387: Chapter 387 Dimensional Reduction Attack

As night fell,

The desk lamps in Dorm 303 were lit, carving the two desks into separate zones of light.

Within Xu Changge's zone of light, the battle was fierce.

The sound of a fountain pen scratching across paper was intermittent; he stopped after every paragraph, followed by the crisp sound of paper being torn away.

The wastepaper basket at the corner of the desk was already full, and the most recent crumpled balls of manuscript paper were piled right at the edge.

The third button of his white shirt was undone, and his sleeves had slid from his elbows to the middle of his forearms.

His silver-rimmed glasses were pushed up onto his forehead, revealing a pair of bloodshot eyes.

He began to write—a story about a tailor at the village entrance.

The tailor made clothes for the whole village, yet wore the same patched-up tunic his entire life.

He felt this angle was small enough, heavy enough.

But by the third paragraph, he was stuck.

What should be on a tailor's fingers? Calluses? Needle pricks?

All his mind could conjure were the textures of brocade in museum display cases—exquisite, distant, separated by a layer of glass.

He couldn't feel the temperature of that needle piercing a fingertip.

Three meters away.

In Lin Que's zone of light, only two sheets of paper lay spread out on the desk.

The first was a narrative outline for "the steps," with seven plot points scribbled messily in ballpoint pen; the handwriting was crooked, like a grocery list jotted down at a market.

The second was a character profile for "The Father," with only four lines of text. The last line had a circle around it, with "sprained back" written inside.

The pen was capped and resting beside the paper.

Lin Que himself wasn't at the desk.

He was buried in the bedding of his upper bunk.

His back was propped against a folded pillow, right leg crossed over his left, holding his phone in front of him.

A shopping page was on the screen.

His thumb swiped steadily, adding items from a computer to noise-canceling headphones to his cart.

Turning to the last page, he added a folding screen large enough to cover half a desk and then placed the order for everything.

Turning off the screen, he visualized the layout of that studio apartment in his head, confirming nothing was missed.

A message notification suddenly popped up at the top of his phone screen.

The notification sound was one he had set specifically; it was different from all his other contacts.

[Fugitive Beethoven]: "Master Lin! What are you doing! Help!! [Frantic]"

[Fugitive Beethoven]: "Just got out of Western Philosophy class. That professor lectured for two whole hours, just reading off PowerPoints the entire time. He almost made me fall asleep even though I was in the front row."

Another one came a second later.

[Fugitive Beethoven]: "I seriously suspect now that all philosophy professors in the world have a special power..."

"...which is the ability to make anything interesting sound coma-inducing.

I feel like it wasn't even as interesting as that open class you gave in Jiangcheng."

Lin Que looked at the screen, a short laugh escaping his nose.

[Mu Xia]: "Are you praising me or complaining about your teacher?"

Ye Xi's reply was almost instantaneous.

[Fugitive Beethoven]: "Both, definitely! By the way, how are things at Tsinghua-Peking? Is university life super free and awesome?"

Lin Que's typing finger paused.

He glanced at Xu Changge at the opposite desk, who was tearing up his opening for the sixth time, and then listened for movement in the hallway outside.

From Dorm 306 next door came Chen Jiahao's nth round of wailing.

A bit further away, two people were arguing in hushed tones about some narrative anchor issue.

The entire building felt like a distillation tower slowly being pressurized.

[Mu Xia]: "Actually, this doesn't really count as official university life yet."

[Mu Xia]: "The Qinglan Project is a six-month closed training camp organized by the Qingbei School of Literature. We, the students selected from across the country, have to undergo six months of 'Bone Dismantling' training here first."

[Mu Xia]: "Only after surviving these six months and taking a break will the official start of the semester begin."

Ye Xi's side was quiet for a few seconds.

[Fugitive Beethoven]: "Wait... six months? Closed??"

[Fugitive Beethoven]: "Then doesn't that mean your high school senior classmates in the camp will have to wait an extra year to start university?"

[Mu Xia]: "Yes. That's the price."

[Mu Xia]: "For those who can stay, Tsinghua-Peking will make up for it with the best resources."

[Mu Xia]: "For those who can't..."

Ye Xi sent a long string of exclamation marks.

[Fugitive Beethoven]: "That's way too much pressure!! Does your professor think you're made of iron??"

Lin Que's gaze drifted toward the opposite side again.

Xu Changge finally stopped tearing his manuscript. He propped his forehead with his left hand while his fountain pen hung motionless a centimeter above the paper in his right.

He held that posture for at least thirty seconds.

Someone passed by in the hallway, their footsteps hurried; the sound of slipper soles slapping the floor carried a restless frequency.

Lin Que withdrew his gaze and typed a single word.

[Mu Xia]: "Pretty much."

Ye Xi followed up immediately.

[Fugitive Beethoven]: "What about you? Are you under a lot of pressure?"

Lin Que thought for a moment and replied honestly.

[Mu Xia]: "It's alright. I went and rented a place off-campus today."

The chat window on the other side was silent for a full eight seconds.

Then a massive shocked emoji exploded onto the screen, followed by a line of text.

[Fugitive Beethoven]: "...Classic you. While everyone else is struggling, you're building your own little nest."

Lin Que stared at the sentence for two seconds and chuckled softly.

The laugh was quiet, but it still carried in the silent dorm room.

Xu Changge looked up, glancing at Lin Que through the halo of the desk lamp.

Then he looked back down without saying a word.

Ye Xi's messages continued.

[Fugitive Beethoven]: "By the way, Master Lin, are you coming back to Jiangcheng for the October holiday?"

The sentence looked casual.

But Lin Que noticed she hadn't added any buildup or transition between "October holiday" and "coming back to Jiangcheng"; she had just thrown it out bluntly.

