577: Chapter 577 The Opera Singing That Was About to Break Down

The last line remained on the screen.

The review hall was silent for several seconds.

No one made the first move to write.

Gu Changfeng stared at that ending sentence, his hand hovering over the scoring key.

A few seconds later, he highlighted the "parking rules" from the opening, the "seven knots" from the middle, and the "slowing headlights" from the ending in yellow, dragging them onto the same split-screen.

These three segments, separated by different chapters, were now connected end-to-end.

Gu Changfeng spoke up.

"The most solid point of this manuscript is that the imagery isn't just for show."

"Parking is the rule, the knots are the record left by the rule, and the slowing headlights are the rule continuing to happen in someone else's hands."

"From beginning to end, they only serve one purpose."

Tao Zhiyan added.

"To let the kindness between strangers become something that can be passed on."

Gu Changfeng nodded.

"The opening sentence gives the regional experience, the middle uses the seven knots to ground that experience in a specific person, and the ending pushes it to the young line inspector."

"The structure is a closed loop—clean."

Professor Zhang raised his hand.

"I have a question."

He flipped the page back to the paragraph where Lao Ma gives fuel to the truck.

"Lao Ma giving away all the spare diesel—the risk of that choice is too high."

"Vehicle communication is unstable, sandstorms have blocked the road, and the fuel gauge is bottoming out. The two of them could be trapped in the Gobi because of this kindness."

"If handled with the slightest deviation, the character would become a symbol of deliberate nobility."

The judges looked back at that passage.

When Lao Ma unscrewed the fuel drum cap, the young line inspector reaching out to stop him, the numbers jumping on the fuel gauge, the brief signal recovery of the locator—it was all compressed onto the same page.

Gu Changfeng pulled up the previous markers.

"The author made three layers of judgment."

"First, the line locator had already recovered the signal once, and Lao Ma knew the station could receive the route record they last uploaded."

"Second, the truck was stuck on the shoulder, the driver's hands were blistered, and the risk of continuing to stay there was greater."

"Third, Lao Ma had a tow rope in his hand, had the experience, and also knew that there would be another vehicle on this road that followed the rules."

He paused.

"The risk exists. But the author had already planted the locator signal return, the route record, and the origin of that rope beforehand."

"Lao Ma knew what he was bearing, and he also knew that there would still be someone on this road who would respond to that reflector."

Tao Zhiyan flipped to the paragraph where the young line inspector looked at the fuel gauge for the first time.

"The young man saw numbers, distance, and wind speed."

"Lao Ma saw the entire system of mutual aid behind the rules."

"The same fuel gauge, two different perceptions."

Professor Zhang was silent for a moment, then added a note on the review form.

"Kindness is built on experience. It holds up."

Another provincial judge spoke up.

"There is too little ink spent on the truck driver."

"From beginning to end, there is no name, no origin."

"A character driving the plot, yet all that remains is a hand reaching out of the car window. Won't the readers find it thin?"

Tao Zhiyan didn't answer immediately.

He flipped back to the first chapter.

Five fingers covered in blood blisters pressed against the outside of the car window. Sandstorms pressed against the windshield. The palm faced outward.

"The author wrote about a raised hand," Tao Zhiyan said.

"Not the resume of a specific character, not a miserable experience used to trade for sympathy."

"That hand could belong to a truck driver, a maintenance worker, a lost tourist, or even Lao Ma who was trapped in the wind seventeen years ago."

"By leaving it blank, the person seeking help can become anyone."

The judge's lips moved.

"But in that case, the entire rescue is closer to a fable than a novel—"

Gu Changfeng interjected.

"If you added a segment about the truck driver's family and work, the focus of the story would shift."

"It would turn into a story about one person saving another."

"The current writing style leaves the focus on the act of strangers sharing risks together."

The provincial judge was silent for a few seconds.

He looked back at the opening. That hand. Blood blisters. Sandstorms. Lao Ma stepping on the brakes.

He slowly wrote four words in the comments section.

"The negative space is effective."

The yellow recusal indicator above Su Mubai's terminal remained lit.

He pulled up the written review column, his voice steady.

"I will only discuss technique; I will not participate in the scoring."

Xue Hongchuan nodded.

Su Mubai looked at the screen.

"In this manuscript, the Gobi is not written like a travel postcard."

"The wind is strong, the sand is fierce, the road is long, and the fuel is low. All landscape descriptions serve the characters' choices."

"The author grasped one key point—"

"The scarcest thing on the Gobi has never been the desolation, but rather that when people are separated by desolation, there are still those willing to stop."

Someone in the review hall nodded gently.

"This work writes the Gobi as a set of rules maintained by ordinary people. No heroes, no slogans. Only an old rope, seven knots, and one instance of stopping."

"This is harder than simply writing about suffering."

Elder Cui Wen's terminal also had a yellow light on.

He did not have scoring authority, so he only typed the parameter verification results into the training file.

"I have re-verified the fuel gauge readings, towing duration, route records, and locator signals given in the text. There are no fatal flaws in the crisis chain, and every step of the characters' choices is supported by the preceding text."

Gu Changfeng glanced at him.

"Any issues?"

Elder Cui Wen enlarged the last paragraph.

"The waiting time before the third vehicle appears is a bit short."

"The pressure of low fuel and intensifying sandstorms had already been built up, and just as the reader was pushed to the peak, the rescue headlights lit up too quickly."

"If there was one more segment of waiting, the sense of oppression would be stronger."

Tao Zhiyan thought about it.

