoming extremely solemn.

"I will pay out of my own pocket to buy one copy of every student's book on this stage today! I want to take them back, set aside the inherent prejudices of us old fogies, and carefully study the world that belongs to you young people!"

As soon as these words were spoken, the atmosphere of the entire venue was instantly ignited.

He had not only publicly retracted his doubts but even offered to buy the books with his own money to study them.

This was the best possible recognition for the younger generation of authors.

Below the stage on the second floor, the first burst of extremely sincere and enthusiastic applause of the day immediately rang out.

Reporters clicked their shutters frantically.

This interaction session, which could have turned into a laughingstock, was forcibly reversed by Chen Jiahao's words into an absolute highlight.

The Vice Chairman let out a long breath of turbid air, quietly loosening his sweaty, clenched fists.

Behind the signing table.

Wei Yiming was completely stunned in place.

He listened to the thunderous applause below and saw the old scholar's look of heartfelt conviction.

He turned his head and looked at Chen Jiahao beside him as if looking at a monster.

Wei Yiming couldn't help but give a thumbs up, his voice filled with wonder.

"Chen Jiahao, I... I want to apologize to you.

I always thought you were just a rich kid who only knew how to spend money and came here to experience life.

I didn't expect you to have so much substance!"

Wei Yiming's dark face was filled with admiration.

"To think you could improvise such a deep theory on the spot and hit that old gentleman's weak point so precisely—it's simply amazing!"

Faced with his companion's amazement and the sustained applause from below, Chen Jiahao didn't show the slightest hint of pride.

He sat back down in his chair.

His previously straight back slumped slightly.

The aura of commanding the world that Chen Jiahao had just displayed vanished instantly, and his back suddenly collapsed.

He casually tossed aside the microphone, a layer of fine sweat even appearing on his forehead,

as he leaned toward Wei Yiming and confessed in an extremely guilty and shaky voice.

"I don't have any substance at all." Chen Jiahao scratched his meticulously styled hair.

"Do you really think I have the brains to come up with such a badass theory?"

Wei Yiming was stunned.

He looked at Chen Jiahao in confusion.

"Then those words just now were..."

"Those were Master Que's words."

Chen Jiahao gritted his teeth and revealed the whole truth.

"Back in the capital after the competition, we were all waiting in the hotel for the final results of the grand finals.

I was bored at the time, so I took my draft—the one the judges criticized for not being deep enough—to complain to him."

Chen Jiahao recalled the scene, his eyes still carrying an uncontrollable hint of awe.

"After he heard my complaint, he didn't even lift an eyelid and just casually said those words to me."

Chen Jiahao swallowed and lowered his voice even further.

"I didn't understand it then, but I thought the phrasing sounded really high-level, so I went back and wrote it down.

I was cornered by that old man just now, and those words suddenly popped into my head, so I just copied them directly."

Wei Yiming sat in his chair.

After hearing Chen Jiahao's explanation, a look of deep shock appeared on his dark, resilient face.

In his usually steady eyes, the pupils contracted sharply a few times.

He felt a layer of fine goosebumps crawl up his back.

A peer who was currently far away in Magic City.

A casual, offhand remark made back then in a hotel in the capital.

Could today, months later and thousands of miles away in Guang City, easily and completely win over an old scholar of the Lingnan literary world known for his academic sharpness!

The image of the award ceremony for Fu Zhi Yao Competition flashed through Wei Yiming's mind.

The boy named Lin Que stood at the very center of the stage, facing countless flashing lights and the gazes of literary giants, his expression calm and unhurried.

That absolute composure, which didn't seem to belong to a seventeen-year-old, finally had a concrete explanation in Wei Yiming's heart.

Wei Yiming finally understood where that steadiness came from.

It was a composure built upon absolute strength.

The academic interrogations that others wracked their brains and exhausted their thoughts to answer,

were to Lin Que nothing more than some scraps tossed out casually during a chat.

This crushing talent that spanned space and time made Wei Yiming feel an indescribable shiver and admiration.

He thought that by writing heavy mountains, he had already touched the threshold of literature for the younger generation.

But now he realized that the person named Lin Que was already standing amidst the clouds, so high they couldn't even see him clearly.

The applause on the second floor gradually died down, and the launch ceremony officially began.

The old critic had already walked toward the Writers Association staff, preparing to register to buy the physical books.

The crisis of the launch ceremony was completely resolved, and the signing session officially began.

Wei Yiming picked up the signing pen on the table.

He took a breath, trying hard to calm the waves surging within him.

He nodded solemnly, his gaze piercing through the transparent glass railing of the second floor.

His vision passed over the frenzied, earthy-yellow ocean on the first floor.

As if crossing thousands of mountains and rivers, he looked toward the distant north.

Wei Yiming's fingers tightened slightly around the pen.

On his dark face, there was no sign of despondency from realizing the massive gap.

On the contrary, an extremely strong longing and fighting spirit ignited in his eyes.

He knew his current writing skill was still immature.

But he wasn't afraid.

Wei Yiming swore secretly in his heart.

When the Qinglan Project led by the National Writers Association officially began,

he would personally walk up to that unfathomable grand champion.

To get to know this peer who could suppress literary giants with just a single sentence.

He wanted to see exactly what kind of

unreachable mountain peak that boy named Lin Que truly was!

...