This directness, unlike Ye Xi's usual style, was itself a signal.

[Mu Xia]: "I'm afraid I can't. During the training camp, we only have short rest days, no statutory holidays."

After sending it, Lin Que waited fifteen seconds.

Ye Xi didn't reply.

The status in the chat box showed "typing...", flickered twice, and then disappeared.

Lin Que took the initiative and sent a message.

[Mu Xia]: "Is something up?"

This time, Ye Xi replied quickly.

[Fugitive Beethoven]: "Hehe, you caught me."

[Fugitive Beethoven]: "[Smirking][Smirking][Smirking]"

[Fugitive Beethoven]: "There's a National Youth Piano Competition in Beijing during the October holiday. My dad and grandpa are forcing me to participate."

[Fugitive Beethoven]: "I don't really think it's necessary myself... but those two 'Great Buddhas' at home are even harder to deal with than Sister Yang."

After reading, Lin Que typed out a sentence almost without stopping.

[Mu Xia]: "Wouldn't you participating in that kind of competition now be a Dimensional Reduction Strike?"

Sent.

The other side was silent for four seconds.

[Fugitive Beethoven]: "Dimensional Reduction Strike? What does that mean? That's such a cool term, where did you see it?"

Lin Que's thumb froze, hovering over the screen.

The term "Dimensional Reduction Strike" only became an overused internet buzzword after Mr. Liu's masterpiece, which changed the history of sci-fi, was published in his previous life.

In this timeline, that book hadn't appeared yet.

Naturally, the term had never existed either.

Lin Que's expression didn't change as he finished typing his reply within three seconds.

[Mu Xia]: "Just a metaphor I made up. It means a university student going to a kindergarten to compete with kids for little red flowers."

A string of "Hahahaha" came from Ye Xi.

[Fugitive Beethoven]: "That metaphor is so mean!"

[Fugitive Beethoven]: "It's not that exaggerated. After all, it's a national competition, and there are a few strong contestants."

[Fugitive Beethoven]: "But honestly... well... it really wouldn't be good to miss it."

The hallway finally went quiet.

Even Chen Jiahao stopped wailing; his throat was probably hoarse.

Lin Que relaxed the tense string in his heart and followed the conversation.

[Mu Xia]: "The competition is in Beijing?"

[Fugitive Beethoven]: "Yeah! At the concert hall right next to the National Centre for the Performing Arts!"

[Mu Xia]: "Well, if I haven't been expelled by Professor Liu by then, I'll definitely be there to cheer for you."

Ye Xi's reaction was even more intense than he had expected.

[Fugitive Beethoven]: "!!! Expelled??? What do you mean??"

Lin Que didn't explain, only replying with a snickering emoji.

Ye Xi sent three messages in a row.

[Fugitive Beethoven]: "What did you do???"

[Fugitive Beethoven]: "[swinging_fist.jpg]"

[Fugitive Beethoven]: "I don't care. See that fist up there? If you dare get expelled, I'll definitely let you have a taste of it!!!"

Lin Que looked at the emoji, his gaze lingering for a second.

The dorm lights illuminated that little cartoon fist on the phone screen with exceptional clarity.

He could imagine Ye Xi's expression as she sent the message.

Probably tilting her head, eyebrows furrowed, muttering, "What is this guy up to now?"

He typed a single word.

[Mu Xia]: "Okay."

After sending that word, Lin Que exited the WeChat interface.

He lay on the bed for ten seconds, watching Xu Changge finally put pen to paper again and listening to the footsteps in the hallway gradually thin out.

Then he sat up, his fingertips swiping quickly across the phone screen.

The WeChat app was pushed to the background, and a grey app with a very inconspicuous icon was brought up.

Encrypted email.

Lin Que turned on his side, angling the phone screen toward the wall.

Fingerprint unlock, iris verification, secondary password entry.

The triple authentication passed silently, and the inbox list refreshed.

The sender of the top email was Wang De'an.

Lin Que tapped it open.

The email wasn't long; Wang De'an's writing style was consistently concise.

Physical books in the five major languages have fully entered the printing lines, with the first batch of stock to be completed by the middle of next month.

But there's a bottleneck: the localization translation teams for minor languages in the Balkan region are proving difficult to negotiate with.

Bosnian, Serbian, Croatian—the local publishing industries are too small, and the cooperation model has stalled.

Lin Que read the email from beginning to end, his gaze lingering on the words "Bosnian language" for an extra two seconds.

The image of that bullet-riddled old town guesthouse on the Balkan Peninsula, ironing a white shirt under a dim yellow bulb on a rainy night...

...surfaced from the depths of his memory, only to be pushed back down.

He didn't reply; he closed the email and locked his phone.

Outside the window, the September night sky of Beijing was reflected into a murky dark orange by thousands of lights.

The distant office buildings looked like rows of silent, giant monoliths.

The sharp edges of steel and glass blurred into continuous silhouettes in the night.

Xu Changge's pen tip was still moving across the manuscript paper. The rustling sound was light and steady, completely different from the intermittent restlessness of before.

It seemed he had found his direction.

After a while, the pen tip suddenly stopped.

Xu Changge didn't look up, but his voice drifted from the other side of the lamp's halo, very soft.

"Lin Que, that farmer you talked about this afternoon... did you make him up, or is there really such a person?"

Lin Que smiled.

Xu Changge waited for two seconds but received no further explanation.

He nodded slowly, didn't press further, and lowered his head again.

But his fingers tightened slightly around the pen.

Within that smile was something he couldn't yet see through.

Lin Que placed his phone by his pillow and cast his gaze through the floor-to-ceiling window toward the unseen distance.

...