77: Everything has cracks

As Lin Que's words fell.

The audience burst into an uproar.

Shen Qingqiu stood at the front of the class formation.

This kid never “disappointed” her when it came to being unexpected.

“We live in fear every day.”

Lin Que's voice was calm.

“Fear of failing exams, fear of dropping rankings,

fear of disappointing our parents, fear of achieving nothing in the future.”

“We live in a massive examination hall, where everyone is both a test-taker and a prisoner.”

“Some people tell us that once we get into college, we'll be free. That's a lie.”

The commotion below the stage grew louder.

The leader from the Education Bureau frowned, and Principal Jiang's face turned green.

“Life is a continuous process of overcoming challenges.

After college comes work, after work comes mortgages, marriage, and eventually aging, illness, and death.”

“Fear never disappears; it just changes its mask and follows you constantly.”

Lin Que paused, his gaze sweeping over the young yet tired faces in the audience.

“However, fear is also power.”

“Just like the Old Crow I wrote about in my essay.

He used vicious language to snap people out of their suicidal thoughts. Why?

Because only when you face your deepest fears do you realize that if you aren't afraid of death, why be afraid of living?”

“So, don't be afraid of the dark.

Because only in the darkness can you see the light.”

“Don't be afraid to lose. Because only those who can afford to lose deserve to win.”

“Finally, I want to leave everyone with a quote—”

Lin Que smiled slightly, a smile that held the youthful vigor of a teenager and the profound insight of Jian Shen.

“There is a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in.”

After speaking, he picked up the speech manuscript, which he hadn't even opened, turned, and walked off the stage.

The entire venue was silent.

One second, two seconds.

Applause erupted from the grade 11, class 3 formation,

followed immediately by Grade 12, and Grade 10... The applause was thunderous and lasted for a long time.

Fei Yuncheng clutched his chest, trembling as he put down his quick-acting heart pills.

Principal Jiang's previously ashen face instantly cleared up when he saw the Education Bureau Leader nodding thoughtfully.

He took the lead in applauding.

In the crowd, Zhao Zichen adjusted his glasses,

looking at the retreating figure on the stage, and muttered:

“This guy, he's still so good at showing off.”

Zhang Ya's eyes were red, and she clapped vigorously.

Shen Qingqiu watched Lin Que walk down, shaking her head helplessly,

but the pride in her eyes couldn't be hidden.

“Now, the whole school remembers you.”

Lin Que shrugged. As he passed Shen Qingqiu, he whispered:

“Teacher, remember to file for reimbursement for Director Fei's medicine.”

...The wind on the sports field seemed not yet to have dispersed,

when the sycamore leaves in Jiangcheng had all fallen.

Continuous cold rain extinguished the late autumn heat,

freezing the entire city into a huddled mass.

It was time again for the latest issue of New Tide Magazine to be released,

on a gloomy, rainy day.

Just like the gray wasteland on the cover of the new issue of New Tide.

Normally, this kind of weather was detrimental to the sale of physical books and periodicals.

But long queues had formed early outside the major newsstands in Jiangcheng.

The reason was simple—

the large text on the cover was too eye-catching.

[Jian Shen's New Work—the ferryman Global Premiere!]

[Following The Miracles of the Namiya General Store, another epic that strikes the soul.]

Many people in the queue were still holding the previous issue of the magazine, discussing heatedly.

“Hey, what do you think Teacher Jian Shen will write this time? Will it still be those heartwarming little stories?”

“Definitely! the worry solver was so healing, I read it every night before bed.

I hope this one is warm too; I'm exhausted from recent overtime and desperately need recovery.”

“But looking at the cover... why does it seem a bit dark?

Wasteland? The name doesn't sound very auspicious.”

At the end of the line, Shen Qingqiu held a black umbrella,

quietly listening to the discussions around her.

She didn't have classes today and made a detour specifically to buy a copy.

Finally, it was her turn.

“Boss, I'd like a copy of New Tide.”

After getting the magazine, Shen Qingqiu didn't rush off.

Instead, she stood under the newsstand's awning and eagerly flipped to the first page of the highlight column.

What met her eyes was a suppressive gray.

[Chapter One: Prologue]

[When Dylan woke up, the surroundings were deadly silent.

She tried to stand up but found her body was as light as a feather.]

[There was no train wreckage, no screaming crowds, just an endless, boundless wasteland.

