377: Chapter 377 The Wall That Was Demolished

The lecture hall was larger than imagined.

The curved wooden long tables extended upwards from the podium for a full twenty rows.

The soundproofing panels on both sides and the sound-absorbing cotton on the dome swallowed most of the noise,

diluting even the sound of footsteps into a muffled thud.

The spotlights overhead were not all turned on; only a few sets near the podium were lit,

illuminating the first four rows in sharp detail, while the seats behind sank into an ambiguous, dim light.

Lin Que sat directly in the center of the first row, with Xu Changge sitting upright to his right, properly arranging his books and pens.

Chen Jiahao slumped on the left and had just shaken his leg when Wei Yiming secretly stopped him.

Everyone took their seats in turn, except for Dan Yi on the far left of the third row, who huddled in the shadows by the edge and pulled down the brim of his hat.

The faint chatter in the classroom was kept extremely low.

Everyone was whispering, but no one dared to chat openly.

That sound merged together,

like the dry hum in the air before a heavy rain hits the ground, rolling low against the tabletops; no one was willing to be the first to stop.

The back door of the classroom was pushed open.

The sound cut off in the same second, and thirty heads turned toward the back in unison.

Walking at the very front was an old man who was not tall but had extremely broad shoulders.

His hair was grayish-white, and he wore a dark gray zhongshan suit with the frog buttons at the collar tightly fastened.

With every step he took, the soles of his leather shoes made a crisp clicking sound on the floor of the lecture hall.

The rhythm was unhurried, yet it possessed a weight that felt oppressive.

Dai Shengzong.

Dean of the Qingbei School of Literature.

His gaze swept from the last row of seats to the first row.

It paused for less than half a second in the direction of Lin Que and Xu Changge, without any change in expression, before he walked straight down the side aisle toward the last row.

Four people followed behind him.

Professor Liu Zuoqing walked in the second position, wearing a gray jacket over a dark turtleneck, clutching an old leather bag of an unrecognizable brand in his hand.

His pace was half a beat faster than Dai Shengzong's; when he reached the steps of the podium, his path naturally diverged as he turned up toward the stage.

The other three middle-aged or elderly people had unfamiliar faces, but their auras were without exception as heavy as iron.

They followed Dai Shengzong all the way to the last row and took their seats in order.

There were no greetings, no opening remarks, and they didn't even give the audience below a second look.

That sense of authoritative pressure wasn't created by sound, but by silence.

They sat in the dim area of the back row like several mute stone statues.

You knew they were watching you, but you couldn't see their expressions clearly.

This was more effective than any lecture or reprimand.

Professor Liu Zuoqing placed the old leather bag on the edge of the podium, leaving the zipper closed.

He stood in the center of the podium, scanned the audience, and completed a headcount of the thirty faces in less than three seconds.

Then he spoke.

There was no "Welcome to the Qinglan Project," no "Hello, students," not a single word of introduction.

"Everyone knows today's arrangement, so I won't say much."

"The first piece to be deconstructed is Student Xu Changge's 'ancient wall'."

The projector at the side of the podium hummed to life, a white beam of light hit the screen, the image flickered once, and then stabilized.

"Hiss! The pace is so fast!"

"Yeah, starting directly right after sitting down. As expected of Tsinghua-Peking, the efficiency is incredible!"

Many students whispered to each other.

On the screen was the manuscript of 'ancient wall'.

It wasn't a typeset printed draft, but a scan of Xu Changge's original handwritten work.

The ink was deep blue, and the handwriting was neat and upright.

The sharpness at the turns had been deliberately softened, but the distribution of force between the strokes was even—clearly the work of someone who had undergone rigorous calligraphy training.

The pages full of densely packed characters spread across the two-meter-wide screen like a literal wall.

Professor Liu Zuoqing stood with his back to the screen and his hands in his pockets. His gaze fell on Xu Changge and paused for a second.

"Xu Changge."

Xu Changge stood up from the first row.

His movements were unhurried; the chair slid back half an inch, and at the moment the back of his knees just left the seat, his back was already straight.

"Your foundation is very solid."

Professor Liu Zuoqing's first sentence was like a stabilizing stone dropped into the water.

"The traditional aesthetic roots of 'ancient wall' are among the best in your generation.

The selection and arrangement of imagery are solid, and the adherence to orthodoxy in the structure is well-executed."

In the third row, Zhang Yiyu's finger unconsciously tapped twice on his notebook.

The boy wearing metal-framed glasses next to him nodded slightly, the corners of his mouth turning up.

The subtext in that nod was clear: A prestigious family is indeed a prestigious family.

