383: Chapter 383 The Military Order Behind Privilege

Inside Dormitory 303,

Xu Changge stared at the house-hunting app on Lin Que's phone screen.

The stomach-full of topics regarding Structuralist Narratology he had prepared earlier was now stuck in his throat.

He couldn't understand it.

Why would someone who had just shocked the entire lecture hall with an omniscient perspective,

want to look for a place off-campus on the very first day of the training camp?

Facing Xu Changge's probing gaze, Lin Que casually locked his phone screen,

and placed it face down on the mattress without any hesitation.

"I have a habit when it comes to writing; I like quiet."

Lin Que raised his head and pointed his chin toward the door, where the sounds of footsteps and chatter drifted in at just the right time.

"Look at where we are. Amidst thirty homogenized samples sinking into anxiety, I can't guarantee my bystander's perspective won't be affected.

Therefore, I need an absolutely physically isolated container to assemble that cold narrative machine."

These words struck a nerve in Xu Changge.

He accurately caught the phrase 'narrative machine,' and his mind raced, instantly completing a rigorous logical loop.

It turned out that the absolute rationality of a bystander Lin Que had mentioned in class wasn't just a verbal theory.

He intended to conduct an extreme immersive writing experiment in reality.

To be a hermit in the city, to completely peel himself away from this group of anxious peers, and to seek absolute zero in the physical world.

The shock in Xu Changge's eyes quickly transformed into something more complex.

He glanced down at the thick stack of literary theory books on his desk and suddenly felt a severe itch in his fingers.

While he was still searching for cracks left by predecessors in books, Lin Que was already prepared to enter the furnace of reality to forge bone.

Different methods, but the same destination.

Xu Changge pulled out his chair and leaned forward slightly.

"I'm fairly familiar with the Tsinghua-Peking area.

If you need an absolutely isolated space, ordinary commercial-residential buildings probably won't meet your requirements.

The people are too varied, and the soundproofing is extremely poor."

Xu Changge made the suggestion in a matter-of-fact tone.

"The duplexes over at China World Trade Center or the apartments at Fanyue would be very suitable.

If you need, I can contact someone to ask about them."

Lin Que's gaze shifted slightly.

This young master from a prominent Beijing family clearly lacked the most basic concept of mundane prices.

He naturally knew of the luxury homes at the World Trade Center and Fanyue; monthly rents easily started at tens of thousands of yuan.

Though he could certainly afford it with his massive royalties,

using such a flamboyant venue to cover his business empire of web novels and publishing would be beyond absurd.

However, this purity and lack of worldliness seemed quite fitting for Xu Changge.

Lin Que didn't expose him and followed along with his words:

"A greenhouse that is too refined cannot hold coarse reality.

I just need a very ordinary commercial-residential studio, as long as it's quiet."

After hearing this, Xu Changge nodded in deep agreement.

However, he quickly returned to reality, reminding Lin Que of the institutional obstacles he currently faced.

"Finding a place is easy, but how are you going to get out?"

Xu Changge's slender fingers tapped twice on the table.

"The Qinglan Project implements semi-closed management.

Our batch of students is especially under the close watch of the Provincial Department of Education and the Qingbei School of Literature.

If you want to apply to leave the camp for conventional reasons, you won't get past Senior Song, let alone Professor Liu and Dean Dai.

They won't allow anyone to leave their sight."

Just as Xu Changge finished speaking, three rhythmic knocks sounded at the door.

Without waiting for a response, Song Yuan pushed open the half-closed door.

He held a black hard-shell registration book. When his gaze swept over the thick stack of literature on Xu Changge's desk,

a flash of satisfaction crossed his eyes, and then he stared straight at Lin Que, who was still leaning against the headboard.

"Student Lin."

Song Yuan walked in, his tone carrying a business-like rigor.

"Professor Liu asked me to bring you a message.

He said your performance in class today was very brilliant, but he hopes you can settle down over the next seven days and not be distracted by outside praise or the gazes of your peers.

Polish your new work well; don't be impetuous."

