69: Strong medicine cures serious illness

“Oh my... Special Prize? Does that mean it’s higher than the First Prize?”

“Does that even need to be said? There are eight First Prizes, but only one of this!”

“Who is Lin Que? I’ve never heard of him before.”

“Wait, why did Teacher Jian Shen give such a high evaluation?”

“The only Special Prize? Oh my god! I can’t imagine the value of that...”

...In the seating area of Jiangcheng No. 1 High School, the air seemed to freeze.

Zhang Ya still clutched the certificate for the Third Prize in her hand,

her mouth slightly open, staring blankly at the big screen.

A second ago, she was still feeling pity for Lin Que’s failure,

and even a trace of hidden relief.

She felt that she hadn’t been left too far behind after all.

The next second, reality slapped her hard across the face.

Special Prize.

The only one.

These two words combined,

made her Third Prize look like a consolation award.

Zhao Zichen wasn’t faring much better.

He had just won the First Prize,

immersed in the joy of “bringing honor to his ancestors,” his back perfectly straight.

Now, it was as if that straight spine had been yanked out,

and he slumped against the chair back, his hand shaking as he adjusted his glasses.

He recalled last night,

Lin Que’s casual remark, “Maybe right next door to zero points is a perfect score.”

It turned out this guy wasn’t trying to comfort anyone.

The most spectacular reaction came from Liu Yi of the neighboring Experimental Middle School.

Teacher Liu had just been sitting with his legs crossed,

wearing that “I see through everything” smile, ready to watch Jiangcheng No. 1 High School become a laughingstock.

Now, that crossed leg was frozen mid-air,

unable to be put down or kept up.

Special Prize?

The essay that received zero points actually won the Special Prize?

How is that possible?

Has the Provincial Department of Education gone mad? Has the Writers Association gone mad?

Shen Qingqiu sat rooted to the spot, gripping the edge of her handbag tightly with both hands.

Her eyes, she didn't know when, had turned red.

It wasn't from grievance, but from satisfaction.

It was immensely satisfying!

Liu Yi's previous sarcasm and the strange looks from her colleagues,

all instantly became a joke.

She wanted to laugh, and she wanted to cry,

but she forcefully held back, adopting a calm expression that said, “As expected,”

even though her heart was pounding like a drum.

“Lin Que...”

Shen Qingqiu turned her head, her voice slightly trembling.

“Stop sleeping.”

The protagonist, at this moment, was curled up in his chair,

the collar of his school uniform jacket pulled up to hide half his face,

his eyes half-closed, looking completely spaced out.

Hearing Shen Qingqiu’s call,

Lin Que slowly opened his eyes, yawned,

reached into his pocket, fumbled around, pulled out a mint candy, unwrapped it, and tossed it into his mouth.

“Oh.”

He replied indistinctly.

“Is it over? Can we go eat now?”

Shen Qingqiu almost laughed out of exasperation, slapping him on the arm:

“Forget eating! Get on stage! Accept your award! The Special Prize!”

“Special Prize?”

Lin Que chewed the candy, smacking his lips.

“It’s not as interesting as the zero points that old man gave me.”

Though he complained, he slowly stood up nonetheless.

His school uniform zipper was still undone, hanging loosely on him.

Because he had been leaning while sleeping, a tuft of hair was sticking up.

Among the high-achieving students who sat upright with perfectly pressed uniforms,

he looked like an ugly duckling who had infiltrated a flock of swans, and a sleepy one at that.

The moment he stood up, all surrounding gazes instantly focused on him.

This is Lin Que?

This is the one Teacher Jian Shen evaluated as “An Evil Spirit Roaming the Human World”?

Why does he look like he just stumbled out of an internet cafe after an all-nighter?

Lin Que completely ignored these gazes.

Hands in his pockets, he shuffled toward the aisle.

The aisle was narrow, and Liu Yi’s stiff leg was still blocking the way.

Liu Yi hadn't recovered from the shock yet; he was in a state of system failure,

staring intently at Lin Que,

his lips trembling as he tried to speak, but no sound came out.

Lin Que stopped, his eyelids drooping,

looking down at the teacher who had been so sarcastic just moments ago.

He showed no mockery, no anger, and didn't even look Teacher Liu in the face.

“Teacher.”

Lin Que spoke languidly.

“Excuse me, your leg is blocking the light.”

Liu Yi flinched as if burned, violently pulling his leg back.

Lin Que didn’t spare him another glance,

stepping over the cleared space and walking toward the podium.

His figure was thin, his steps leisurely,

yet he walked with the imposing aura of a 'thousand armies avoiding the white robe.'

Shen Qingqiu watched his retreating figure, her lips finally curling into a smile.

She turned to look at Liu Yi, whose face was pale green, and lightly brushed non-existent dust from her skirt.

“Teacher Liu, it seems the rumor about ‘zero points’ wasn’t true, eh?”

Liu Yi opened his mouth, but it was as if a fish bone was stuck in his throat; he couldn’t utter a single word.

He stiffly pulled his legs in, his gaze frantically cast elsewhere,

afraid to meet any of the surrounding eyes.

By this time, Lin Que had reached the bottom of the stage.

The host was so excited his voice was cracking:

“Let us welcome, with the warmest applause,

the winner of the first ‘Jieyou Cup’ Special Prize—

Student Lin Que!”

Thunderous applause erupted.

Lin Que walked up the steps, treading on the red carpet.

The spotlight shining on him was a bit dazzling.

He estimated the weight of the trophy, calculating internally:

This thing looks impressive. If I take it back to Mom,

she’ll probably keep that red banner hung up until the Lunar New Year next year.