Professor Liu Zuoqing's voice did not pause, and Xu Changge also waited quietly for the subsequent words.

"But."

Zhang Yiyu's finger stopped.

Professor Liu Zuoqing turned around, pulled a red marker from the old leather bag, and uncapped it.

The cap fell onto the podium surface with a 'clack,' sounding particularly piercing in the absolutely quiet classroom.

He walked to the touch screen next to the screen and precisely circled three passages of text on the manuscript image.

The first passage: 'The moss of a thousand years is like the bronze-rusted veins, spreading along the texture of the bricks and stones into an unsigned fine-brush painting.'

The second passage: 'The rainwater from the eaves drips down along the grain of time, each drop a copper coin with its era name worn away.'

The third passage: 'The withered grass at the foot of the wall bends into the shape of the Clerical Script character for "Person" in the north wind, the brushstroke sweeping to the left, forever unable to reach that downward stroke on the right.'

After drawing the three red circles, Professor Liu Zuoqing snapped the cap back on with a 'click.'

He turned around, his gaze falling on Xu Changge.

"These three passages are the ones with the highest density of imagery in your entire text.

During the initial review, the judges specifically marked these three sections in their comments, using the word 'stunning'."

Xu Changge's gaze swept over the three red circles on the screen, his lips twitching slightly.

Professor Liu Zuoqing took a step forward.

"Student Xu, I'm going to ask you a question now."

His voice wasn't loud, but the impact of each word hitting the marble floor felt heavier than iron.

"If these three passages were deleted,

what impact would it have on your core narrative?"

The air in the classroom became thin, even the sound of breathing fading away.

Xu Changge stood in the first row, his eyes locked on the screen.

His gaze slowly moved from the first red circle to the third.

Once. Twice.

His fingers tightened against the seam of his pants, loosened, and tightened again.

Ten seconds.

A full ten seconds of silence.

Not a single person in the audience dared to move.

The composed posture Zhang Yiyu had originally maintained had disappeared; he stared at Xu Changge's back, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.

A very thin layer of sweat broke out on Xu Changge's forehead.

Then he spoke.

"No impact."

Two words.

Clean, no excuses, no attempts to cover up.

Professor Liu Zuoqing's gaze lingered on him for an extra second—there was scrutiny in that second, but more than that, a silent recognition of this honesty.

"Sit down."

Xu Changge took his seat.

Professor Liu Zuoqing put his hands behind his back and paced twice on the podium, the soles of his shoes making a steady sound.

"Xu Changge just gave you a correct answer, but you need to know why this answer holds true."

He stopped pacing and faced the thirty people below.

"These three sets of imagery have top-tier rhetorical precision; taken individually and placed in any essay, they would be show-stopping sentences.

But they have one common, fatal problem."

Professor Liu Zuoqing raised his hand and pointed at the screen.

"They don't exist for the sake of the story; they exist to satisfy the author himself."

The moment those words were spoken, the hand Xu Changge was using to hold his pen froze in mid-air.

Last night, in Dorm 303, before the lights went out, his roommate had said almost exactly the same thing.

"You love your bricks too much; you're unwilling to take any of them away, even if they block the reader's view of the landscape behind the wall."

Xu Changge slowly turned his head.

He looked at Lin Que, who was just an arm's length away.

Lin Que was looking down, writing something in his notebook. Sensing the gaze, he looked up and gave him a faint, indifferent smile.

That smile was very light, merely a calm confirmation.

Xu Changge's fingers gripped the pen so hard they left a deep indentation.

Xu Changge knew better than anyone what this meant.

Professor Liu Zuoqing continued the deconstruction.

He pointed at the paragraph structure on the screen, peeling it back layer by layer.

From the functionality of the imagery to the imbalance in the narrative rhythm, from the linguistic self-indulgence to the core theme being repeatedly diluted by decorative rhetoric.

Every cut was precise and left no room for error.

Of the thirty people below, not a single pen was moving.

The tip of Zhang Yiyu's pen rested on the paper, unable to write the first word for a long time.

Xu Changge sat there, enduring it all.

His back was very straight, but his fingers holding the pen tightened repeatedly.

When Professor Liu Zuoqing finally stopped,

the classroom was filled with a sterile, cold sense of exposure after all concealment had been stripped away.

"Xu Changge, tell us your thoughts."

Xu Changge stood up.

His voice was a layer coarser than usual, but his articulation remained clear.

"Professor, you are right."

He paused for a beat.

Thirty people waited for him to continue.

Xu Changge slowly turned his head, his gaze falling on Lin Que for the second time.

This time, he didn't look away.

"In fact, last night, Student Lin Que already pointed out the same cracks to me."

...