380: Chapter 380 The Deliberately Left Crack

The atmosphere in the classroom changed.

After Zhang Yiyu slumped into his seat, that probing sense of academic superiority vanished completely.

The twenty-some top literary talents in the country finally understood that when facing Lin Que, any superficial routines or academic theoretical frameworks were useless.

Zhang Yiyu's sociological model had been smashed to pieces by Lin Que with the four words "survival cost."

Everyone began to re-examine those cold, temperatureless words on the screen.

It had to be incisive; they had to find the true core flaw.

Xu Changge sat beside Lin Que, fingers tapping lightly on the table.

He was also waiting, waiting to see who could truly break through the defenses of "folding beijing."

On the far right of the first row, a girl stood up.

Yuan Ningning, from the Lu Province Confucius Academy, fourth place in "Fu Zhi Yao Competition" competition.

Her work, "The Wall of Ritual," cited classics and explored the conflict between tradition and modernity; she was a technical writer with a deeply rooted foundation in traditional literature.

She pushed up the rimless glasses on the bridge of her nose, her voice crisp as she cut straight to the point.

"Professor Liu, I feel that the character Old Knife is not well-established."

As soon as these words were spoken, the air in the classroom tightened again.

Xu Changge's fingers, which had been tapping the table, stopped.

Yuan Ningning did not pause and continued.

"Looking at the rules of character development in traditional literature, when bottom-tier characters face oppression, they inevitably develop a spirit of resistance, or at the very least, an arc of awakening."

"But in 'folding beijing,' Old Knife is too numb."

She pointed to the passage on the screen where Old Knife was rummaging through the trash heap, her tone firm.

"He travels through three spaces, seeing the extravagance of the upper class and the despair of the lower class."

"But from beginning to end, he never once considers overthrowing this system."

"He only wants to earn some money to pay for his adopted daughter's kindergarten tuition."

"This setup makes him seem devoid of flesh and blood, like a tool used solely to drive the plot and showcase your folding concept."

She looked at Lin Que, her gaze carrying that stubbornness unique to the academic school.

"A bottom-tier character without an awakening cannot support the depth of literature."

This viewpoint was extremely solid.

Tang He in the second row nodded slightly.

When she was writing "glass," her protagonist, facing the transparent barrier of a skyscraper, ultimately shattered a piece of glass, completing the character's awakening.

This was the power that literature bestowed upon characters.

Wei Yiming also frowned.

He had come out of the mountains, and the words he wrote carried a wildness.

In his view, when a person is pushed to a desperate situation, there should always be an act of fighting back.

Old Knife's numbness indeed violated the golden rule of character arcs in literary creation.

A low murmur of agreement rose in the classroom.

"Indeed, Old Knife is too much of a tool."

"A lower-class narrative lacking a spirit of resistance always feels like it's missing something."

A few students from other provinces whispered to each other, their gazes shifting back and forth between Yuan Ningning and Lin Que.

Professor Liu Zuoqing stood on the podium, casting an appreciative look at Yuan Ningning.

"Student Yuan has found a very good angle."

He rested his hands on the edge of the podium, his gaze pressing down on Lin Que in the first row.

"The lack of a character arc is a major taboo in literary creation."

"It is very difficult for an unawakened protagonist to support an SSS-level grand narrative."

"Lin Que, how will you fill this hole?"

Lin Que stood up.

He was in no rush to refute, nor did he show the panic of someone whose weak spot had been poked.

He looked at Yuan Ningning and smiled calmly.

"Student Yuan is quite right; Old Knife indeed lacks a spirit of resistance and has no awakening."

A vacuum of silence appeared in the lecture hall for a moment.

No one expected Lin Que to admit it so directly.

Chen Jiahao, sitting nearby, scratched his head in anxiety, wishing he could defend Lin Que for a few words.

Lin Que put away his smile, his tone becoming extremely cold and stern.

"Because this is... the intentionally left crack."

He walked out from his seat, stood in the aisle, and faced the entire room.

"In the literary works we've read since childhood, lower-class characters always carry a kind of romanticism of resistance."

"They awaken amidst oppression and wave their fists to declare war on fate."

Lin Que's voice echoed in the lecture hall, carrying an unquestionable power.

"But that is merely the self-indulgence of intellectuals looking down from above."

This sentence shattered everyone's inherent perception.

"You think Old Knife is numb; you think that after seeing the extravagance of the upper class, he should be angry, should go and smash the gears that flip the city."

Lin Que raised his hand and pointed at those cold, temperatureless words on the screen.

"But in the face of absolute oppressors, in the face of physical laws where even living space must be allocated by the hour, resistance is meaningless."

"Old Knife doesn't even have the qualification to breathe one extra breath of fresh air."

He looked at Yuan Ningning.

"Old Knife's greatest heroism has never been directed at overthrowing the system."

