566: Chapter 566 Admitting it isn't shameful

President Zhao's voice came through the receiver.

His tone was very flat, as if he were discussing something with a conclusion already set in stone.

"Chu Pengshu."

"I have read Chen Jingzhi's article."

Chu Pengshu did not speak.

His fingers rested on the desktop, his fingertips pressing against the edge of the qin opera melody curve chart.

President Zhao continued, "The article is written beautifully, and the breakdown is indeed detailed. Chen Jingzhi is an old senior after all; his discernment is evident."

The sound of a teacup being set down came from the receiver.

"But Chu Pengshu, the collision of academic viewpoints and choosing sides in the court of public opinion are two different things."

President Zhao's voice dropped by half a degree.

"It is a good thing that you have seen your own blind spots. However, those people outside won't think that way; they will only think that you have yielded."

Chu Pengshu moved his gaze away from the photo on the top right corner of the desk and let it fall onto the three charts on the desktop.

The changes in the qin opera melody.

The progression of Old Zhao's pace.

The breaks in voice and the revelation of the truth.

Three lines, each so precise that he could not find a single crack to refute.

President Zhao seemed to sense his silence and pushed his tone a step further.

"The public opinion outside is very chaotic right now, and Program will inevitably take advantage of Chen Jingzhi's article to build momentum."

"We need to steady our position on our end."

Chu Pengshu still did not speak.

President Zhao's tone became more direct.

"Write a response article; you don't need to directly refute Chen Jingzhi."

"Just pull the discussion back into the framework of structural diversity."

"Acknowledge that 'qin opera' has implicit structures, but at the same time, point out that the reproducibility and universality of such structures still need to be tested."

"This is not called admitting a mistake; this is called academic advancement."

"Give the judges the steps, and leave yourself a way out."

Chu Pengshu's gaze fell on the qin opera melody curve chart.

He closed his eyes.

"President Zhao."

His voice was very soft.

"Have you read 'qin opera'?"

There was silence for two seconds on the other end of the receiver.

"I have read the outline and a few key chapters," President Zhao said.

"Then do you know how many times Auntie Song's qin opera melody appears in the full text?"

President Zhao did not answer.

Chu Pengshu opened his eyes and stared at that curve.

"Seven times."

His voice was very flat.

"Seven times the qin opera melody appears, tracing the protagonist's entire trajectory from entering the factory to their sacrifice."

"Old Zhao's pace changed four times, and the breaks in voice corresponded to eleven revelations of the truth."

His fingers tapped on the desktop three times, each one heavier than the last.

"Chen Jingzhi saw all of these things."

"Yet I wrote a five-thousand-word long article and didn't touch a single one."

The breathing on the other end of the receiver grew heavier.

Chu Pengshu continued, "You want me to write a response article, acknowledging the implicit structures but pointing out their limitations."

He paused.

"But I haven't even grasped the full picture of these implicit structures yet."

"What am I supposed to use to point out the limitations? Guesses?"

President Zhao was silent for a few seconds.

"Chu Pengshu."

His tone became warm and thick, like a reasonable elder.

"Academic discussion naturally allows for the revision of viewpoints."

"You can acknowledge in your response that Chen Jingzhi has added a new perspective, while simultaneously raising the question of whether this type of structure has textual exclusivity."

"Your judging framework itself has no problems; it's just that the scope of its application needs to be narrowed."

"This is completely normal in academic circles."

Chu Pengshu held his phone a little further away, staring at that name on the screen.

He understood.

President Zhao was not helping him revise his academic stance.

He was helping him find a decent excuse to continue standing on the side of Huanyu Publishing Group.

"President Zhao."

Chu Pengshu's voice turned cold.

"Was my previous article logically consistent?"

"Of course it was consistent."

"Right. It was very logically consistent."

Chu Pengshu gathered the three charts on the desktop together.

"But I equated the structures I failed to identify with the absence of structure."

"The premise of all this was wrong."

"No matter how logically consistent it is, if the premise is wrong, the conclusion is just waste paper."

The sound of a chair moving came from the receiver.

President Zhao's tone hardened.

"Chu Pengshu."

"Public opinion is very unfavorable to us right now."

"If you don't speak up at this time, the outside world will assume you have admitted defeat."

Chu Pengshu placed the phone on the desktop and turned on the speakerphone.

He stared at the receiver, his voice very flat.

"I did indeed misjudge it."

It was quiet on the receiver for two seconds.

When President Zhao spoke again, his voice sank, and every word was emphasized.

"Chu Pengshu, have you thought about it? This retreat of yours is not just a personal matter."

"The right to independent judgment that the young critics' circle has managed to establish over these past few years will be beaten back to its original state because of your concession."

He paused.

"You can admit that your perspective had limitations; that is not shameful."

"But once a concession is put on paper, from then on, whenever any newcomer is praised to the skies, no one will dare to stand up and question it."

"Because everyone will use you as an example—look, the last person who questioned it admitted they were wrong."

Chu Pengshu's gaze fell on the photo in the top right corner of the desk.

His mentor was wearing a gray sweater, holding that copy of 'Narratology of Fiction', smiling gently.

"A critic's eyes must be long enough to see the hidden bones."

This sentence pressed into his ears, heavier than any of President Zhao's words.

Chu Pengshu picked up the phone, turned off the speakerphone, and held it to his ear.

"President Zhao."

His voice was very low.

"In all these years of doing criticism, I have only believed in two words."

"Text."

"I can criticize a work for being logically incoherent, I can say its characters are thin, I can say its structure is chaotic."

"But the premise is—I must have truly understood the work."

Chu Pengshu gathered the three charts and placed them neatly on the corner of the desk.

"'qin opera', I did not understand."

"Chen Jingzhi understood it."

"He is right; my ruler is not long enough."

He paused.

"Admitting this is not shameful."

It was quiet on the other end of the receiver for a long time.

So long that Chu Pengshu thought the other party had already hung up.

When President Zhao's voice came through again, it had instead become gentle.

That kind of gentleness was more chilling than anger.

"I respect your choice."

The tone was like discussing a settled account.

"But you need to think clearly about one thing."

"In the future, whenever you want to say no to any work, the first thing everyone will think of is that you once misjudged something."

"Can you bear this label?"

Chu Pengshu looked at the photo.

His mentor's smile was still there.

"I can bear it."

President Zhao let out a laugh.

It was very short, like a soft sigh.

"Good. Then I wish you a smooth future."

The phone hung up.

The study became quiet again.

The light from the desk lamp fell on the three charts, and on the mentor's smile in the photo.

Chu Pengshu placed the phone on the corner of the desk.

He turned around and opened his computer.

The article from three days ago, 'The Rules and Disorder of Young Literature', was still hanging on the homepage of the social media platform, and the numbers in the comment section were still scrolling.

Four thousand three hundred retweets, two thousand seven hundred comments.

He did not hesitate.

He clicked on the publish box.

His fingers landed on the keyboard.

He took a deep breath.

The title had only four characters.

"Apology Statement".