413: Chapter 413 Live Fish in the Pond

Xu Zhengqing waved his hand.

"Shengzong, you're overthinking it."

The old man's tone was steady, his fingers tapping on the armrest.

"Changge and Lin Que stay in the same dormitory. Is it necessary to report and seek approval for classmates to visit each other and have a home-cooked meal?"

"I, Xu Zhengqing, have been in the literary world for over fifty years. I haven't reached the point where I need to preserve my reputation by avoiding a seventeen-year-old child."

Dai Shengzong pushed up his glasses. His lips moved slightly as if to say something, but he held back.

He pondered for a few seconds before finally nodding.

"Elder Xu is right. However, if anyone asks, we'll say Changge invited a classmate for dinner and you just happened to be home."

Xu Zhengqing chuckled. He neither denied nor agreed, simply picking up his thermos and taking a sip of water.

The fragrance of tea filled the room once more.

Professor Liu Zuoqing set his teacup back on the table and leaned against the back of his chair, his tone tinged with emotion.

"It's not just Lin Que alone."

"Have you all noticed? Since the beginning of this year, the entire climate of the literary world has changed."

Dai Shengzong's brow arched. He stood up and walked toward the desk.

He pulled a neatly bound data report from a stack of documents, brought it back to the low table, and tapped his finger on the cover.

"Zuoqing's words hit the nail on the head. Take a look at this data."

The cover bore the words 'Joint Report of Provincial Writers Associations Nationwide.' The paper was new, the ink still carrying a faint, clean scent.

"The overall creative level this year—I read the figures reported by each province twice, thinking I had misread them."

Dai Shengzong's tone carried genuine amazement.

"The number of submissions from each province is nearly forty percent higher than the same period last year. The quality of debut works by new authors is the highest in the last twenty years."

"The number of young writers active on platforms has more than doubled compared to two years ago."

Professor Liu Zuoqing took the report, scanned it, and flipped to the third page.

The curve on the line graph spiked sharply mid-year, rising at an almost ninety-degree angle.

He stared at the curve for a few seconds before flipping back to the first page.

"Last month, while I was judging in the Southwest, I received a novella written by a nineteen-year-old girl from Southwest University about her grandmother running a medicine shop in the mountains."

"The sophistication of the writing—if it were five years ago, I would have thought the author was forty years old."

He handed the report back to Dai Shengzong, his voice full of sincere wonder.

"It's not an isolated phenomenon anymore. It feels as if the entire soil of Huaxia has been overturned."

Su Mubai held his teacup, his thumb tracing the rim.

"When a live fish jumps into the pond, the other fish don't dare to play dead anymore."

After he spoke, he didn't look at anyone.

But that name had already paused on everyone's lips before being swallowed back down.

Dai Shengzong stood up, walked to the bookshelf against the wall, and ran his fingers across a row of spines.

He stopped at a certain spot and pulled one out. The cover was deep blue, its corners already slightly curled.

Returning to the sofa, he placed the copy of 'ordinary world' on the table, his palm pressing down on the cover.

"Jian Shen's sudden emergence has brought something truly scorching into the traditional literary world."

Dai Shengzong's fingers rubbed the rough texture of the cover, his respect unconcealed in his tone.

"That kind of warmth isn't sustained by literary techniques; it's distilled from the human soul."

He paused there.

The room fell silent for two seconds. The four men, who had walked the literary path for decades,

all understood what the depictions in 'ordinary world'—of poverty, of social class, and of the systematic crushing of bottom-tier dignity—

meant in the current context.

Such things didn't need to be said explicitly. Those who could sit in this office all knew the boundaries.

Xu Zhengqing suddenly spoke up.

"Speaking of rising newcomers, have any of you noticed a web novelist called 'Hell Dream Weaver'?"

Professor Liu Zuoqing smiled.

"'cthulhu mythos'? I've flipped through it. It borrows a Western shell, but the essence inside is local."

"That kind of adaptation skill isn't practiced through technique alone; it's only possible if one has a true feel for human nature."

"I had someone print out his 'soul ferry' and read it twice."

Xu Zhengqing held the thermos in his hands, turning it a couple of times.

"Looking at it alongside Jian Shen's 'the ferryman,' the styles are worlds apart,"

"but that drive to dig into the human heart is just as formidable."

Dai Shengzong pushed up his glasses.

"Elder Xu, you even study web novels?"

"As one gets older, one must force oneself to explore new places, otherwise one's horizons will narrow."

Xu Zhengqing was nonchalant.

"However, there's one thing I've always found peculiar."

He paused, tapping his finger on the thermos.

"These two people—one writes about the dignity of the bottom tier, the other about the fear of the abyss."

"Their directions are completely opposite, yet the layer of concern for 'humanity' beneath the words feels like water drawn from the same well."

Professor Liu Zuoqing's hand paused over his teacup.

Xu Zhengqing didn't elaborate further. He set the thermos back on the table and brought the topic back to Jian Shen.

Dai Shengzong's finger stopped on the rough cover of 'ordinary world.'

"Back to Jian Shen. This person's courage is something I haven't seen in decades."

