398: What outrageous thing did Chapter 398 do?

After Dan Yi's figure disappeared around the corner of the teaching building, it became quiet under the ginkgo tree once again.

Lin Que stood leaning against the tree trunk for a while, waiting for that heavy emotion to dissipate before pulling his phone out of his pocket.

He left the WeChat messages for later.

He opened the encrypted email client and entered the two-layer verification password.

Wang De'an's email lay at the very top, with a timestamp showing it was sent forty minutes ago. The subject line was just four words: Overseas Victory Report.

Lin Que tapped it open with one hand.

The body of the email used Wang De'an's usual layout, with data neatly listed and every line marked with the country and channel.

["ordinary world" Europe Physical Book Initial Distribution Progress:

Austria, Vienna and surrounding independent bookstore channels: 4,200 copies sold in the first week; restock orders have been placed.

Czech Republic, Prague Literary Bookstore Alliance: 1,800 copies sold in the first week; word-of-mouth is spreading.

Bosnia and Herzegovina, Sarajevo and Mostar: 620 copies sold in the first week; two book reviews have already appeared in local media.

...

Across the initial distribution in seven countries, total sales have exceeded 12,000 copies, nearly fifty percent more than our most optimistic estimates.

The data from the Balkans surprised us.

The local translation team said the working-class people written about in the book...

...are too similar to the lives of their post-war generation. Several readers reported sitting in the bookstore motionless after reading only halfway through.]

Lin Que's gaze lingered on the word "Sarajevo" for two seconds.

620 copies.

This number would be insignificant in any mainstream market.

But the city of Sarajevo only has about four hundred thousand people in total.

Most of the older generation who lived through the siege do not read foreign literature, and the consumption power of young people is very limited.

For over six hundred books to be scattered into those alleys where bullet holes still remain was already a figure far beyond imagination.

Lin Que let out a long breath, marked the email as read, locked his screen, and put his phone back in his pocket.

He walked from under the ginkgo tree to the roadside by the entrance of the School of Liberal Arts and found an out-of-the-way spot to stand.

It was currently the peak time for classes ending.

Groups of students swarmed out of the Tsinghua-Peking gates. Some were hurrying with a thick stack of literature folders in their arms.

Some zipped past on shared bikes, and a few graduate students in department uniforms were squatting on the steps arguing about some academic issue, their voices getting louder and louder.

Lin Que shoved both hands into his pockets and leaned his shoulder against a lamppost, waiting quietly.

Ten minutes later, a taxi with Beijing plates turned in from the main road and came to a steady stop at the entrance of the School of Liberal Arts.

The rear door pushed open.

First to emerge was a white, round-toed short boot, making a light, crisp click as it stepped onto the curb.

A second later, Ye Xi bent down and stepped out of the car, a small lock of her hair whipped up by the north wind.

As soon as she stood firm, she was blown into a squint. She hurriedly pressed down her hair with one hand.

Her other hand was still clutching her phone, and her whole body leaned slightly to the side.

She quickly straightened her back, as if trying to forcibly pretend nothing had happened.

She was wearing a soft, cream-colored duffle coat, with a glimpse of light apricot high-waisted trousers underneath.

A custard-yellow chunky knit scarf was loosely wrapped around her neck, one end longer than the other.

It looked like she had just casually wrapped it while in the car, making her face appear no larger than a palm.

But a second later, she gave herself away.

When she stood straight, she habitually flexed her right wrist, her five fingers curling and extending one by one from pinky to thumb.

That was a habit piano players developed over years and years—on the same level as leg-shaking, a habit that couldn't be broken.

Standing in the drafty area, she was clearly wearing sunglasses, yet her lips pursed slightly because of the cold wind.

That small movement carried an unconscious charm, washing away the sense of distance she had on stage.

All that remained was a bit of the awkwardness and vivacity of someone newly arrived in an unfamiliar environment.

The taxi driver lifted her small suitcase out of the trunk.

He couldn't help but remind her, "Miss, your scarf is about to fall off."

