357: Chapter 357 So, this is the answer.

Lin Que placed his marker on the desktop.

The crisp sound of the impact became the only signal to break the stagnant air in the main hall of the Olympic Sports Center.

Five seconds.

For five whole seconds, not a single sound could be heard in the venue filled with tens of thousands of people.

Everyone was staring intently at the final deconstruction of "The Bird and the Mountain" on the big screen.

Then, without any rehearsal or anyone leading, applause erupted simultaneously from all directions.

It was as if someone had treated the entire venue like a drum and struck it with a single hammer blow.

In the Jiangcheng No. 1 High School formation in the front row, Fang Zhiyuan jumped straight up from his chair, held the placard with words written on it as high as he could, and shouted until his voice was hoarse.

Wu Di leaned back in his chair, hands clasped behind his head, his mouth grinning from ear to ear.

He didn't shout at the top of his lungs like before; he just turned his head to look at the students from other schools beside him who had been full of doubt just a moment ago, and tossed out a light comment:

"See that? That's from our class."

Amidst this wave of fanaticism, the most unusual reaction actually came from the teaching and research area.

Those Chinese teachers, who were usually stern in class and extremely picky about student essays, completely set aside their dignity as educators.

Teaching and Research Group Leader Zhang Chaowei was the first to stand up; he didn't even care about the notebook sliding off his knees, clapping his hands vigorously until his palms were red.

Teacher Wu, who sat beside him—the old teacher who always held a thermos and wore a look of scrutiny—didn't hold anything this time.

He rested his hands on his knees, stared at the stage for a long while, and then slowly relaxed his hands to clap, beat by beat.

"Old Zhang, I've taught for half my life and graded papers for over twenty years. For those few minutes just now, I've been thinking about one thing."

"How much of what I've taught in class all these years has actually helped students think, and how much... has been about saving them the trouble of thinking?"

Zhang Chaowei nodded vigorously, not replying out loud.

He looked down, opened his notebook, drew a thick, heavy line under the last line of his notes, and wrote a few words in the blank space: Next semester's teaching and research group meeting: Key topic.

Zhou Min's applause slowed down.

She stared at the white shirt on stage for a long time, but another image surfaced in her mind—five years ago, a girl with a ponytail sitting on a plastic stool in her office, her exam paper crumpled into a ball, shoulders heaving as she cried.

She had stood beside her then, unable to say a single useful word from beginning to end.

If someone had been able to explain this logic clearly back then, how many children's fates might have been rewritten.

Today's lesson was not just for the students; it was a wake-up call for them, the educators.

In the middle of the inner field, the male student from No. 8 Middle School who had stood up to pose the difficult question looked like a statue drained of its lifeblood.

He stared fixedly at the words on the big screen: "A bird that does not borrow the wind cannot fly over the mountain of social class." The scrutiny, defiance, and arrogance of an honor student that had been written all over his face were shattered into nothingness in the face of this overwhelming logic.

Several classmates from No. 8 Middle School around him looked at him with a hint of sympathy in their eyes.

"...Who among us could have thought of that angle he just took?"

A boy lowered his voice, speaking so softly it was almost against the tabletop.

The girl beside him didn't respond, just glanced at the classmate with glasses who was still standing there, and shook her head slightly: "Forget about us, look at him—"

The boy with glasses ignored the discussion around him.

His eyes were red from extreme shock, his lips trembling slightly as he muttered to himself: "Jump out of the logic of the wind... write about the desire to cross social classes..."

"So, this is the answer."

He gritted his teeth, stood up straight by bracing his hands against the desk, and from a distance of over a dozen rows, bowed extremely solemnly toward the peer on the stage.

The few classmates from No. 8 Middle School around him were all stunned, even forgetting to clap.

In the second row of the guest seating, Shen Qingqiu sat in her seat, her hands tightly clasped on her knees.

She watched the upright youth in the center of the stage, listening to the deafening cheers all around, and a wave of unprecedented pride surged within her.

Mixed in with this pride was a hint of indescribable melancholy.

That question from five years ago had also been a nightmare in her teaching career.

She had tried countless times to find the perfect entry point, but had always been stuck spinning in the quagmire of opposition.

Today, her student stood before tens of thousands of people, using the sharpest language to shatter the mountain that had weighed on her heart for five years.

She felt that the heavy stone buried deep in her heart had finally fallen to the ground.

She looked at Lin Que's calm and composed profile, and suddenly recalled the scene when she first read his essay in the office—the youth who had written "Back to Back" on paper, his eyes carrying something she couldn't explain.

Now she finally understood. It wasn't rebellion; it was certainty.

Her student had long since stopped needing her to show him the way. This realization made her proud, and also made her nose a little sore.

In the core leadership seats in the front row, Director Huo Yan had already stood up. She wasn't clapping; instead, she pulled out her phone and handed it to Director Hu Wenbin beside her; the screen displayed the number for the Provincial Department's Publicity and Education Division.

"Send up the recording of this session before tonight, without cutting a single frame."

Director Hu Wenbin took the phone, didn't ask a single extra word, and turned to walk toward the side door of the venue.

Director Huo Yan sat back in her chair, her gaze falling on the white shirt on stage, her voice audible only to herself: "This child shouldn't just belong to Jiangcheng."

The applause continued in the vast venue for a full three minutes. It wasn't until the female host walked out from the side curtain and repeatedly made gestures to calm the crowd that the wave of sound, which had nearly blown the roof off, subsided slightly, though the air remained filled with the lingering warmth of that extreme excitement.

Lin Que stood in the spotlight in the center of the stage, letting the surrounding fanaticism envelop him. His eyes were calm and profound, without a trace of the recklessness or impetuosity of youth who achieve fame early.

He looked at the young faces below the stage, at his peers who had reignited their fighting spirit because of his words, and slowly raised the microphone in his hand.

The remaining noise in the venue vanished instantly at that moment; everyone held their breath, waiting for his conclusion.

"Everyone."

Lin Que's voice pierced through the venue's top-tier sound system, landing clearly on everyone's eardrums.

"Do not be trapped by the wind in the prompt, and even less, do not be limited by those artificially set binary oppositions. The rules of the outside world are always changing; today they test the wind, tomorrow they might test the rain, and the day after, they might test a bridge you've never seen before. If you only stare at these appearances to cater to them, you will forever only be a test-taking machine drifting with the tide in the exam hall."

He paused for a beat, his gaze sweeping over the rows of students wearing various school uniforms in the stands, his tone becoming incomparably firm.

"A strong core is the only antidote. True writing, true breaking of the status quo, always comes from your most authentic desire and most clear-headed understanding of this world."

The entire venue was silent, tens of thousands of students listening to these words as if on a pilgrimage.

Lin Que's fingers tightened slightly on the microphone, pushing the emotions of the entire public lecture to its climax.

"What we need to do is not to beg for the wind's favor, nor to complain about the mountain's height. What we must do is recognize the absolute desire within ourselves to transcend social class, and then evolve wings of our own to cross that mountain that belongs to you."

Lin Que looked at the fervent gazes below, and smiled faintly. He made no unnecessary movements, simply moved the microphone to his lips, and with a tone that was gentle yet heavy as a thousand catties, tossed out the final seven words.

"I wish you all, see you at the peak."