488: Chapter 488 The Eve of Public Execution

When Lin Que opened the email, the script for "soul ferry" was still spread out on his desk.

Having just removed the cold, hard face of the Dream Weaver, another mask—named 'Jian Shen'—had already been quietly handed to him.

The email had been forwarded by Wang De'an.

The original was from Dean Dai Shengzong of the Qingbei School of Literature.

Dean Dai's phrasing was so formal it bordered on pedantic.

There wasn't a single superfluous pleasantry in the entire message; every line carried the decorum expected of the Qingbei School of Literature and conveyed a deep respect for the reclusive author.

"To Mr. Jian Shen: The deadline for the thirty new manuscripts from the Qinglan Project students is set for ten o'clock tomorrow morning. It is the good fortune of our juniors that you have agreed to review them personally. Regarding the review format, the School of Liberal Arts has prepared two options for your consideration. First, an online public critique, where you may review each piece during a live broadcast, with students listening in real-time. Second, a unified review, where you may annotate each piece in the backend, which will then be uploaded by the school for students to read at their leisure. Both options are acceptable; we await your decision."

Lin Que read the email from beginning to end.

Online public critique.

He tapped his fingertips on the desk twice.

An online public critique offered the most prestige, but also carried the highest risk.

Reviewing thirty manuscripts one by one, with five masters present and students listening in real-time, would certainly elevate the reputation of 'Jian Shen' even further.

But once the door to real-time interaction was opened—with student questions, follow-ups from the masters, and on-the-spot probing—every exchange could potentially pry open the seams of his disguise.

The voice of 'Jian Shen' could be disguised, and the theories could be handled on the spot, but the real trouble was never the answers themselves; it was the unpredictable rhythm, pauses, and follow-up questions in real-time interaction.

More importantly, Tang He's note was still weighing on his mind.

"How do you view the similar resonance in the grassroots narratives of Lin Que's 'the steps' and 'ordinary world'?"

He had managed to suppress that question this morning by substituting his phrasing.

But once the online public critique began, if Tang He could ask it, so could others.

What was even more troublesome was that all five masters would be sitting in the room.

Students might only notice the similarity, but the masters would dissect it all the way down, following the narrative rhythm, word choice habits, and grassroots experiences.

By then, it wouldn't just be 'the steps' and 'ordinary world' laid out on the table.

There would also be the thread between Lin Que and 'Jian Shen' that was supposed to remain hidden in the shadows.

Lin Que's gaze shifted to the second option.

Unified review.

Annotating each piece in the backend, having the school upload them, and letting the students read them on their own.

No real-time interaction, no on-the-spot questions; all the annotations would be written by him alone, behind closed doors, at his own pace.

Writing them out, proofreading, ensuring every word was placed exactly where it needed to be, and then uploading them.

This sense of distance was the only way to uphold the weight of the name 'Jian Shen'.

No face, no voice, only the black-and-white annotations left behind.

Students would hold those lines of text, pondering them repeatedly, and the more they pondered, the more unfathomable they would find 'Jian Shen'.

For 'Jian Shen', mystery was the best moat.

The less he appeared, the fewer flaws he would reveal; the less he explained, the easier it was for others to fill in the gaps and perceive him as profound.

Lin Que had made up his mind.

He moved his mouse to the reply button and wrote back to Wang De'an.

"President Wang: I choose the second option. There are two reasons. First, writing fears nothing more than rushing to a conclusion amidst the noise. When annotations are written on paper, students can read them again after a night, after three days, or after the pain has subsided. Such reflection is more useful than listening to a few rounds of applause or reprimands. Second, I am not accustomed to showing my face, so a unified review suits my habits better. Please convey to Dean Dai that I will not miss a single one of the thirty manuscripts, and I will write with sufficient depth for every piece."

Send.

In this letter, he specifically placed the words 'sedimentation' and 'reflection' at the very front.

This was meant for Dai Shengzong, and also for all the students.

A 'senior' who was willing to spend time annotating each piece and emphasized letting the writing settle was more in line with the outside world's imagination of Jian Shen: silent, restrained, and leaving the weight of his words on the paper.

A persona, the more it is grounded in such details, the more solid it becomes.

Less than a minute after the email was sent, Wang De'an replied.

"Teacher Jian Shen, your consideration is thorough! I will inform Dean Dai immediately."

Immediately following that, a second message came through.

"Dean Dai is extremely supportive of this plan and keeps saying that your action truly shows consideration for the students. The school has coordinated with the Tsinghua-Peking University technical department to grant you independent review privileges for this round of Qinglan Project evaluations. You may review each piece directly in the backend; the privileges are independent, all operations are logged, and the annotated content will be encrypted and sealed. Before formal submission, the school will only be able to see the submission status and will not be able to access the specific comments. Once the final version is confirmed, it will then be released to the students. I will send you the details for the technical setup shortly."

Lin Que looked at these two replies, his lips pressing together again.

Highest level of annotation privileges.

Fully encrypted. No one but him could access it.

This was equivalent to Tsinghua-Peking University personally building a wall for 'Jian Shen'.

This wall couldn't block every accident in the world, but it was enough to keep the vast majority of prying eyes under control.

This was exactly what he wanted.

Among these thirty annotations, the hardest one to write would always be the one for 'Lin Que'.

The annotation for 'Lin Que' had to be harsher than for anyone else.

Too light, and it would look like favoritism; heavy, and it would look like genuine high expectations.

He had to bury a knife in that annotation.

He needed to point out that within 'Lin Que's' accuracy lay a layer of detached observation, that much of the suffering came from retelling and imagination—sharp enough, but lacking the scent of the soil.

In the next stage, he had to trample his soles into the real dust.

Once this knife was driven in, others would only think that 'Jian Shen' understood 'Lin Que's' creative path too well, and was forcing this junior to wean himself off.

When the final annotations were released and Elder Cui Wen and Dai Shengzong saw that knife, they would only be more convinced: this 'master-disciple' pair, separated by screens in the eyes of the outside world, had a relationship even closer than they imagined.

With this encrypted wall, the risk of him reviewing himself was at least pushed into a controllable range.

Lin Que closed the email interface.

He leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and ran through his review ideas for the thirty manuscripts due the day after tomorrow in his mind.

For Xu Changge's piece, he had to force him to completely tear away the shadow of his family background.

For Dan Yi's piece, he had to make him write loneliness as a coordinate, not a wound.

For Chen Jiahao's piece, he had to first drag him out of the bustling techniques and press him into the real crowd.

For each piece, where to praise, where to point out flaws, and which direction to push—he gradually had a plan in his mind.

Less than five minutes after closing the email, his phone on the desk rang.

It was an official notification from the Qinglan Project.

Lin Que picked it up and took a look.

"To all students of the Qinglan Project: With the agreement of Mr. Jian Shen, the thirty new manuscripts this time will be reviewed personally by him, piece by piece. The review will adopt a unified annotation format, and the final annotations will be uploaded by the school to the Qinglan backend for all students to read at their leisure. Please ensure you submit your final drafts before ten o'clock tomorrow morning; late submissions will be considered a forfeiture of the right to this round of evaluation."

He put down his phone.

In the student dormitory building of the Tsinghua-Peking University School of Liberal Arts, twenty-nine phones rang in unison at the exact same second.

Three seconds later, a wail erupted from the end of the corridor.

"It's over."

"This is a real public execution now; everyone will be able to see it."

"I just hope Teacher Jian Shen will go easy on us."

...