350: Chapter 350 A Touchstone for Tens of Thousands of Venues

Saturday, 1:00 PM.

The Olympic Sports Center.

Three security cordons had already been set up around the perimeter of the venue.

Gigantic posters hung from the pillars at the main entrance.

The cold gray cover of 'folding beijing' and the golden characters of 'The First Jiangcheng Youth Literature Open Class' were particularly eye-catching under the September sun.

Interview vans from the Jiangcheng Metropolitan News and recording trucks from the Provincial TV Education Channel were stationed at the east and west entrances, with an array of camera lenses ready for action.

Drones completed three rounds of aerial photography tests in mid-air, their buzzing rotors drowned out by the surging crowds on the ground.

On the plaza outside the venue, groups of students in various school uniforms were filing into the entrance along guided paths, merging into rivers of different colors.

Inside the venue, the main stage had been fully assembled.

The LED screen spanning the entire background was looping the clip of Lin Que from the Shanghai book signing, where he said, 'Daring to unsheathe one's blade before the highest peak.'

The students entering the venue looked up at the screen, their pace noticeably slowing.

More than half of the seats on the first-floor arena floor were filled, and the stands on the second and third floors were filling up rapidly.

Student contingents from seventeen key high schools across the city took their seats in sequence.

Some clutched brand-new notebooks with flushed faces, while others leaned against their seatbacks with arms crossed.

But without exception, every person had a pen and a notebook placed on their desk tray.

A group of girls from Jiangcheng No. 2 High School squeezed by the aisle, their voices low but unable to hide their excitement:

"Oh my god, is he really only seventeen? Looking at the video from the book signing, that aura doesn't look like a high schooler at all!"

Beside them, a tall, thin boy with glasses from Jiangcheng No. 8 High School pushed up his frames:

"Aura is one thing, but writing a novel and writing a College Entrance Examination essay are two completely different matters.

Just because he writes novels well doesn't mean he can help us raise our essay scores. I'm just afraid today will just be a massive book signing session."

A girl from the same school behind him countered in a low voice:

"He's the national champion, a student recommended for admission to Tsinghua and Peking University, and he even got an s-level reprint order. Is that threshold still low?"

The boy didn't respond, but a hint of defiance still hung at the corner of his mouth.

This mixture of expectation and skepticism fermented quietly in every corner of the venue.

The core audience area in the front row was occupied by a neat block of dark blue school uniforms.

Grade 12 Class 3 of Jiangcheng No. 1 High School—all thirty-nine members were present, not a single person missing.

As it was Lin Que's class, Principal Jiang Changfeng had waved his hand and given them the full quota, seating the entire class right in the center of the arena floor.

Not only were they in uniform, but they also held various banners and hand-held signs they had printed themselves.

Wu Di held up a cardboard sign handwritten with a red marker that said, "Brother Que is the Eternal God."

Fang Zhiyuan was even more exaggerated, carrying a massive printed banner featuring a profile photo of Lin Que from the book signing and a line of large characters:

—"Jiangcheng No. 1 High School, the same model as Lin Que!"

Students from other schools nearby frequently glanced over, their eyes filled with blatant envy.

However, the atmosphere in the three rows of seats right next to the stage's right side was entirely different.

That was the exclusive area for the city's Chinese Language Teaching and Research Group.

Hundreds of backbone Chinese teachers sat upright, with notebooks and fountain pens neatly arranged on the folding desk trays in front of them.

Zhang Chaowei, the head of the teaching and research group at No. 13 High School, sat in the aisle seat of the first row.

He opened the hardcover notebook he had brought, wrote the date on the title page, and then whispered to the female teacher beside him, who had taught four graduating classes.

"Coming here today is to act as gatekeepers for the tens of thousands of College Entrance Examination candidates in the city."

He closed the notebook and tapped the cover with his index finger.

"This kid writes novels well; no one denies that.

But a novel is a novel, and the College Entrance Examination is the College Entrance Examination.

If he can stand on this stage and say something of actual operational value for exam-oriented writing, I'll be the first to be impressed.

If he can't—"

He paused for a beat.

"Then this open class is just an expensive political exercise."

...

In the basement level of the Olympic Sports Center, the athletes' lounge.

The lighting was soft, and the temperature was comfortable.

Fei Yuncheng stood behind Lin Que, his hands folded over his chest, his lips moving as he spoke in a low but extremely fast voice.

"Lin Que, don't be nervous once you go up. If there are too many people, just treat them as air.

If you get stuck at any point, just pretend to take a sip of water to give yourself some buffer time.

Also, don't worry too much about those old teachers in the research area. If their questions are too tricky, just circle around the general direction."

Shen Qingqiu stood nearby, unconsciously twisting the thin chain strap of her watch around her wrist, her brow furrowed in a slight frown.

She knew her student better than Fei Yuncheng did.

He had ideas, he had pride, and he could handle small settings with ease.

But this time was completely different.

It wasn't a case of going up for a few minutes of speech and then coming down; it was a several-hour-long output under the gaze of tens of thousands of people,

with the entire process being recorded live. Every word and every pause would be infinitely magnified.

She opened her mouth, but her throat felt blocked by something, and in the end, it only turned into a whisper filled with obvious worry.

"Lin Que, how about... slow down a bit at the beginning, pay attention to the rhythm."