"The things he dares to touch... some in our generation have thought about them, but no one ever actually put pen to paper."

He paused here, swallowing the rest of his sentence.

His eyes met Professor Liu Zuoqing's, and he said no more.

The room was silent for two seconds.

Professor Liu Zuoqing patted the armrest, pushing the atmosphere forward.

"Not to mention the situation in Europe."

"Jian Shen, alone, has forced a crack in that wall of cultural arrogance."

"Readers in those places could regard an Eastern writer as their salvation; ten years ago, no one would have dared to imagine such a thing."

His tone was filled with genuine admiration.

"To make Western readers see the backbone of the East—he is the first to achieve it."

Dai Shengzong glanced at Xu Zhengqing and cleared his throat.

"It's precisely because of this that I contacted Hongchuan a couple of days ago."

The water in the teapot bubbled softly.

Xue Hongchuan, Chairman of the China Writers Association.

"The two of us discussed something."

Dai Shengzong closed the report, pushed it toward the corner of the table, and sat up a bit straighter.

"To invite Jian Shen to the Qinglan Training Camp. To give a masterclass to these thirty top geniuses from across the country."

Su Mubai raised his eyebrows, and the teacup in Professor Liu Zuoqing's hand paused.

Xu Zhengqing didn't respond immediately. His brow furrowed slightly, and he shook his head gently.

"This isn't the first time Hongchuan has had this idea."

He picked up the thermos and held it in his hand, not drinking, but just looking at a scuffed mark where the paint had worn off.

"Jian Shen is a person who is seen but never truly known."

"For national-level awards, he doesn't show his face, only sending an audio recording for someone else to accept on his behalf."

"That kind of aloofness, or rather, that deliberate avoidance, isn't something an ordinary person can manage."

"To invite this great figure, how much certainty do you and Hongchuan have?"

Dai Shengzong was not deterred by these words; he was clearly prepared.

"When Hongchuan went to Jiangcheng last time, he did indeed come up empty because Jian Shen happened to be abroad. But this time is different."

He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice half a notch.

"Jian Shen has currently returned to the country."

Xu Zhengqing didn't speak, just looked at him.

"And," Dai Shengzong paused.

"If Jian Shen truly worries about the red tape at the official level, I can set aside my old dignity,"

"and in my private capacity as the Dean of the Qingbei School of Literature, personally go to Jiangcheng to invite him."

Su Mubai set his teacup back on the table with a soft clink.

"Shengzong, the last time you personally visited someone was twelve years ago to invite Zhao Chong to lecture at Tsinghua-Peking."

"In all the years since, no matter how many people used their connections to ask for your presence, you never budged."

He glanced at Dai Shengzong.

"Jian Shen's prestige is quite significant."

"Elder Su—"

Dai Shengzong's tone did not waver.

"Jian Shen spared no effort to push his books all the way to remote bookstores in the Balkan Peninsula of Europe."

"A person like that isn't just in it to sell books at his core."

"He truly carries the mission of Huaxia's cultural expansion in his heart; it's real, not just talk."

He looked toward Xu Zhengqing and Professor Liu Zuoqing.

"For the sake of the literary world's future, I believe he won't refuse."

Professor Liu Zuoqing and Su Mubai nodded one after another, their expressions showing genuine agreement.

Only Xu Zhengqing sat there, not nodding along with the others' emotions.

He held his thermos, his gaze falling on the corner of the cover of 'ordinary world' on the table,

as if he were thinking of something entirely different from the words being spoken.

Su Mubai turned his head and looked at his old friend.

"Old Xu, what are you pondering now?"

Xu Zhengqing didn't answer immediately.

The water in the teapot bubbled again, a very soft sound.

He slowly set the thermos back on the table and looked up.

"Jian Shen has repeatedly avoided appearing in public. You all say he's aloof, that he's indifferent to fame and fortune."

Xu Zhengqing's voice was flat, but every word carried weight.

"But I've thought about it for a long time, and I feel that reason doesn't hold water."

His gaze slowly swept across the faces of the three men.

"A person truly aloof enough to refuse to show his face wouldn't push his books to the remote corners of Europe, nor would he care if European readers understood what he wrote. Jian Shen's concern for this world cannot be hidden; it's all there between the lines."

Professor Liu Zuoqing's brow twitched, but he said nothing.

"Therefore, Jian Shen's refusal to appear might not be due to aloofness."

Xu Zhengqing's voice dropped even lower.

Su, Dai, and Liu all looked at Xu Zhengqing.

Xu Zhengqing paused.

"It is likely due to some special objective reason that makes it... simply inconvenient for him to show his face."

The office fell silent.

Outside the window, a plane tree leaf was blown up by the wind, sticking to the glass for two seconds before being swept away again.

Professor Liu Zuoqing remained silent for a moment before setting down his teacup and patting the armrest.

"Then let's test the waters first." He looked at Dai Shengzong, his tone leaving no room for negotiation.

"Contact President Wang of New Tide and convey our sincerity."

"If there truly is some inconvenience,"

"we naturally won't force it."

...