Only then did he get back in the car and drive away.

The passing Tsinghua-Peking students were the first to react.

A boy wearing glasses was looking down at his phone, but when his peripheral vision caught that figure, his pace immediately slowed.

He nudged his companion's arm and lowered his voice. "Look at that girl."

"With that aura, she doesn't look like she's from our department. She looks more like a special talent student from the Central Conservatory of Music or the Beijing Dance Academy next door."

"Can you believe someone like that is at the School of Liberal Arts?"

"Who is that? Here to film a movie?"

Several girls passed by, and one of them couldn't help but look back repeatedly.

The voices they were using to discuss literature unconsciously dropped, their eyes filled with an undisguisable sense of awe.

The small-scale attention spread within just a few seconds.

Passersby slowed their steps; some pulled out their phones wanting to take a photo but feeling embarrassed, while others simply stood still and stared.

Ye Xi stood where she was, seemingly oblivious to the gazes around her.

She looked around, her eyes behind the sunglasses quickly searching for something in the crowd, her lips slightly pursed.

Lin Que walked over from the lamppost.

His pace wasn't fast, but his direction was precise.

He wove through the gaps in the crowd and stopped two steps in front of Ye Xi.

Ye Xi turned her head, her gaze behind the sunglasses locking onto him.

Lin Que was in no hurry to greet her.

His gaze swept past Ye Xi's shoulder, looking behind her to confirm that no one else was following.

"What, your inseparable Sister Yang didn't follow you this time?"

As soon as the name "Sister Yang" was spoken, Ye Xi's entire aura visibly deflated.

The cold sense of distance she carried when she got out of the taxi instantly vanished.

She instinctively looked left and right to make sure there were no acquaintances before leaning in half a step, her voice very low.

"I told her a fellow pianist in Beijing invited me to exchange pointers. It took twenty minutes of talking to finally get away."

Her speaking speed was twice as fast as usual.

"Do you know how strictly she's monitoring me now? Last time I slept an extra half hour at the hotel and didn't reply to a message, she called the front desk directly and had a waiter knock on my door."

Lin Que suppressed the curl of his lips.

After returning from the European tour, Ye Xi's status had undergone a qualitative change.

She became famous after her debut at the Golden Hall. Endorsement offers from the country's top piano brands flooded in, and three first-tier domestic fashion magazines were scrambling to book her for cover shoots.

Her foreign manager's level of protection had risen accordingly, as if she wanted to install a GPS tracker on her.

To be able to sneak out under such intense control did indeed require some skill.

Two passing Tsinghua-Peking boys happened to witness the whole process.

A girl with an aura so outstanding that everyone on the road slowed down was standing in front of a peer wearing an ordinary T-shirt and jeans.

The way the two spoke was casual and familiar.

Lin Que had no interest in these gazes.

He turned slightly and gestured with his chin toward the quiet path next to the School of Liberal Arts.

"Let's go, don't just stand here."

Ye Xi followed, her boots clicking on the concrete pavement.

The two turned into a path lined with French plane trees.

The canopy overhead filtered the sunlight into a fine net of light. There were far fewer pedestrians, and it was much quieter.

After walking a few steps, Lin Que turned to look at her.

"So, rushing all the way from the south to Beijing to settle scores with me—what exactly happened?"

Ye Xi's footsteps paused for a beat.

She reached out and snatched off those exaggeratedly large black-framed sunglasses.

Without the sunglasses covering them, those eyes were bright and round, currently glaring at Lin Que in a huff, her gaze full of the stubbornness of someone seeking justice.

"You still dare to ask!"

She took half a step forward, closing the distance between her and Lin Que to less than a meter.

The hand holding the sunglasses pointed at Lin Que twice, words popping out like rapid-fire.

"I'm asking you, what exactly did you mean when you told me on WeChat last time, 'I'll come see your competition as long as I'm not expelled from the School of Liberal Arts'?"

Her voice carried far on the quiet path.

"Lin Que, what exactly did you do out of line?"

...