589: Chapter 589 Don't Just Look at the Character Lines - Sponsored by <Pure-Hearted Men Love Reading>

The lights in the judging hall were brighter than expected.

On the terminal screens of the seven judges, the annotation page for Tang He's work, *the market*, floated simultaneously. Elder Cui Wen's fingertip rested on a spot in the third chapter, motionless.

Tang He sat at the defense table, her back straight.

Elder Cui Wen's second question still hung in the air.

Tang He paused for a second.

A scene suddenly flashed through her mind.

It was the day after the public reading session, when the entire cohort of Qinglan Student were critiquing each other's work in the large classroom. After Lin Que finished flipping through her draft, he only said six words: "Don't just look at the character arc."

That night, she had marked every point in *the market* where the ringing sound appeared, transformed, or was absent, one by one into her defense notes.

She looked up.

"I used the ringing sound from the repair stall at the street corner."

"It is the main anchor point for *the market*."

"As long as the ringing is there, the reader stays in that space. Characters can rotate, but the space remains intact."

Elder Cui Wen turned to the third chapter.

He paused for more than ten seconds.

His fingertip pressed on the location of the sixth viewpoint shift in the third chapter.

"The first five viewpoint shifts were carried by the ringing, the lingering echoes, and the sound of the repair shop chains, respectively."

"The sixth time, the sound system cuts out completely."

"Why?"

Tang He's breath hitched for a split second.

She hadn't marked that specific spot separately.

The timer screen began to count down.

One second.

Two seconds.

Three seconds.

Someone in the judging hall put down their pen.

Her fingers tightened under the table, then relaxed.

Four seconds.

She looked up.

"Because the sixth shift occurs at the moment the demolition notice is posted on the wall."

"That notice suppresses the original sounds of *the market*."

"The absence of the ringing represents the first crack in the daily order."

"For the reader to feel uncomfortable on that page is more effective than continuing to hear the ringing."

Elder Cui Wen's pen tip wrote a line of text beside that passage.

Su Mubai looked up.

"What if the reader doesn't realize the ringing is absent?"

"Does your design still have meaning?"

Tang He did not pause this time.

"It does."

"The reader might not say, 'The ringing stopped.' But they will feel that the page suddenly turns cold."

"That is the kind of coldness I wanted."

"*the market* is still there, and the people are still there, but it has already begun to lose its original breath."

The judges conferred in low voices for a moment.

The recorder looked up.

"Defense concluded."

Tang He stood up. Her legs felt a bit stiff.

She walked out of the defense hall, stopped in the hallway for a few seconds, and only then did she unclench her fists.

The post outside the venue was flooded with comments.

[Tang He's on-the-spot reaction was really steady.]

[The absence of the ringing can also be a structural point? Learned something new.]

[The Qinglan Student must have practiced critiquing each other; otherwise, she wouldn't have been able to handle that question.]

[Don't rush, Young Master Xu is coming up next.]

The fifth number lit up.

The volume of discussion in the hall outside dropped significantly.

Qingbei School of Literature. Xu Changge.

He pushed open the door and entered, his expression calm.

After sitting down, he placed his hands on the table. His shoulders were relaxed yet steady, and his breathing remained unchanged.

Professor Zhang's first question went straight to the core.

"You wrote about the Gobi line inspector and the rule of 'must stop when hailed.'"

"Stopping in an extreme sandstorm increases the risk of death."

"Could this rule be written by you as a moral slogan detached from common sense?"

Xu Changge looked up.

"In the text, this rule comes with a cost-benefit analysis."

"Before stopping, Old Ma checked the fuel gauge, wind direction, and distance. He left his location with the station using an old radio and also calculated the fuel for the return trip."

"The act of saving someone stems first from survival experience in the Gobi, and only afterwards does it become a moral choice."

On the judging panel, someone looked up at him.

Another elderly judge followed up with the second question.

"What is the purpose of the seven knots on the old rope?"

Xu Changge answered quickly.

"The seven knots correspond to the seven times Old Ma was saved by others."

The elder turned a page.

"Seven times? The text only clearly mentions three. What is the basis for the remaining four?"

Xu Changge's fingertip paused slightly on the table.

"In the second chapter, there is a close-up of the old rope. 'Some knots are worn white, while others still have the fuzz of new hemp.'"

"The difference in wear indicates that the knots were not tied at the same time."

"Three are explicitly written, while four are hidden in the layers of the rope's age."

The elder turned back to that passage and stared at it for a few seconds.

