463: Chapter 463 Jiangcheng is not a big place

The four of them walked out of Jubaoyuan, carrying the warmth of the copper pot mutton hotpot.

The night wind of Beijing in October blew against them, carrying a hint of bone-scraping chill, yet it couldn't disperse the heat that had just risen in everyone's hearts.

Chen Jiahao rubbed his stomach and let out an exaggerated burp.

"I'm done for. I feel like I could fall asleep right here. We need to get back to school and find a warm place to hunker down."

Just as he finished speaking, Lin Que stuffed his hands into his hoodie pockets and spoke lazily:

"You guys go back. I'm not going back to the dormitory tonight."

"Huh?" Chen Jiahao was stunned for a moment.

"Master Que is just going to abandon us just like that?"

Before Lin Que could answer, Xu Changge, who was beside him, straightened his collar which had been ruffled by the wind, and spoke in a gentle tone:

"I'm not going back either. My grandfather sent a message this afternoon asking me to go home tonight."

Chen Jiahao looked accusatory, reaching out to put his arm around Dan Yi's shoulder, and sighed exaggeratedly:

"Fine, the two big shots of Dormitory 303 are more carefree than the other, both breaking away from the masses."

He deliberately pulled Dan Yi toward him and raised his voice an octave:

"Let's go, Brother Dan Yi. These big shots who have homes and places to go don't want us anymore. Let's head back to school together and depend on each other!"

He put his arm around him with a sense of naturalness, as if they were buddies who had known each other for ten years.

He probably didn't even realize that in the first seven days they met, the two hadn't even exchanged three sentences.

Dan Yi's shoulder stiffened for a moment.

If it were before today, Dan Yi would have instinctively dodged.

But this time, Chen Jiahao's arm hooked around his shoulder wasn't shaken off.

The two of them just walked forward a few steps in a wobbly manner.

That face, which had always been shrouded in the shadow of his hat brim, lifted slightly.

As the light from the streetlamp fell, a very faint curve could be seen rising at the corner of his mouth.

The four of them parted ways at the intersection.

Chen Jiahao, with his arm around Dan Yi's shoulder, walked noisily toward the ride-hailing pickup point, still muttering about going back to brainstorm a new draft.

Dan Yi followed beside him. Although he remained silent, his steps were much steadier than when they arrived.

Xu Changge and Lin Que shared a path for a while, walking side by side in the dappled light and shadow of the old alley.

Without Chen Jiahao's noise, the surroundings instantly became quiet.

Only the unhurried sound of their footsteps and the occasional honking of cars in the distance remained.

The streetlamps stretched their shadows very long, crossing and parting on the bluestone road.

Passing an old shop with a "Pickles" sign, Xu Changge's pace suddenly slowed by half a beat.

He turned his head and looked at the youth beside him, who had his hands in his pockets and a toothpick dangling from his mouth at some point, his gaze gentle and insightful.

"Today's Beihai was chosen quite thoughtfully."

His voice was very soft, without any extra tone.

"It seemed like a casual outing, but it was actually to find an absolutely safe exit to pull him out of that layer of ice."

Lin Que had fished out a toothpick from his pocket and bit it in his mouth at some point, the end of the toothpick bobbing up and down between his lips.

He didn't look back, his gaze fixed on the darkness at the end of the alley ahead.

"If a person is used to soaking in icy water, others can't pull them out by force."

Lin Que's tone was as flat as if he were discussing tomorrow's weather.

"He has to feel the cold himself and want to huddle near the fire himself."

He casually flicked the toothpick into a roadside trash can and stuffed his hands back into his pockets.

"I just started a fire. Whether he comes over or not is up to him."

Xu Changge smiled.

He didn't ask further, just walked quietly side by side with Lin Que.

At another intersection, the two stopped.

"I'm going this way."

Xu Changge pointed to the alley on his left.

"Mm."

Lin Que nodded.

"Be careful on the road."

Xu Changge turned into the alley, his figure quickly disappearing around the corner.

Lin Que stood in place for two seconds, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly, and turned to walk in another direction.

The streetlamp stretched his solitary silhouette even longer, the hood of his hoodie bulging slightly in the wind.

Pushing open the door of the studio, the familiar scent of pine and old books rushed toward him.

Lin Que didn't turn on the main lights, only casually switched on the desk lamp.

The warm yellow glow instantly covered the large desk, illuminating the black computer and the phone lying casually beside it.

He picked up the phone; the screen lit up, staying on the WeChat chat interface.

At the very top of the dialog box was Ye Xi's avatar.

