58: Mom, these red underwear aren't necessary, are they?

In the following days,

Lin Que lived a life of misery.

The so-called “special training”

was simply mental torture.

Every evening self-study session,

Shen Qingqiu would lock the three of them in a small conference room for high-intensity simulation training.

"Topic: The Rain Outside the Window. Time limit: forty minutes. No restriction on literary style."

Shen Qingqiu tossed a piece of chalk,

sat down nearby, and started the timer.

Zhao Zichen, without a word,

spread out his manuscript paper and began citing classics.

A confident smile hung on the corner of his mouth,

and his pen tip moved rapidly across the paper, almost without pause.

"Rain is the tears of heaven and earth.

Dongpo sang and walked slowly in the rain; that was broad-mindedness;

Qingzhao searched and sought in the rain; that was sorrow..."

The sound of the pen scratching against the paper was filled with the confidence of a top student.

Zhang Ya bit her pen cap, her brows tightly furrowed,

seemingly brainstorming a tragic and beautiful story.

She planned to write about a girl waiting in the rain for a lover who would never return,

using the rain to highlight the sorrow, and the clearing weather to symbolize release,

this was her specialty.

Lin Que lay slumped on the desk, spinning his pen.

The Rain Outside the Window?

This topic was too cliché.

Seven or eight horror story openings instantly popped into his head.

For instance, the woman holding a red umbrella in the rain but lacking a face,

or the rhythmic tapping of rain on the window, which was actually someone outside scraping it with their fingernails... "Ahem."

Shen Qingqiu's cough sounded just in time.

Lin Que looked over in response, and he read a sentence in the teacher's eyes:

"Dare to write a ghost story and you're dead."

Lin Que sighed and reined in his wandering thoughts.

Since he couldn't write about ghosts, he'd write about people.

He picked up his pen and wrote:

[When the rain falls, the city becomes an isolated island.]

[Some wait for a boat on the island, others build a bridge.]

[As for me, I just want to sleep on the island.]

...Forty minutes later.

Shen Qingqiu held the three compositions and began her critique.

"Zhao Zichen, the poetry citations are accurate, and the parallel sentences have momentum. But,"

Shen Qingqiu pointed to a paragraph.

"Your rain falls too 'literarily,' full of the emotions of the ancients. What about your own?

What do you think about when you're caught in the rain?

Are you thinking about Dongpo, or are you thinking about not bringing an umbrella?"

Zhao Zichen was stunned, his face turning crimson:

"I... I was thinking about when the rain would stop."

"Then write about wanting it to stop!"

Shen Qingqiu felt exasperated.

"Why are Teacher Jian Shen's articles moving?

Because he writes about the joys and sorrows of ordinary people, not just showing off scholarly knowledge!"

Zhao Zichen lowered his head and fell silent.

"Zhang Ya, this one is good."

Shen Qingqiu's tone softened slightly.

"Using the rain to write about separation, the emotion is very delicate.

But the ending is too tragic. When the rain clears, you should offer some hope, shouldn't you?"

Finally, it was Lin Que's turn.

Shen Qingqiu looked at the short essay, which was less than eight hundred characters, with a strange expression.

There were no citations of classics, nor any tear-jerking sentimentality.

The entire piece was about a delivery rider making deliveries in the rain,

whose order timed out because the rain was too heavy, leading the customer to curse him out over the phone.

The delivery rider didn't talk back,

but after hanging up the phone, he parked his bike on the side of the road,

took a steamed bun warmed by his body heat from his pocket, and took a bite, washing it down with rainwater.

The ending was just one sentence:

[The rain was heavy, but the way he ate the bun was satisfying.]

"This..."

Zhao Zichen leaned over for a look and couldn't help but frown.

"This is too... too colloquial, isn't it? And what depth is there to the concept? It's just a delivery person, right?"

Shen Qingqiu ignored Zhao Zichen, her gaze resting complexly on Lin Que's paper.

After a long time, she said softly:

"Lin Que, you always see the corners others miss, and then you brutally dig them out... This is profound, but also dangerous."

Lin Que shrugged:

"Teacher, Teacher Jian Shen said that all beings suffer, and one must save oneself.

That bun is his ferry. I think it's quite profound."

Shen Qingqiu was silent for a moment before returning the composition paper to him.

"Although it's slightly off-topic, the... visual impact is very strong.

In the finals... this style of writing is risky, but it might also achieve an unexpected victory. You must control the degree yourself."

Zhao Zichen listened dumbfounded nearby.

This passed? Isn't Teacher Shen playing favorites?

Zhang Ya looked at Lin Que's composition, a hint of surprise flashing in her eyes.

She used to think Lin Que was just playing to the gallery,

but now it seemed he could always see the corners others missed.

That perspective was called compassion... On Thursday evening,

Lin Que returned home.

As soon as he entered the door, he was stunned by the sight before him.

In the spacious and bright living room,

on the coffee table in front of the expensive leather sofa,

various kinds of... magical artifacts?! were laid out.

A red string hung with a glittering "Zhuangyuan Jidi" (First Place Scholar) plaque.

A pair of red socks embroidered with "Bubu Gaosheng" (Steady Promotion).

And... a pair of bright red underpants.

Wang Xiulian was holding the red underpants up to the light, checking for loose threads.

The glaring red clashed completely with the modern minimalist style of the living room, yet it was extremely conspicuous.

"Mom... what is all this?"

Lin Que felt his eye twitching.

"Oh, my son is back!"

Wang Xiulian put down the underpants, her face beaming with joy.

"Aren't you leaving for Jinling a day early tomorrow?

Your mother went to the temple for these and specially asked a Master to bless them!

Wear this whole set, and I guarantee you'll win a prize!"

Lin Jianguo sat on the sofa,

seemingly reading the newspaper, but he hadn't noticed that he was holding it upside down,

his ears perked up high, and his peripheral vision kept darting toward the coffee table.

"Wearing red is lucky."

Lin Jianguo coughed and put down the newspaper.

"This is your mother's thoughtfulness. Besides, this is a provincial competition; it never hurts to be overly prepared."

Lin Que looked at the red underpants, inwardly rejecting them.

"Mom, I'm going to write an essay, not go through a tribulation year (Benming Nian).

These red underpants... are they really necessary?"

"Absolutely not!"

Wang Xiulian's attitude was firm.

"You must wear them! You must be red from the inside out! Be good, hurry, go try them on to see if they fit."

Lin Que looked at his dad for help.

Lin Jianguo immediately raised the newspaper to cover his face, then quickly put it down, thinking better of it:

"Well... I'm going to the balcony for a smoke."

Traitor.

Lin Que, helpless, could only take the red underpants back to his room.

He sat on the bed,

looking at the glaring red mass in his hand, and couldn't help but laugh out loud.

In his previous life, he had won awards and been on stage,

but no one had ever prepared red underpants for him.

Back then,

his parents would only say "Congratulations" over the phone,

and then cautiously ask him when he would return home.

They didn't understand what screenwriting was, or what copyrights were,

they only knew their son was busy and working hard in the big city.

Their clumsy love, separated by the phone line,

was worn down by the signal until only politeness and distance remained.

Now,

this heavy, slightly unsophisticated love,

made him feel both amused and secure.

This was a home—with life's warmth, silly concern, and clumsy expression.

This was what he was working so hard to protect.

"Fine."

Lin Que tossed the red underpants onto the bed.

"I'll just pretend it's... warding off evil for Teacher 'Jian Shen'."

...