67: Killing three birds with one stone

Purple Gold Villa.

The smoke from burning tobacco swirled under the ceiling light, lingering and refusing to dissipate.

Everyone's gaze was fixed on the phone screen placed in the center of the table.

The screen remained lit, displaying the message sent by Jian Shen.

“Gods do not save sentient beings from suffering, yet evil spirits walk among mortals.”

A long silence.

Deputy Director of the Provincial Department of Education, Zhou Weiguo, was the first to break the silence.

He rubbed his temples wearily, then put his glasses back on:

“What a line, 'yet evil spirits walk among mortals.'

Jian Shen's comment is even sharper than the essay itself.”

He looked at Yan Zheng, who had been silent:

“Teacher Yan, what do you think?”

Yan Zheng didn't answer immediately.

He stared intently at the line of text.

As a senior special-grade Chinese teacher in the province, he was always known for his rigor and orthodoxy.

In his decades of teaching career,

literature was meant to convey principles, to praise truth, goodness, and beauty.

But now, someone was telling him,

compassion could also wear the guise of an evil spirit.

“The surgeon's scalpel and the butcher's cleaver...”

Yan Zheng repeated Jian Shen's message in a low, somewhat hoarse voice.

“There is no essential difference; the difference lies in the heart of the person holding the blade.”

He slowly closed his eyes,

and in the darkness, the scene from the essay “the person waiting to die” reappeared.

Under the Jiangcheng Bridge,

the stinking homeless man named Old Crow,

was using the most vicious language to insult the bankrupt person attempting suicide.

Spittle flew, his face repulsive.

But it was this demonic face that verbally dragged the person back from the clutches of death.

If it were before, he would have unhesitatingly dismissed it as sophistry.

But today,

these words came from Jian Shen.

Jian Shen, who wrote “The Miracles of the Namiya General Store” and healed countless people with the gentlest brushstrokes.

Even the one who understood goodness best acknowledged this 'evil',

was his insistence on that zero score

upholding a bottom line, or stifling another form of salvation?

“I...”

Yan Zheng opened his eyes,

his back, which had been straight all evening, seemed to slump a little.

In its place,

was a deep sense of powerlessness, and the admiration hidden behind that powerlessness.

“I retract my previous comment.”

Yan Zheng reached out and picked up the red pen on the table.

The tip of the pen hovered above the test paper, trembled for a moment, then fell heavily.

He drew a circle around the glaring '0' score.

The red circle was like a shackle, locking away his prejudice.

“Teacher Jian Shen is right. It is us... it is I, who was narrow-minded.”

Yan Zheng's voice was low.

“I only saw the ugliness of the appearance, not the compassion in the core.

This essay deserves a perfect score.”

Ma Peiyuan breathed a sigh of relief, a smile appearing on his face:

Hoo—

Ma Peiyuan, sitting opposite, let out a long breath,

his tense shoulders relaxed, and a smile spread across his face.

“Since Teacher Yan has conceded, this matter is easier to handle.

Chairman Gu, Director Zhou, then... is this settled?”

Zhou Weiguo nodded, tapping his fingers lightly on the tabletop:

“Settled. Not just a perfect score...”

He paused for a moment, scanning the room.

“Since Teacher Jian Shen has made such a strong statement,

if we only give a perfect score, it would make our Department of Education seem too petty.”

“Then Director Zhou, what do you mean?”

Ma Peiyuan looked at Zhou Weiguo in confusion.

Zhou Weiguo pondered for a moment, then stood up directly and looked at Ma Peiyuan.

“Give this child the Special Award!”

“Special Award?”

Ma Peiyuan was stunned, the teacup he had just picked up almost spilled.

“Special talent, special treatment.”

Zhou Weiguo stood up and adjusted the slightly wrinkled hem of his shirt.

“If we're going to break the rules, let's break them thoroughly.

I also want to see how big a stir this 'evil spirit' essay will create across the province once it's released.”

Gu Changfeng, Gu Changfeng, who had been silent, picked up the Zisha teapot.

He brought the spout to his lips and took a sip of the slightly cool tea.

His eyes narrowed into slits, and a smile spilled from the wrinkles at their corners.

“Director Zhou has courage.”

Gu Changfeng put down the teapot, his tone becoming meaningful.

“However, to protect the candidate, this news must be kept absolutely confidential before the awards ceremony.

Especially from Teacher Yan, who gave the zero score; we still need to put on a show for the public, so that the child doesn't become a target too early.”

Yan Zheng gave a bitter smile, capped the red pen, and tossed it back into the pen holder.

“Chairman Gu, please don't tease me. I'll play the villain, but this child...”

He glanced at the test paper on the table, his gaze complex.

“Is truly a prodigy.”

...Jinling International Conference Center.

Lin Que closed his laptop and stretched with a big yawn.

The night view of Jinling outside the window was still brilliant, but all he wanted to do was collapse into bed.

Being both a contestant and a judge seemed cool, but it was actually quite mentally taxing.

Especially that last comment,

it had to fit Jian Shen's high-class persona, legitimize the dark style of “the person waiting to die”,

and also subtly advertise “the human world is like a prison”.

Killing three birds with one stone.

“Gods do not save sentient beings from suffering, yet evil spirits walk among mortals.”

Lin Que silently repeated the line in his heart.

“This copy, even if used as a synopsis on Hong Guo Net, would probably add a lot of clicks.”

“Lin Que, are you asleep?”

Zhao Zichen's faint voice came from the adjacent bed.

Lin Que rolled over and looked at the next bed.

Zhao Zichen was staring at the ceiling,

his glasses off and placed on the bedside table, looking somewhat anxious.

“No. What's wrong, homesick?”

Lin Que teased.

“No.”

Zhao Zichen sat up, scratching his hair.

“I've been thinking about today's essay.”

He turned his head to Lin Que.

“Although I think I wrote well, I always feel... something is missing.”

Zhao Zichen paused, his voice dropping a few notes.

“Especially that line you said after the exam, 'not quite right'.

Lin Que, did you already guess the topic?”

Lin Que raised an eyebrow.

Guess the topic?

Could it be that the Chairman told him personally?

But he obviously couldn't say that.

“If I could guess the topic, I'd go buy a lottery ticket and stay in a presidential suite, instead of squeezing into a standard room with you here?”

Lin Que yawned.

“Don't overthink it.

Literature, sometimes, is just about luck, or what you call 'destiny'.”

He pulled the blanket over himself, wrapping himself up, his voice muffled.

“Even if a blind cat stumbled upon a dead mouse and got the topic right,

maybe the scoring teacher just broke up, and found your writing about Su Wu herding sheep too bitter, too tragic,

and gave you a low score instead.”

Zhao Zichen was choked for a moment, then lay back down on the bed:

“Can't you wish me well?

Teacher Shen said that if I can get a second prize this time, I'll have a chance for independent enrollment in the college entrance exam.

This is very important to me.”

“Second prize?”

Lin Que's voice, carrying a hint of laziness, came from the darkness as he rolled over.

“Old Zhao, don't just stare at your feet.”

“Who knows, next to that zero score, there might just be a perfect score?”

...