Song Yuan's tone was like delivering a commendation order, but every word landed squarely on the concept of 'rules.'

Xu Changge's finger paused as he turned a page, but he didn't look up.

Lin Que sat on the bed, not even changing his posture.

Instead of hurriedly making promises like an ordinary student, he looked at Song Yuan and spoke calmly:

"Senior Song, you've come at the right time. I want to apply for commuter status. What process do I need to follow?"

The pen in Song Yuan's hand stopped mid-air.

He doubted he had heard correctly.

"Commuter status?"

Song Yuan found this simply inconceivable.

"The rules of the Qinglan Project training camp were jointly formulated by the Department of Education and Tsinghua-Peking. This is a selection base for national-level literary talent!

You can't treat it like an ordinary high school summer camp."

Faced with Song Yuan's rejection, Lin Que remained unhurried.

He stood up from the bed, walked to the window, and looked at the darkening sky outside.

"Look, Senior Song, if you lock thirty creators who are in extreme anxiety in the same building, it will only cause them to infect each other with that anxiety."

Lin Que turned around.

"In this emotional pressure cooker, you can't brew true pain; you can only brew a convergent, workmanlike air.

I need to go outside, to touch the reality that hasn't been embellished by literature.

If even the air I breathe is a filtered academic atmosphere, how can I write words that can sting a reader?"

Song Yuan opened his mouth.

He had prepared a whole set of standard rhetoric about disciplinary frameworks and collective management,

but the logical structure of Lin Que's words just now was too clean—so clean that he couldn't find a single point to refute.

He subconsciously pushed up his glasses, an action he only did during a thesis defense when encountering an unavoidable argument.

Xu Changge didn't get up; he slowly closed the literature in his hands, and his gaze behind his silver-rimmed glasses calmly looked toward Song Yuan.

He wasn't helping Lin Que; he just also wanted to see

what kind of thing a completely unshackled narrative machine could create after seven days.

"Senior Song, pouring water with different boiling points into the same pot is meaningless; in the end, it just results in a pot of lukewarm water with a uniform temperature.

The Qingbei School of Literature has always prided itself on being inclusive and screening for geniuses, not mass-producing mediocrity.

If possibilities are stifled because of management, then isn't the rule itself putting the cart before the horse?"

Song Yuan's brow furrowed deeply.

One was the national champion, and the other was the crown prince of a Beijing family,

but that wasn't the reason for him to back down.

What truly made him hesitate was the set of creative logic the two had just thrown out.

He vaguely realized that using conventional rules to frame these two students

might indeed ruin the unpolished gems that Professor Liu valued most.

But he truly did not have the authority to make this exception.

Song Yuan sighed helplessly, took out his phone in front of the two, and dialed Professor Liu Zuoqing's number.

When the call connected, Song Yuan reported Lin Que's request and his reasoning about seeking reality exactly as it was.

There was silence on the other end for a full half-minute.

During that half-minute, the air in the dormitory seemed to stop flowing.

Professor Liu Zuoqing's voice came through the receiver, carrying a strong sense of pressure:

"Lin Que is right there, isn't he?"

"I'm here, Professor Liu."

Professor Liu Zuoqing's tone was serious:

"The reason you gave holds water in terms of literary creation.

But as the person in charge of the training camp, I must consider the management costs.

If all twenty-nine other people follow your lead and use 'seeking reality' as an excuse to request commuter status, then the rules of this Qinglan Project will become a mere scrap of paper.

If you want privilege, you have to produce something worthy of that privilege.

Otherwise, I can't give an account to the other twenty-nine students, nor can I give an account to the Department of Education."

Lin Que understood Professor Liu Zuoqing's underlying meaning.

This was a demand for a Military Pledge.

Lin Que looked at the night sky outside the window and said calmly:

"Seven days from now, if the work I hand in is only considered 'alright' by you, Dean Dai, and the other professors, then consider it my loss."

Lin Que paused.

"Then I will not only withdraw from the Qinglan Project training camp,

but I will also return my guaranteed admission to Tsinghua-Peking with both hands."

...