Lin Que turned around from the mirror and, seeing the almost synchronized anxiety on the faces of his two mentors, couldn't help but curl his lips into a smile.

He didn't rush to state his position but instead walked to the coffee table in the corner of the lounge.

Lin Que poured two cups of warm water and handed them to the two of them with a gentle tone:

"Director Fei, Teacher Shen, have some water.

I know you're worried about me, but since I dared to take on this venue, I have confidence in my heart."

His voice wasn't high, and his speaking speed was steady.

"Don't worry. Those sitting below today are high school students the same age as me.

What they want to hear isn't the standard answers from a textbook, but how a peer turns the things in his head into words on a white sheet of paper.

I'm more familiar with these things than those teachers are."

Fei Yuncheng was stunned for a moment while holding the water cup. Before he could organize his rebuttal, Lin Que had already followed up with a second sentence.

"If I can't even explain the path I've walked, then I don't deserve to stand on that stage."

Lin Que's voice was very soft, but the certainty in the trailing note was firmly planted in their hearts. He looked at Shen Qingqiu, his gaze clear and open.

"Teacher Shen, you often say that good articles are revised into existence.

But in my view, a good article is first thought through clearly before it is written.

What I'm going to do today is not a performance, but to take this matter of 'thinking it through,' break it apart, crush it, and hand it to them."

He paused for a beat.

"Something that has been crushed isn't afraid of being dropped, because it's already broken down as much as it can be."

Shen Qingqiu's fingers clutching the watch strap slowly loosened, and the stifling air that had been blocked in her chest all day mostly dissipated.

She looked at her student's unflappable eyes and finally gave a slight nod.

"Alright. I believe you."

Fei Yuncheng took the water cup and let out a long sigh of relief, his originally tense shoulders relaxing:

"Fine, seeing your state, the two of us were worrying for nothing. Go up and give a good lecture."

...

2:00 PM sharp.

The venue lights suddenly dimmed, leaving only a cone of spotlight in the center of the stage hitting the microphone stand.

The clamor of nearly thirty thousand people in the entire arena was compressed to almost zero within three seconds.

A female host wearing a dark suit skirt stepped out from the side wings, the sound of her high heels clicking on the stage floor faithfully transmitted throughout the entire venue by the microphone.

She stood still, her gaze sweeping across every corner from the arena floor to the third-floor stands, her voice clear and steady.

"Students, teachers, and guests, welcome to the first Jiangcheng Youth Literature Open Class."

The image on the large screen switched to a real-time close-up of the stage.

Even the students in the furthest back row could clearly see every ripple of expression on the host's face.

In less than three minutes, the host

went through the seventeen-year-old boy's resume, from the city competition to the national championship, and from the s-level reprint order to famous professors lining up to buy his book.

Among them, the reaction from the student contingents was the most enthusiastic.

The applause from the teaching and research group area was restrained and polite.

Zhang Chaowei's hands even just symbolically touched twice.

The host precisely threw out a transition at the tail end of the applause, her voice rising half a pitch, her tone switching from review to expectation.

"—And today, this seventeen-year-old national champion

will give a sharing class for all of us in this city where he grew up."

She turned slightly, her right hand gesturing toward the side wings.

"Please welcome with applause—Lin Que!"

The lights across the entire venue changed at the same instant.

The spotlight moved from the microphone stand and swept toward the entrance passage on the left side of the stage.

The students in the arena floor area stood up almost as a reflex.

Wu Di held the cardboard sign above his head, and Fang Zhiyuan let out a long howl at the top of his lungs.

Applause exploded from the front rows, with the second and third floors following in sequence.

In less than three seconds, it joined into a single roar, making the spotlights overhead tremble slightly.

Zhang Chaowei in the teaching and research area did not stand up. He maintained his upright sitting posture, opened his notebook to the first page, unscrewed his fountain pen cap, and pressed the nib against the paper, waiting.

The spotlight locked onto the end of the entrance passage.

A figure walked out from the side wings, his pace neither fast nor slow.

White shirt, dark jacket, sleeves rolled up to just above the wrist bones, his stride composed, and hands hanging naturally at his sides.

Lin Que walked to the center of the stage and stood still.

He didn't rush to speak but instead stood quietly in that spotlight, his gaze sweeping from the first-floor arena floor to the very last row of the third-floor stands.

Tens of thousands of pairs of eyes looked back at him.

The applause continued, the cheering continued, but his silence instead caused these waves of sound to begin decaying on their own.

Five seconds later, the entire stadium became completely quiet.

Lin Que reached out and took the microphone from its stand.

"Before we start, I want to first ask every student present a question."

His voice, diffused through the venue's sound system, fell clearly into everyone's ears.

"Have you ever had an experience like this—where you clearly have a brilliant idea in your head,

but the moment you sit at your desk and spread out your manuscript paper, it leaks away through your fingers like sand?"

The entire venue was silent for two seconds.

Then, from different directions and different corners, thousands of voices, large and small, rang out almost simultaneously.

"Yes—!"

In the first row of the teaching and research area, Zhang Chaowei's pen nib, which was pressed against the paper, moved.

He didn't write any words but instead raised his head to look at the seventeen-year-old boy on stage who had come up empty-handed.

Lin Que held the microphone, a slight smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

"Good. Then for today's sharing session, let's start with how to plug that leak."

...