329: Chapter 329 Market Stabilization Operation

This bold, heroic roar exploded in the originally deserted signing area on the right.

In the long queue of readers on the left waiting anxiously to check out, many were startled by this sudden commotion and turned their heads to look.

Hundreds of gazes swept across the red carpet in unison...

...landing on the slightly chubby boy who was drenched in sweat, his shirt soaked at the chest.

Sitting behind the signing desk, Zhang Hao and Liu Yu's eyes widened simultaneously.

They stared at the panting peer before them, their mouths half-open, unable to react for a long moment.

In such a dismal situation, someone actually wanted to buy three hundred copies?

Xiao Liu, an officer from the Writers Association, stood to the side.

He froze for half a second before suddenly snapping back to his senses.

He looked at the two student-like youths before him, then at the desolate booth.

Swallowing hard, his voice was filled with disbelief:

“Students, you're not joking, are you?

This is the signing event for the national champion. Three hundred books is no small amount. Are you sure... you want that many?”

Wu Di didn't bother responding to Xiao Liu's questioning at all.

Panting heavily, he reached out and pushed a pink-covered notebook toward Lin Que.

Lin Que looked at the familiar pink notebook, his gaze sweeping over Wu Di and Li Bowen, who was adjusting his glasses next to him.

He didn't speak, only reaching out to flip open the first page.

With just one look, Lin Que's finger stopped mid-flip.

It was a densely packed, handwritten ledger.

The top line was written in bold black marker: “Jiangcheng No. 1 High School Operation Support the Market Crowdfunding Details.”

Below it were rows of crooked but extremely earnest names.

【Wu Di: 219.5 yuan】

【Li Bowen: 100 yuan】

【Fang Zhiyuan: 100 yuan】

【Zhang Ya: 50 yuan】

...

Flipping past the first page, every name was familiar.

None of the amounts were large—dozens of yuan, a hundred yuan, even some small change.

Flipping further, there were dense lists of unfamiliar names organized by class, basically covering the entire Jiangcheng No. 1 High School.

These dense figures converged on the final page, which read:

【Teacher Shen: 500 yuan.】

And a total: 9,600.5 yuan.

Lin Que's movement paused, then turned into a helpless warmth.

Wu Di scratched his head and coughed awkwardly twice:

“Well... we were originally doing this in secret, but it caused such a stir that Old Shen found out.

She didn't say much, just pulled out five hundred yuan and stuffed it into my hand, repeatedly warning us to be safe on the road.”

Li Bowen stood beside Wu Di, wiping the hot sweat from his forehead.

“To avoid spending a single cent from the ledger, this fat guy insisted on buying the cheapest hard-seat tickets. We pulled an all-nighter to get here.

Lin Que, the heart of the whole class is here. We just wanted to hold the line for you!

Even if there's a massive army on the other side,

we at Jiangcheng No. 1 High School will never let you stand here as a lone commander!”

Lin Que listened quietly.

He looked at the two dusty youths before him, their clothes still smelling of train smoke, and a string deep within his heart was struck hard.

In his previous life, he had struggled in the vanity fair of the screenwriting circle, accustomed to hypocrisy and play-acting.

Even fair-weather friends who called each other brothers would turn hostile in an instant over a conflict of interest.

Every friendship had a price tag, and every bit of support came with conditions.

But now, what lay before him was a sincere friendship untainted by any calculation of interest.

A group of sixteen or seventeen-year-old high school students, just to save their brother's face,

had emptied their pockets of coins and taken the cheapest green-skin train, traveling a thousand miles just to shout:

“Boss, give us three hundred copies.”

This pure, uncalculated passion struck the softest part of Lin Que's heart.

He closed the pink notebook and placed it solemnly by his hand.

His body, which had been leaning against the back of the chair, leaned forward, his spine straightening.

He shed his usual lazy and casual demeanor, his eyes reflecting an unprecedented seriousness.

“The whole school supports my lofty ambitions; how can I let my brothers lose this battle?”

What's more,

what lay before them now

was that realistic masterpiece from his previous life that had won major sci-fi awards and was enough to smash through the barriers of this era!

“Good.”

Lin Que picked up the black sign pen on the table, uncapped it, and looked at Xiao Liu from the Writers Association:

“Brother Liu, please get three hundred copies of “folding beijing” from the warehouse. I'm taking this order.”