The last few messages were clearly displayed.

[Fugitive Beethoven]: Great Poet Lin, does the Crane on the Clouds eat Sweet Garlic? [Dog head][Dog head][Dog head]

[Mu Xia]: Probably, after all, even the Piano-Smashing Rabbit eats it.

[Fugitive Beethoven]: [Laughing][Laughing]

Lin Que looked at that exaggerated laughing emoji, as if he could imagine the girl on the other side of the screen laughing uncontrollably.

He put the phone aside and sat down in front of the computer.

With a click of the mouse, the email interface popped up.

An unread email lay quietly at the top of the inbox; the sender was Wang De'an.

The subject of the email was very short, just five words: "To be opened by Mr. Pen Name," yet it carried an unusual solemnity.

Lin Que clicked on the email.

A long letter, phrased extremely respectfully and carrying a strong sense of probing, filled the entire screen.

"Mr. Pen Name, I hope this letter finds you well."

"I take the liberty of writing only to convey a greeting from a senior in the Beijing literary circles.

Today, Xinchao Publishing House had the honor of receiving a personal call from the Dean of the School of Liberal Arts at Qingbei University, Mr. Dai Shengzong.

Dean Dai holds you and your work in high esteem and has entrusted me to convey a message to you."

Reading up to this point, Lin Que's brow twitched slightly.

"Dean Dai said: 'A good literary seedling needs everyone to water it together.'"

These words were meaningful, like extending an olive branch, and also like making some kind of confirmation.

Lin Que's gaze continued downward.

At the end of the email, Wang De'an wrote in an even humbler tone:

"Dean Dai hopes you can see the works of the rising stars and has attached the documents.

He said that perhaps you would have some new views on the young people of today."

At the bottom of the email, two attachments lay quietly.

Lin Que's finger paused on the mouse for a second.

He clicked on the first attachment.

The document opened, and the title was strikingly three characters.

"the steps".

Lin Que's gaze didn't fluctuate at all; he closed the document and clicked on the second one.

This time the title was longer.

"rural teacher".

Wang De'an added at the end of the email:

"Sir, forgive me for overstepping, but these two works, especially "rural teacher",

their textual texture and depth of thought—if I hadn't known in advance that the author was a student of the Qinglan Project, I would have almost thought they were your handiwork.

If these two works hadn't already been reserved by a national-level publishing house, I would really want to fly to Beijing immediately to discuss publishing matters with the author."

Seeing this, Lin Que leaned back in his chair and let out a soft laugh.

All the clues snapped together at this moment.

Elder Cui's questioning, the smoke screen of the "Jiangcheng elder," Dai Shengzong's call, Wang De'an's respectful phrasing—

The titans had used their own logic to personally build an identity firewall for him.

They were certain that "Jian Shen" was the mysterious elder behind Lin Que who was pointing the way,

so they presented the two works Lin Que had written in the Qinglan Project, waiting for "Jian Shen's" reaction to confirm their suspicion.

The smile on Lin Que's lips deepened.

Since the script was already written, how could he not follow along and play the part?

Lin Que's fingers returned to the keyboard; after a moment's thought, he began to reply to the email.

He didn't directly admit it, nor did he deliberately deny it.

His fingers fell on the keyboard, and the first sentence he typed was:

["the steps" is written with restraint. The most taboo thing in writing about suffering is to be hysterical; this young man knows how to hide the knife under the cotton cloth.

Only that stroke at the end where the father sits on the new the steps and feels "uncomfortable" could be pushed half an inch further—

—make him stand up, then sit down again, repeating it twice; it would be more painful than directly writing the three characters "uncomfortable".]

After Lin Que finished typing this sentence, he stared at the screen for two seconds.

Giving suggestions for revisions to one's own work—this kind of thing would be schizophrenic enough for any writer.

But the corners of his mouth still curled up.

Then he continued to write.

[As for "rural teacher"—]

His fingers paused for a beat; after deliberating for a moment, he typed four words.

[The youth is formidable.]

One more word would seem intentional; one less would lack weight.

Four words were just the right amount for a senior who had seen the world to give the highest level of affirmation to a junior.

Every word of the critique fell precisely on the points those titans most wanted to see.

At the end of the email, he wrote:

"Give my regards to Dean Dai and the seniors in Beijing."

"Also, please tell them that Jiangcheng is not a big place."

Lin Que's fingers paused on the keyboard for a moment, then he typed the last line.

"A good seedling doesn't pick who waters it; when the years to grow arrive, a passing rain is enough."

...