"A flaw. It doesn't damage the main structure."

Elder Cui Wen nodded.

"Right. It doesn't determine whether the work can make it into the Top Ten, but it does determine whether the author can write such scenes more solidly in the future."

A judge wrote in the comments section:

"The high-pressure situation was well-established, but the crisis was resolved too quickly, and the emotional peak was not fully unfolded."

The red light at Seat No. 3 had been on for a long time.

Xu Zhengqing had not spoken the entire time.

He read every sentence on the screen more slowly than others.

Xu Changge had written too many manuscripts in the Xu Family study. Clever, neat, with no obvious flaws in the structure.

But Xu Zhengqing always knew that a layer of pressure was hidden within that neatness.

Xu Changge wanted to get rid of the family reputation, but always worried that every one of his sentences would be compared to his predecessors.

Until today.

What Xu Zhengqing saw in this anonymous manuscript was already an unfamiliar Gobi highway.

There was no Xu Family study there, no city lights, and no rules left behind by family learning.

Only a young man standing in the wind, holding up a reflector.

The old man clicked on the written review column.

"I will also only discuss technique."

Professor Zhang looked at Seat No. 3.

Xu Zhengqing's voice was calm, as if he were talking about an unrelated matter.

"The first half of this manuscript presses the cause and effect very tightly, but it voluntarily pulls back at the end. The eighth knot is not tied, and what becomes of the young line inspector is left off the page."

"The author intentionally left the most important step outside the story."

Professor Zhang frowned.

"I actually wanted to ask. The eighth knot is delayed; is the plot payoff insufficient?"

Xu Zhengqing looked up.

"If the eighth knot were tied in this text, the work would have one more complete plot point."

"Left in the empty space, it becomes a kind of waiting."

"Every time the young line inspector stops in the future, it could become the eighth knot."

"After the reader leaves the page, they will still remember that rope."

Professor Zhang reread the ending.

[Lao Ma said: "Wait until you also stop for someone else in the future, then tie it." The young man did not answer. He just stood by the car, looking at the distant highway.]

He stayed on that page for a long time.

Professor Zhang picked up his pen and crossed out the "unfulfilled" he had originally written.

He changed it to "open-ended continuation."

Xu Zhengqing wrote one sentence at the end of his written review.

"Let the character remain in the wind; let that rope sway in the reader's heart for a while longer. Such an ending is more powerful than arranging answers for the characters."

Submit.

The red light was still on.

This opinion would be filed into the training file and would not affect any scoring vote.

The three guidance seat opinions were archived separately by the system and only entered into subsequent training materials. The nine valid scoring votes were still decided independently by the remaining judges.

They left more questions than praise.

This was also the rule of the final review seat—you can see the problems for the young author, but you cannot decide the ranking for the young author.

Xue Hongchuan tapped the desktop.

"Discussion ends here."

"The resonance during the public reading phase only proves that someone is willing to finish reading this manuscript. What is being tested now is whether the theme, structure, characters, and language can support each other."

"Valid scoring seats, vote based on completion."

Gu Changfeng pushed the review form aside and took one last look at that highway.

"I will give my judgment."

Everyone looked at him.

"Readers look for thickness, judges measure depth."

"Thickness makes people believe in this Gobi. Depth determines how far this rule can go."

"The depth of this manuscript is enough to reach the Key Observation Zone."

The voting system opened.

Three options lit up on the terminal simultaneously.

[Recommended] [Pending] [Not Recommended]

The count on the main screen started to jump.

One vote. Two votes. Five votes.

The last judge submitted their opinion.

The system summary was complete.

[A-067 Review Results] [Recommended: 6 votes] [Pending: 2 votes] [Not Recommended: 1 vote] [Work has entered the Key Observation Zone]

A green indicator appeared behind the A-067 number.

The first work to enter the Key Observation Zone this morning.

No one in the review hall applauded.

The Key Observation Zone holds a maximum of ten works. For every one that enters, all previous works must be re-evaluated and compared.

Six recommendation votes do not mean the Top Ten final seats are secured.

Gu Changfeng picked up his paper cup.

"The standard has been set."

Tao Zhiyan looked at that green indicator.

"The subsequent manuscripts will be harder to judge."

A short break.

Xu Zhengqing took off his reading glasses and placed them next to the terminal.

He did not look at that number string again, nor did he look at the Gobi on the screen again.

The training opinion had been written. The rest of the road should be walked by the young person who wrote that manuscript themselves.

Five minutes later, the review seats were back in place.

Xue Hongchuan pressed the random selection key.

A-067 was moved into the Key Observation Zone.

In the two hours that followed, six more manuscripts were opened.

Urban fables, campus realism, historical themes, industrial narratives.

Some received recommendations based on language; some stopped in the pending zone due to unrealistic characters. Others had amazing openings but lost support in the middle, ultimately only receiving two votes.

The recommendation votes never exceeded five.

The Key Observation Zone still only had one green light on for A-067.

Approaching noon.

The fatigue from continuous reading was written on everyone's faces.

Xue Hongchuan did not extend the break.

"The last one for the morning."

The random number pool rotated again.

Dozens of grey numbers alternated rapidly on the main screen.

A few seconds later, the screen stopped.

[A-081]

The subject tag lit up.

[Rural Realism]

The screen loaded the first line.

"I want to write a biography for a village, but I started by writing about an opera aria that was about to break."

Dai Shengzong's hand, holding his paper cup, stopped in mid-air, and he slowly sat up straight.

The next second,

six recusal lights turned red at the same time.

...