On stage, Deputy Director of the Provincial Department of Education Zhou Weiguo personally held the trophy and certificate,

waiting for him with a beaming smile.

Standing next to him was Gu Changfeng Gu Changfeng,

the old man who always smiled like a Maitreya Buddha,

who was now sizing up Lin Que with a knowing look.

Lin Que walked up to the two men and bowed slightly, a gesture of respect toward elders.

Zhou Weiguo handed over the heavy trophy but didn't let go immediately,

instead lowering his voice to a volume only they could hear:

“Student Lin, your essay is wild enough. However, Teacher Jian Shen asked me to pass on a message.”

Lin Que raised an eyebrow, finding it quite amusing internally.

I’m sending a message to myself? How did I not know?

But he maintained the look of a well-behaved high school student on the surface, blinking:

“Director Zhou, please speak.”

Zhou Weiguo leaned in closer, his eyes twinkling mischievously:

“He said, it’s fine to write about evil spirits, but don’t live your life as one.

The old comrades on the Grading Panel don’t have the strongest hearts.”

Lin Que paused.

This message was clearly not from “Jian Shen,” but Zhou Weiguo making a jest.

Was this old fox implying that he saw the immersive “madness” within the essay?

Lin Que smiled faintly, accepting the trophy,

and replied softly:

“A strong medicine to cure the disease. Only by giving a scare can those pretending to sleep wake up.”

Zhou Weiguo was stunned for a moment, then burst into loud laughter, patting Lin Que hard on the shoulder.

“Good boy! I like you!”

This sudden burst of laughter echoed throughout the venue via the microphone,

leaving the teachers and students below completely baffled.

What exactly did Lin Que say to make the serious Director Zhou laugh like that?

Gu Changfeng stroked his beard on the side, smiling without speaking.

The host timely handed over the microphone:

“It seems Director Zhou is highly impressed with our Special Prize winner.

So, Student Lin Que, having won this sole Special Prize,

and received such high praise from Teacher Jian Shen, do you have anything you’d like to say to everyone?”

The entire venue fell silent.

Everyone pricked up their ears,

wanting to hear what profound statement this “Prodigy” would deliver.

Will he thank his teachers? Thank his parents? Or talk about his creative inspiration?

Lin Que held the microphone with one hand, not rushing to speak.

Silence spread, suppressing all the noise in the venue.

His gaze swept across the dense crowd below the stage.

He saw the excited Shen Qingqiu, the conflicted Zhao Zichen, the ashamed, head-bowed Liu Yi,

and he saw many more eyes filled with curiosity, jealousy, and scrutiny.

He suddenly felt a little bored.

This kind of occasion was like a masquerade ball.

Everyone was playing the role society assigned them, saying appropriate things.

Since everyone was so proper, someone had to stir up some trouble.

Lin Que took a deep breath and began to speak.

“Actually, I don’t have much to say.”

His first sentence stunned the host.

“When I wrote this essay, I never thought about winning an award.

In fact, I was prepared to get zero points.”

A commotion broke out below the stage.

Lin Que’s voice was calm, without any inflection.

“Earlier, everyone was discussing ‘waiting.’

Some wait for flowers to bloom, some wait for the rain to stop, some wait for dreams to come true.

These things are beautiful, truly.”

He paused, then changed the subject.

“But literature shouldn’t only be beautiful.”

“While we sit in bright classrooms, reciting ‘Facing the sea, with spring blossoms,’

a homeless person under a bridge is fighting with a stray dog over a bun.

While we praise ‘human nature is inherently good’ in our essays,

someone in a hospital corridor is kneeling and kowtowing because they can’t afford medical treatment.”

“Light is precious because darkness is everywhere.”

Lin Que’s gaze turned cold.

“The Old Crow I wrote about, he’s a bastard.

He robs, he curses, he’s greedy.

But, he saves people.

Why?

Because for those who want to die, gentle persuasion is sometimes futile.

Only purer malice can ignite their survival instinct.

It’s anger, it’s defiance, it’s the wild instinct to prove, ‘I can’t just die like this.’”

“So, don’t treat literature as a flower in a greenhouse.”

Lin Que raised the trophy in his hand, shaking it toward the lights, like he was swinging a knife.

“It should be a scalpel.

Even if cutting causes pain and bleeding,

the wound can only heal once the abscess is cut open.”

“This award isn’t for me.”

He looked at Shen Qingqiu in the audience, then toward the distant void.

“It’s for the Old Crow under the bridge, and for all the ‘evil spirits’ who struggle in despair yet still choose to live.”

“Thank you.”

After Lin Que finished speaking, he shoved the microphone back into the stunned host’s hand and turned to leave.

There were no impassioned clichés, no tearful thanks.

Resolute and straightforward.

The entire venue was dead silent.

A full five seconds passed.

Yan Zheng, the ‘Iron-Faced Judge’ who had once given the zero score, stood up first from the front row.

His face was flushed red, and he clapped loudly.

“Excellent!”

This shout was like a signal.

Immediately afterward, Gu Changfeng clapped, and Zhou Weiguo clapped.

Shen Qingqiu clapped while wiping away tears.

Zhao Zichen clapped until his palms were red.

The applause exploded like thunder,

even drowning out the music from the awards ceremony moments before.

Lin Que stepped off the stage, listening to the commotion behind him, and rubbed his ears.

If he had known, he would have said less,

now Teacher Shen would definitely pull him aside for a heart-to-heart talk when they got back.

He just wanted to hurry back to the hotel, take off that damned school uniform,

and then, in his identity as “Jian Shen,”

give this stunned crowd a little more shock...