542: Chapter 542 The Bottom Line: How Should It Be Upheld?

A teacup landed on the table with a dull thud.

Everyone looked toward the sound.

It was Tao Zhiyan who spoke.

As Chairman of the Shaanxi Writers Association, he possessed the straightforward temperament of a man from the Northwest and never beat around the bush when he spoke.

On the day of the Fu Zhi Yao Competition finals, he was the first to slap the table in approval; he couldn't be bothered with empty pleasantries.

This time, as soon as he spoke, the teacups that had just been lifted by several people paused in mid-air.

"Chairman Gu is worried that the kids won't be able to handle the market, and Chairman Lu says we should let them face the real deal sooner. I've understood both sides."

Tao Zhiyan leaned forward.

"But I want to say something honest."

He scanned the room.

"A good work carries its own appeal."

Several gazes in the conference room fell upon him.

Tao Zhiyan did not shy away.

"Where have those kids from the Program been this past month? The Gobi, urban villages, farmers' markets, old factory districts."

Tao Zhiyan tapped the table with his hand.

"Lin Que is just the most conspicuous one among them. He went to Muchuan Town in Southern Shaanxi, to an old factory deep in the Qinba Mountains."

As he said this, his tone actually lowered.

"No one here knows the conditions of that place better than I do. The mountain roads are winding, there's plenty of rain, and supplies are tight. He stayed there for a whole month, burying himself in abandoned factory buildings and among the old workers."

Tao Zhiyan pressed his palm onto the table, his voice deepening.

"In a place like that, writing honed through such painstaking effort is at least qualified to stand before real readers."

"When the real stuff is placed on the table, the readers' eyes are sharp."

He lowered his voice a little, but it carried more weight.

"What I fear is the lack of real substance. But these kids, they went out precisely to grind away the superficial things before coming back."

These words were resonant.

Gu Changfeng looked at him without speaking, the worry in his eyes fading slightly.

Chairman Lu nodded with a smile.

"Old Tao's words, they're inspiring."

But Gu Changfeng added a sentence.

"A good work is one thing. Whether readers are willing to read it, and whether they are willing to vote after reading it, is another matter entirely."

He sighed.

"Even the best wine fears a deep alley. Capital platforms have entrances, recommendations, and operations; they can pile up momentum before the work is even seen."

"Momentum is momentum, and a work is a work."

Tao Zhiyan was unconvinced.

"Momentum can suppress the rankings for a while, but it cannot suppress the scale in the readers' hearts after they finish reading."

"But what if the readers can't even walk into that alley?"

Gu Changfeng retorted.

"The entrances are occupied by others, the recommendations are bought by others; the kids' works don't even have a chance to be seen."

Tao Zhiyan's brows furrowed, and the words on the tip of his tongue were temporarily swallowed back.

The conference room fell silent.

Several Chairmen fell into deep thought.

Fairness, market, tempering—three things placed on the same table, making it even harder to grasp the balance.

Someone spoke up.

"I actually think the ratio of thirty percent itself has its own logic."

A Chairman from the South said slowly.

"It's neither too much nor too little. If the weight were any higher, the judging would easily be swayed by popularity. If it were any lower, this checkpoint would become a mere formality."

"That's what's said."

Another person replied.

"But ratios are dead, while human hearts are alive. Once that thirty percent score is pushed down, landing on a specific year or a specific batch of people, the effect is different."

"The key is still where this thirty percent comes from."

Gu Changfeng spoke again.

"Is it cast vote by vote by real readers, or is it conjured up by someone playing tricks behind the scenes?"

As the words fell, several teacups stopped simultaneously.

No one responded immediately.

Several Chairmen looked at each other.

No one took it up.

This layer of window paper had already been pasted right in front of everyone.

Tao Zhiyan frowned.

"Old Gu, there's more to your words than what you're saying."

Gu Changfeng did not answer directly.

"I'm just stating a common principle."

He picked up his teacup and set it down again.

"Since we want to let the market enter, those standing in the market must be real people, and the votes cast must be their own judgment."

"But in this day and age, internet trolls, matrix accounts, buying traffic—which of these aren't familiar tricks?"

The Chairman from the South shook his head.

"If someone really wants to play dirty, hundreds of thousands in popularity can be piled up overnight."

"Popularity can be piled up, but reading can only be flipped page by page."

Tao Zhiyan snorted.

"Fake is fake."

"Fake can also suppress the rankings."

Gu Changfeng said softly.

"At least before the results come out, it can suppress them."

The two men's words pushed that layer of window paper to the point of being just one step away.

Xue Hongchuan had not spoken throughout.

He sat at the head of the table, listening to the voices from all sides colliding in the conference room.

Gu Changfeng's concerns, Chairman Lu's impartiality, Tao Zhiyan's conviction, and the arguments of several Chairmen surrounding the ratio and execution risks—he had heard them all.

Behind every voice lay a judgment on the future of the Kunpeng Award.

The weight of the top tier of the Chinese Literary World pressed down on this quiet conference room.

He recalled the literary conference ten years ago.

When that old leader stood on stage and proposed that literature, the masses, and the market should sit at the same table, there was silence in the audience.

At the time, no one thought this day would come so quickly, and so subtly.

Now, that old leader's son, President Zhao, had handed over Huanyu Publishing Group's resources, thinking he had grasped the initiative.

But this path had already been pointed out ten years ago.

Xue Hongchuan's fingertips began to tap the table rhythmically.

"Tap."

The arguments in the conference room gradually ceased.

Everyone's gaze was drawn to the head of the table by that light tap.

Xue Hongchuan's gaze slowly swept over everyone present.

Gu Changfeng guarded the fairness for newcomers, Tao Zhiyan believed in the power of the text, and Chairman Lu valued early tempering.

In the end, they were all protecting the roots of the Kunpeng Award.

But Xue Hongchuan knew better that all arguments must be stepped on the same bottom line.

That was the bottom line of the Kunpeng Award.

This brand had stood for decades.

It could accommodate arguments, accommodate new regulations, and accommodate readers entering the judging scene.

But whoever stuffed fake votes in should pay the price.

Xue Hongchuan's fingers stopped.

He raised his eyes, his voice not loud, yet it silenced the entire conference room.

"What everyone has said is reasonable. Fairness must be considered, the market must be welcomed, and the children must be trained."

He paused.

"But I want to guide the conversation to a more critical point."

Everyone sat up straight.

Xue Hongchuan's gaze deepened, every word deliberate.

"Today we sit here, arguing about fairness and the market. But I want to ask one more thing."

"If someone really uses capital to play tricks on these thirty points."

He scanned the room.

"For this Kunpeng Award brand that has stood for decades, how exactly should we guard this bottom line?"