63: The Man Waiting to Die

The next morning, at the Jinling Olympic Sports Center.

The massive stadium had been converted into a temporary examination hall.

Thousands of tables and chairs were neatly arranged, creating a spectacular scene reminiscent of military formation.

Sunlight streamed through the glass dome, illuminating the fine dust particles floating in the air.

Lin Que sat in a window seat in the 12th row.

It was an excellent position.

It wasn't the most conspicuous front row, nor was it a corner easily forgotten by the invigilators.

To his left was a massive floor-to-ceiling window, and to his right... Lin Que looked up, glancing at the camera flashing a red light diagonally above him.

That was Camera Position 3.

He had confirmed in the backend system last night,

that this position was the switch point between panoramic and close-up views, offering the best visibility,

and was one of the areas Gu Changfeng was most likely to focus on.

At this moment, in the monitoring room of the Provincial Writers Association,

Gu Changfeng was probably staring at this screen, looking for so-called “promising talents.”

Lin Que pulled a black signature pen from his pencil case and spun it twice between his fingers.

A sense of absurd displacement arose spontaneously.

He was being monitored, yet the person doing the “monitoring” was also himself.

He could even imagine Gu Changfeng's expression right now

— holding a teacup, pointing at the screen, perhaps even sighing with emotion:

“Jian Shen, Teacher, what do you think of the mental state of this batch of candidates?”

Meanwhile, the account belonging to “Jian Shen, Teacher,”

was currently logged in on the computer Lin Que had left in his hotel room,

showing an online status, silent as a Buddha.

“The examination has begun. Candidates, please start answering the questions.”

An emotionless electronic voice came over the broadcast.

The rustling sound of papers being flipped instantly echoed throughout the stadium, like a flock of birds flapping their wings simultaneously.

Lin Que flipped open his test paper.

Sure enough, the essay topic consisted of only two characters: [Waiting].

Below it was a line of smaller introductory text:

*Some people are waiting for a bus that will never come, others are waiting for a letter that cannot be sent.

Waiting is a gap in time, and also a foreshadowing of hope.

Please write an article on the topic of “Waiting,” with no restriction on genre (excluding poetry), and no less than 800 words.*

Very artistic, very “worry solver.”

Lin Que was not in a hurry to start writing.

He unscrewed his bottle of mineral water and took a sip.

His gaze passed over the backs of those scribbling furiously in the front rows and landed on Zhao Zichen diagonally ahead of him.

Zhao Zichen's back was ramrod straight; he hadn't even thought for very long before starting to list an outline on his scratch paper.

Lin Que withdrew his gaze.

He hoped his words from last night had given the guy a clue.

Looking next to him at Zhang Ya, she was frowning deeply and biting her pen cap,

seemingly struggling over which touching story template to choose.

Lin Que glanced at the camera again.

If Gu Changfeng was watching here right now, what would he see?

A student daydreaming? A clueless poor student?

The corner of Lin Que's mouth curled up slightly.

Since he was going to act, he might as well go all the way.

Instead of immediately entering a fighting state like the others, he leaned down on his desk,

covering his head with his school uniform jacket, striking a classic “I'm sleeping” pose... Provincial Writers Association Monitoring Room.

Gu Changfeng held the purple clay teapot in his hand, his gaze sweeping across the massive video wall.

Dozens of split screens continuously switched, displaying the real-time conditions of the various examination rooms.

“The students this year are getting started very quickly.”

The leader from the Education Department next to him said with a smile.

“Look at that one, only five minutes in, and they've already written half a page.”

Gu Changfeng nodded, his expression gentle:

“Their fundamentals are solid. However, writing quickly isn't necessarily a good thing.

The topic 'Waiting' seems simple, but it actually requires depth.

If they rush to write, they might only scratch the surface."

Just then, Secretary Jiang Min pointed to a corner of Screen 3:

“Chairman, look at that student.”

Gu Changfeng followed her finger.

In the frame, a boy wearing a blue and white school uniform was lying on his desk,

his head covered by his clothes, completely motionless.

The surrounding candidates were racing against time,

but he alone looked as comfortable as if he were at home.

“Is he... asleep?”

The leader from the Education Department frowned.

“Which school is he from? Sleeping during such a serious competition?”

Gu Changfeng narrowed his eyes, staring at the figure for a few seconds.

“Zoom in on Camera Position 3.”

The image magnified.

On the half of the boy's wrist that was exposed, a black signature pen was spinning.

Although he was lying down, the pen spun rapidly between his fingers, like a black flower.

“He's not sleeping.”

Gu Changfeng smiled.

“He is thinking.”

“Thinking requires covering his head?”

“Perhaps he feels he gets more inspiration that way.”

Gu Changfeng took a sip of tea.

“That's interesting. If Jian Shen, Teacher saw this, he would probably find it amusing too. Jiang Min, check this candidate's information.”

Jiang Min tapped on her tablet a few times and quickly pulled up the profile.

“Lin Que, 11th-grade student at Jiangcheng No. 1 High School.

His previous preliminary entry was 'A Reply Letter Sent to Heaven,'

the child who wrote 'Money is in the card, love is in the wind.'”

“Oh?”

Gu Changfeng raised an eyebrow.

“So it's him. The young man Professor Li called a 'monster.'”

He put down his teacup and nodded towards the “God of Sleep” on the screen... Inside the examination room.