Xiao Liu was stunned by Lin Que's aura. He nodded solemnly and quickly turned to call the logistics staff on his walkie-talkie.

Soon, several staff members pushed carts, bringing over a dozen stacks of unopened physical books to the signing desk.

Lin Que took the first book and opened the title page.

Instead of just signing a flamboyant name as usual, he glanced at the first name in the pink notebook and wrote a line of text.

“To Fang Zhiyuan: May your path ahead be smooth and may you never fear high walls. Lin Que.”

After writing, he handed the book to Wu Di and took the second one.

“To Zhang Ya: Wherever the pen reaches, let there be starlight. Lin Que.”

Three hundred books, three hundred names, three hundred completely different personalized messages.

Lin Que wrote extremely fast, but every stroke was forceful enough to penetrate the paper.

This wasn't just a signature; it was his most profound reciprocation of this schoolmate bond.

The media reporters standing on the perimeter of the red carpet keenly captured this scene.

They had been wondering who was making such a grand gesture,

but after hearing Li Bowen's words, these well-informed media professionals immediately sensed excellent news material.

Their cameras and lenses instantly pivoted, and the sound of shutters clicking intensified once more.

The lenses focused on the boy writing furiously, on his two classmates who were drenched in sweat but smiling brightly, and on the growing stack of signed books.

This kind of loyalty unique to youth was more infectious than any commercial hype.

In the queue on the left, several college students who had been observing exchanged glances.

“I was already curious about that ‘class folding’ setting this guy mentioned earlier.

Seeing these high schoolers being so loyal, the author's character certainly can't be bad.”

A boy in a plaid shirt remarked,

and looking at the endless queue ahead, he stepped out of line.

“I'm not waiting anymore. It's just the price of a few cups of milk tea anyway. I'll go buy “folding beijing” first and see if Old Knife actually raised enough for the tuition.”

“Count me in. Hearing him talk about space folding earlier really piqued my interest.”

Another boy followed suit.

With the first person leading the way, those readers in the crowd who were moved by Lin Que's speech but hesitant due to herd mentality finally stopped observing.

Seven or eight people gradually left the main group and headed toward the booth on the right.

Tang He looked at the girl who came up to her to ask about the price of “glass,” her fingers trembling slightly.

She quickly opened a book, earnestly signed her name, and repeatedly said thank you.

Zhang Hao and Liu Yu also welcomed their first batch of real readers today.

Though they weren't many, this breakthrough from zero to one made their originally dull eyes shine with light again.

Just then, a flurry of footsteps came from outside the bookstore's large glass doors.

Seven or eight youths of similar age rushed into the hall, drenched in sweat.

They were dressed differently, some even carrying laptop bags, clearly having just squeezed off the subway.

The leader, a young man with a buzz cut, quickly scanned the hall.

He completely ignored the massive ten-meter-high poster and the terrifying queue on the left, locking onto the red-carpeted booth on the right.

“Over there! Hurry, I'm afraid they'll sell out if we're late!”

The buzz-cut youth called out and led the group straight to Lin Que's signing table.

Xiao Liu had just finished packing the three hundred books when he saw this group charging over aggressively, and he stepped back in fright.

Just a few minutes ago,

the youth in the peaked cap in the lounge had posted a photo of the physical book cover and a few soul-stirring roars in the group, completely igniting the WeChat group named “Shanghai's Miserable Workers.”

The buzz-cut youth had seen the message in the group and brought people over immediately.

He rushed to the table and pulled out his phone from his pocket,

the screen still showing the chat interface where the group was going wild.

“You're Lin Que, right?”

The buzz-cut youth pointed at “folding beijing” on the table and asked, panting,

“A guy in our group just read three chapters here and praised this book to the skies.

He said this book is about us bottom-tier laborers who can't even see the sun.

Give us five copies!

Our supervisor wouldn't let us take time off, so I'm here on behalf of our entire project team to buy them!”

The young people behind him chimed in as well.

“Give me two copies! I heard in the group while on the subway that Old Knife was risking his life for ten thousand yuan, and I almost burst into tears.”

“I want three copies too! There aren't many these days who can write sci-fi that hits this close to home.”

...