He raised his hand to signal him to continue.

Third question. Fourth question. Fifth question.

Xu Changge remained unflustered throughout.

A judge followed up by asking why the young line inspector didn't say "thank you" at the end.

Xu Changge's answer was soft.

"Because he has already accepted that rule."

"To him, gratitude expressed through the next act of stopping is weightier than saying it out loud."

The timer screen did not turn red.

The recording desk wrote two words on the last line.

In the hall outside, Chen Jiahao wiped his face vigorously.

"Brother Xu is really steady."

Dan Yi nodded.

"His work has landed."

Xu Changge stood up, bowed slightly to the judging panel, and turned to leave.

For the next four people, the door to the defense hall opened and closed repeatedly.

Some held their ground. Their source materials were organized neatly, and every revision could be traced back to their field notes. Sun Qiming's *pottery kiln* was questioned for four consecutive rounds; he explained the origins of every detail—the thermometer, the kiln ash, the kiln keeper's door-pushing action—with absolute clarity.

Su Mubai asked him: "Why didn't you just write that the kiln keeper missed the kiln fire?"

Sun Qiming looked up.

"Once 'missing' is spoken, the weight of the emotion lightens."

"He checks the thermometer every day to confirm that the kiln is still part of his daily life."

"If the kiln goes cold, the thermometer won't rise. But as long as he keeps checking it, the kiln hasn't completely disappeared."

Su Mubai wrote a long note on the evaluation form.

Others did not hold up. The ninth candidate had their defense cracked open during the third round of questioning regarding character motivation. In one round, they said "forced to stay," and in the next, it became "active choice." The judges recorded the contradiction on the spot.

When the timer screen skipped past twenty seconds, sweat was already beading on that person's forehead.

In the hall outside, Chen Jiahao sat straighter and straighter.

Every time the door opened, he would instinctively look toward the end of the hallway. The door to Lin Que's waiting room remained closed.

3:46 PM.

The broadcast in the waiting area sounded.

"The last candidate."

"Qingbei School of Literature, Lin Que, please enter the defense hall."

In the hall outside, the closed-circuit feed cut to the defense table.

The online delayed post paused briefly.

Two seconds later, the comment section was flooded with the same phrase.

[Lin Que is here.]

[*qin opera* is finally here.]

[The finale enters, where will the judging panel make their first cut?]

The door to the defense hall was pushed open.

Lin Que walked in.

He folded his jacket neatly and draped it over the back of his chair. Then, he sat down at the defense table.

No pleasantries. No unnecessary movements. His gaze swept across the judging panel one by one.

Su Mubai closed his teacup lid. Elder Cui Wen turned his annotated manuscript to the first page. Beside the recording desk, the second timer started simultaneously.

In the hall outside, Chen Jiahao's back straightened.

He didn't clench his fists like Tang He did when she entered, nor did he mutter to himself like Xu Changge did before going on stage.

He just stared at the screen, the bottle of water in his hands twisted open and closed repeatedly, three times, without taking a single sip.

Dan Yi stood beside him, his gaze fixed motionlessly on the screen.

Inside the defense hall, Professor Zhang spoke first.

No build-up. No transition.

The first cut landed directly.

"I heard you spent a month gathering material in Muchuan Town."

Lin Que nodded.

"Yes."

"The narrative of *qin opera* relies on real-life prototypes."

Professor Zhang pushed a printed manuscript to the center of the table.

"My question is right here."

"You wrote the behavioral rhythms of Old Zhao and Auntie Song to be almost seamless."

"Their footsteps, pauses, and opera singing are highly synchronized."

"Does this kind of synchronization actually exist in reality?"

"Or is it that, in order to complete your literary structure, you placed two real people into a narrative template you designed?"

The defense hall went instantly silent.

Once this question was posed, no one in the hall outside spoke either.

Admitting the rhythm was processed would lead the judging panel to continue questioning whether the characters were manipulated by the structure.

Insisting that every beat came from reality would require providing evidence precise down to the actions and singing style.

Both paths were blades. This was the deepest gate of *qin opera*.

Lin Que looked up.

He didn't rush to refute. Nor did he explain immediately.

His fingertips pressed lightly on the printed manuscript on the table.

Three seconds.

He looked at Professor Zhang.

"Professor Zhang, I would like to confirm a premise first."

His voice was very steady.

"Do you believe that truth in literature means every detail in reality can be replicated one-to-one?"

"Or does it mean that the actions characters take under their own logic are sufficient to make the reader believe?"