"His sole purpose is to ensure his adopted daughter can afford kindergarten, to survive like an ant in the gaps of the gears."

The classroom was deathly silent.

"Under gravity, there are no heroes, only the instinct to survive."

Lin Que read this sentence out, enunciating every word.

"The true crack in this work lies in the fact that it offers no hope."

"I don't write about awakening only because the wall in reality leaves one completely helpless."

"The character arc you want is, in Old Knife's world, a luxurious medicine—a poison."

Yuan Ningning stood there, lips slightly parted.

She had prepared a bellyful of theories about character development in traditional literature, but in the face of Lin Que's bloody dissection of reality, she couldn't utter a single word.

Just then, from the shadows on the far left of the third row, came the harsh sound of chair legs scraping against the floor.

Dan Yi, who had been huddled in the corner with his cap pulled as low as possible, suddenly stood up.

This was the first time he had made such a drastic movement since entering the camp.

Those gray-blue eyes lifted from beneath the shadow of his cap, staring fixedly at Lin Que in the aisle.

His chest heaved violently, his fingers gripping the edge of the desk so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

"He is right."

Dan Yi spoke.

His voice was hoarse, carrying the dryness of someone who hadn't communicated with others for years, yet it spread throughout the quiet classroom.

Everyone's gaze turned in unison toward this mixed-race youth from Mo City.

Chen Jiahao, sitting to the left, was so scared he nearly slid off his chair.

He had never seen Dan Yi speak, let alone in such a state.

Last night in the dormitory, Dan Yi had only said three words in total.

Now, this mixed-race youth from Mo City displayed an intense emotional tension that stunned everyone.

Dan Yi ignored the surrounding gazes; he only looked at Lin Que.

"You... simply don't understand."

He gritted his teeth, forcing the words out one by one.

"When all the rules tell you that you are an anomaly... that kind of feeling, you simply can't even generate anger."

He gripped the edge of the desk tightly, his gray-blue eyes bloodshot.

"Old Knife doesn't need to awaken; the way he lingers on in survival—that is us."

"The hope you want is fake."

"His numbness... is what's real."

After speaking, Dan Yi sat heavily back down in his chair.

He lowered his head again, pulled his cap brim down, and retreated back into the shadows.

But the air in the classroom had been thoroughly ignited.

Those geniuses who had grown up in greenhouses and were accustomed to deconstructing literature with theory felt a shiver.

For the first time, they intuitively felt the powerlessness of being crushed by reality.

Yuan Ningning stood where she was, her eyes slightly red.

She looked at Lin Que, then at Dan Yi in the corner, and finally took a breath.

"I have been enlightened."

She nodded at Lin Que and sat down, convinced.

Tang He wrote the seven words "Under gravity, there are no heroes" in her notebook, the pen tip tearing a slit in the paper.

Wei Yiming leaned back in his chair, let out a long breath, and looked at Lin Que's back, his eyes full of awe.

On the podium, Professor Liu Zuoqing watched this scene and slapped the podium hard.

"Good."

This cheer brought everyone's attention back to the podium.

Professor Liu Zuoqing pointed at the students in the room, his voice loud and resonant.

"Student Lin is right."

"The highest realm of literature is by no means providing readers with cheap hope, nor is it glossing over peace with false resistance."

He picked up a piece of chalk and wrote two large characters on the blackboard: Reality.

"Tearing open the most cruel reality for people to see, letting you feel pain, feel powerlessness—this is the true foundation for this work to receive an SSS rating."

"We always think about repairing cracks, not knowing that some cracks are, in themselves, the soul of the work."

Professor Liu Zuoqing turned around, looking at Lin Que, the admiration in his eyes completely unreserved.

But Professor Liu Zuoqing's words were not finished.

He put down the chalk, stepped off the podium, and walked step by step to Lin Que.

The distance between the two was less than a meter.

"Lin Que, your underlying logic is impeccable, and your dissection of reality is cold enough."

Professor Liu Zuoqing's voice lowered a few notches; only those in the first few rows could hear clearly, but the weight of it was heavier than the previous cheer.

"But when I read 'folding beijing,' I saw something extremely contradictory."

"This thing is hidden in the deepest part of your precise settings, perhaps even you yourself haven't realized it."

Lin Que's eyelids twitched.

Professor Liu Zuoqing stared into Lin Que's eyes, speaking word by word.

"In your writing, there is an absolute rationality of a bystander."

"You wrote the protagonist like an ant, but you are not in the midst of it."

"You stand from a god's perspective, coldly watching him struggle within the gears."

"This sense of looking down from above, stripped of warmth, requires long years to wear away compassion before one can achieve such cold detachment."

"And you, Student Lin Que."

Professor Liu Zuoqing paused for a second.

"You are only seventeen; this does not seem like the marrow that someone of your age should possess."