Lin Que, of course, wasn't sleeping.

In the small, dark world constructed by his school uniform, he was formulating his essay.

What should he write about?

Should he write about Grandpa Namiya from The Miracles of the Namiya General Store waiting for letters from consultants?

Too straightforward; it could easily be judged as plagiarism or pandering to the judges.

Write about something strange? Death?

Shen Qingqiu would probably strangle him on the spot.

Since the topic is 'Waiting,' and it's the Jieyou Cup,

he must write something with that “warm cruelty.”

He suddenly threw off his school uniform; the blinding light made him squint.

This action startled the invigilator nearby,

who thought the student was abandoning the exam and leaving.

Lin Que ignored the surrounding glances. He sat up straight,

took a deep breath, and put pen to paper, writing down the title on the answer sheet.

the person waiting to die

It wasn't about a person, nor was it about an event.

He was going to write about the redemption of “malice.”

The pen tip met the paper, and ink flowed.

[Under the bridge arch of Jiangcheng Bridge lived a homeless man named Old Crow.

He was extremely ugly, with a scar running across his face, and he smelled of sour stench.

No one had ever seen him beg, nor had anyone seen him pick up trash.

He only did one thing

— Wait.]

[Every day he squatted by the riverside railing, waiting for those who wanted to jump into the river.]

[Late at night, a bankrupt middle-aged man climbed over the railing, his face filled with despair.

Old Crow crawled out of the shadows, offering no dissuasion,

but instead rubbed his hands together excitedly, his cloudy eyes fixed on the watch on the man's wrist.]

[“Are you going to die? That's great.” Old Crow's voice was like sandpaper rubbing.

“Once you die, this watch will be mine.

And your leather shoes, they look quite new. Take them off before you jump. It's cold in the water anyway, so it doesn't matter if you wear them or not.”]

[The man froze, turning to look at this disgusting beggar.

Old Crow pulled out a bottle of Erguotou that was half-empty from his embrace,

The bottle was still stained with yellow grease.

He offered it forward, his voice hoarse:

“Want a sip? Drink this, and you'll be braver; it won't hurt when you jump.

Hurry up and jump, I'm waiting to collect the body, and I might make a fortune tonight.”]

[The man took the liquor. It was the only warmth in this cold night.

However, just as the man tilted his head back to drink, Old Crow suddenly rushed forward,

snatched the briefcase the man had placed on the ground, turned, and ran, cursing over his shoulder as he fled:

“Idiot! You're about to die, why do you need a bag! Is there money in it? It's mine now!”]

[The man was stunned for a second, then erupted into a sky-shattering roar:

“You old beast! Give me back my bag!”

Despair instantly turned into rage. The man flipped back over the railing and chased after Old Crow like a madman.]

[Old Crow didn't run fast, but he always managed to slip into a deeper alley just as the man was about to catch up, letting out a jarring laugh:

“Come on! Come chase me! If you can't catch me, go die! I'll spend your money for you!”]

[That night, the man chased him for five kilometers.

Until he collapsed exhausted outside the police station, until the police restrained the panting homeless man.]

[The man retrieved his bag, looking at Old Crow, who was handcuffed to a radiator, hating him intensely.

Old Crow merely shrank into the corner, his face bearing that irritating, greedy smile, muttering, “Too bad, I didn't get that watch.”]

[The man left. He hadn't died, because anger made him forget despair, and the chase made him sweat, sobering him up.]

[Such incidents happened countless times.

[Girls heartbroken by love, students who failed exams, elderly people diagnosed with terminal illnesses... Old Crow always appeared on time, humiliating them with the most vicious language, snatching their belongings,

forcing them to climb down from the railing and turn into angry beasts chasing after him.]

[Everyone hated him. He was a cancer on the riverbank, a ghoul waiting to scavenge.

Until that winter, Old Crow froze to death under the bridge arch.]

[When the police cleared his belongings, they found a moldy tin box.

There was no money in the box, no gold watch.

Only stacks of neatly kept newspaper clippings and an account book.

The clippings featured news of the bankrupt man's comeback,

photos of the heartbroken girl's wedding, and the good news of the failed student being admitted to university...]

[On the first page of the account book, a line was written crookedly:

“Number 49. He didn't jump. He cursed me, saying my son wouldn't have an asshole. That's good; if he has the strength to curse, he can live.”]

[It turned out he guarded the edge of death not to scavenge.

[He used his own dignity and life as bait, using malice to ignite vitality.

He was waiting to die, waiting for those who wanted to die to live again.]

[He was the ugliest fiend in this world, and the riverbank's sole sentinel.]

Lin Que wrote quickly.

His handwriting wasn't as neat and print-like as Zhao Zichen's, but possessed a sharp, cursive quality.

He crushed the horror elements and hid them beneath a veneer of warmth.

He then hid the warmth within the deepest malice.

Was that Old Crow a villain? Yes.

He robbed, he insulted, he was greedy.

But he was also a saint.

He used a nearly self-destructive method to erect a human wall before the abyss of despair.

It aligned with the healing core of the worry solver while possessing the peculiar aesthetic unique to the Dream Weaver.

It was like adding a drop of ink to hot milk.

After writing the final period, Lin Que checked the time.

There were still forty minutes left until the exam ended.

He put down his pen and looked up at the camera again.

This time, he didn't hide,

but instead, he gave the lens a meaningful smile...