588: Chapter 588 The First Knife Falls

In the seventy-two hours after the list of the ten finalists for the final evaluation was posted on the official website, the literary world did not have a moment of peace.

Media outlets worked overnight to edit special features. Literary forums opened betting threads in advance. The ten names were broken down into ten resumes, posted on the homepage, and analyzed in rotation.

[Three Qinglan Project participants made the shortlist] [Lin Que ranked first in four public reading categories] [Two authors signed with New Tide broke into the top ten] [Sun Qiming's "pottery kiln" was called "the quietest blade" by readers] [Huanyu Publishing Group is absent from the core battlefield of the Youth Award for the first time]

These entries piled up layer by layer, directly pushing this year's Kunpeng Youth Literature Award to its highest level of popularity in years.

In the past, the Kunpeng Award only stirred excitement within literary circles. This year, even passersby who usually only look at trending topics could name a few of the contenders.

The publishing industry couldn't sit still either. The Youth Content Center of Xinrong Culture held two consecutive closed-door meetings, and several letters of intent for the ten finalists were reviewed line by line by their legal department.

Representatives from several veteran publishing houses arrived in the capital early, booking hotels near the Writers Association building.

Huanyu Group did not make any further public statements. Shen Jiangping's defeat was still hanging online; President Zhao blocked all interviews, letting his assistant only monitor media news flashes, forum public opinion, and industry quotes after the defense.

As for New Tide, they refused to disclose any plans regarding the development of new authors. Facing the cameras, Wang De'an only said two words: "Fate."

The Writers Association didn't relax either. Over the three days, the ten shortlisted authors each received the same disciplinary reminder.

They must not accept any hospitality that could affect impartiality. They must not leak defense materials. They must not probe for judge information through third parties. They must not have private contact with judges before the defense. Each point was stamped with the red seal of the China Writers Association.

On the morning of the fourth day, outside the main entrance of the China Writers Association building, media cameras and microphones had already formed an arc. Flashes went off every few seconds.

Online, only a three-minute delayed text feed was available; there was no video broadcast. In the forums, readers guarding the live update threads refreshed their pages until they lagged.

Some took screenshots. Some placed bets. Some spammed the same sentence for a whole page: [The most valuable year yet, who will actually take first place?]

The waiting area was set up on the second floor. A single corridor contained ten independent waiting rooms. Each author waited alone, unable to see each other or hear the sounds from the defense hall.

The order of the defense was locked in by a system lottery. Lin Que was tenth.

He sat by the window with a glass of warm water at his side. On the table lay the line-by-line annotations for "qin opera" that had been verified by staff; the corner of the file had a yellow seal and had to be returned before entering.

Every word choice. Every deletion or revision. Every source of material. He could explain them all clearly. This preparation had begun the day he first put pen to paper in Muchuan Town.

Lin Que knew very clearly that "qin opera" would sooner or later be pried open word by word.

In the lobby outside, the closed-circuit broadcast screens had lit up. The feed was synchronized only for credentialed media, the Writers Association supervision seats, and the teams of the shortlisted authors.

Chen Jiahao rubbed his palms against his pant legs over and over, his left foot stepping on his right, sitting down and then standing up again. Dan Yi stood beside him and patted his shoulder. He did not say any words of comfort. At a time like this, anything said would be too light.

At nine o'clock sharp, the main lights in the defense hall illuminated. Xue Hongchuan walked to the podium and picked up the microphone. The whole room went quiet.

"The final evaluation defense for this year's Kunpeng Youth Literature Award now begins." "The rules will only be stated once." "Each candidate will take the stage individually, with no time limit." "There is no limit to the number of rounds of questions from the judges." "Any judge may interrupt at any time to add follow-up questions."

He paused for half a second, his gaze sweeping over the cameras. "If a candidate remains silent for more than thirty seconds, the question will automatically be recorded as an invalid response and entered into the scoring system." "No appeals allowed." "No retractions allowed." "The entire process will be recorded, and the raw materials will be sealed by the Writers Association." "Credentialed media will supervise on-site, and the public records will be released uniformly after the competition."

In the outside lobby, the Qinglan Student all held their breath. Someone whispered, "This is even more ruthless than imagined." No one replied.

On the screen, the first lottery number lit up. Zhejiang author, Cheng Xiangbei. Twenty-nine years old. His work, "Huiwan," had a 72.1% completion rate during the public reading stage.

As soon as he sat down, the first blade fell. Professor Zhang opened the annotated manuscript, his voice steady. "Your protagonist proposes leaving the village in the third chapter, and then voluntarily returns in the fifth chapter." "The transition in between is explained only by a monologue." "Do you think this monologue is sufficient to support the character's motivation?"

Cheng Xiangbei nodded. His speech was steady, and his train of thought was clear. Professor Zhang did not stop. "Question one: You said he returned because his father was critically ill." "Question two: After returning to the village, he didn't see his father immediately, but went to the old elementary school first." "Question three: In the scene at the old elementary school, he said he had wanted to come back for a long time." "So, which force is actually driving him?"

Sweat beaded on Cheng Xiangbei's forehead. Professor Zhang continued to press. Question four. Question five. Question six. Each question dug deeper, pressing on the same line of character logic.

When the seventh question fell, Cheng Xiangbei opened his mouth. The timer screen began to tick. Ten seconds. Twenty seconds. Thirty seconds. "Ding." A red prompt lit up. He finally squeezed out half an explanation, but the system bar had already displayed a line of text: [Invalid Response]

In the outside lobby, Chen Jiahao shoved his hands into his pockets and clenched them tightly. The delayed news feed thread exploded instantly. [They actually deducted it? Marking it invalid as soon as thirty seconds pass?] [This pressure is much stronger than a thesis defense.] [The first one was already pried open, what about those who follow?] [Don't forget, Lin Que is still ranked last.]

The second author took the stage and was questioned about the source of their dialect. They produced a complete timeline of their field research, recording numbers, and revision records, passing steadily.

The third author got stuck on character motivation. In the previous round, they said the protagonist was "forced to stay," but in the next, they said the protagonist "chose to stay voluntarily." The judging panel recorded the contradiction on the spot, and the defense score was deducted.

The fourth number lit up. Qingbei School of Literature. Tang He. When she walked into the defense hall, her back was very straight. After sitting down, she placed her hands on the table, her fingertips not moving at all.

Elder Cui Wen spoke first. In front of him lay the printed annotations for "the market." "Point of view issue." "In the first four chapters, you switch back and forth between four characters." "In the third chapter, the viewpoint shifts seven times." "I believe this frequency affects reader immersion." "How do you explain this?"

Tang He paused for two seconds. ""the market" is written as a space for an ensemble cast." "The stall owners, the elderly buying groceries, the agents pushing for demolition, the students passing by every day—the time they spend in the market is very short." "In a real market, people's attention is constantly pulled away by hawking, the sound of small change, the sound of bicycle repairs, and the flow of people." "I let the perspective rotate because I want the reader to be led by this space."

Elder Cui Wen lowered his head to make a note, without expressing an opinion. Another judge followed up with the second question. "Ensemble writing is prone to being scattered." "Readers need emotional anchors." "What do you use to maintain emotional coherence?" Tang He's fingertips pressed lightly against the tabletop. ...