The sky was iron-gray, without sun or clouds.]

[At the end of the wasteland sat a boy.]

The words penetrated her skin like cold rain.

Shen Qingqiu grew more alarmed the further she read.

This was not the healing she had anticipated; this was... death.

A 15-year-old girl died in a car accident, and her soul entered the wasteland.

And the boy named Tristan was the ferryman who guided the departed souls.

How was this healing? This was clearly tearing beautiful things apart for people to see.

But as she read deeper, the sense of oppression was gradually replaced by a strange power.

Dylan did not cry or break down.

She trekked across the wasteland and fought against demons.

The dialogue between her and Tristan, though cold, contained warmth.

[“Why are you helping me?”]

[“Because it's my job.”]

[“If I don't want to leave?”]

[“Then you will become food for the demons, becoming part of the wasteland.”]

Shen Qingqiu closed the magazine and let out a long breath.

The rain was still falling, but she felt a fire ignite inside her heart.

This was certainly not the mild warmth of The Miracles of the Namiya General Store.

This was a flower blooming in despair, carrying a scent of blood, yet far more gorgeous.

“Jian Shen...”

Shen Qingqiu looked at the rain curtain and murmured.

“Just how many worlds are contained in your mind?”

...Suyin Magazine Agency.

Editor-in-Chief's office.

Fu Bencai stared at the copy of New Tide on his desk,

not noticing the cigarette ash falling onto his fine woolen trousers.

The office was eerily quiet.

The editors opposite him were silent with fear, not daring to lift their heads.

“In just half a day, all 350,000 copies of the first print run in Jiangcheng are sold out! The online discussion heat has gone through the roof!”

Fu Bencai pointed at the computer screen, his fingers trembling.

“Look at these comments!”

On the screen, the Weibo topic #the ferryman had already topped the trending list.

[@Book-Eating Cat: I'm floored! I thought it was chicken soup, but it's arsenic mixed with sugar!

Teacher Jian Shen, are you the devil? You killed the female lead in the opening?]

[@Midnight Reads: This is stunning! The wasteland setting is absolutely brilliant!

If the afterlife is like this, I hope my ferryman is a handsome guy.]

[Literary Critic Lao Zhao: If the worry solver was a hand comforting mortals, then the ferryman is a lamp guiding departed souls.

Jian Shen's writing skill can no longer be summarized merely as 'healing.' This is the mark of a master!]

Fu Bencai's face was ashen as he looked at the comments.

He had originally thought that by blocking channels,

and hiring a few people to control public opinion, a small magazine like New Tide wouldn't be able to make waves.

But he underestimated the power of the content itself.

In this era where content is king, a true masterpiece cannot be suppressed.

“Editor-in-Chief, should we... continue to hire people to write negative articles?”

A young editor asked cautiously.

“Write my ass!”

Fu Bencai swore.

“If we slander them now, we're just giving them free publicity! Do you think they're not selling fast enough?”

He slumped back into his chair and lit a cigarette.

This time, he had truly misjudged things.

The person named Jian Shen wasn't some newcomer who needed support; he was a fully grown fierce tiger.

And he had tried to restrain a fierce tiger with a dog leash.

How ridiculous... Jiangcheng No. 1 High School,

grade 11, class 3.

During the break, the classroom was in chaos.

“Holy cow! Did you guys read the ferryman? It's so intense!”

“Intense? I think Tristan is super handsome, okay!

Cold, aloof bodyguard falls for me—I am obsessed with this setup!”

“Lin Que, have you read it?”

Zhang Ya turned around, holding a magazine.

“Do you think Dylan will make it out of the wasteland in the end?”

Lin Que was napping on his desk. Hearing the question, he lazily opened one eye.

“Probably.”

“How do you know?”

“Because...”

Lin Que yawned.

“Love transcends life and death.”

“Tch, that old line again.”

Although Zhang Ya sounded dismissive, her eyes were sparkling.

“But Teacher Jian Shen writes so well. The imagery of the wasteland feels exactly like watching a movie.”

Lin Que chuckled inwardly.

Of course it feels like a movie.

This was a bestseller from his previous life, tested by countless readers.

Just then, Wu Di burst in through the back door, holding up his phone, his face full of panic.

“Big news! Big news!”

“What is it? An earthquake?”

“No!”

Wu Di rushed up to Lin Que and shoved the phone in his face.

“Brother Que, look! Hell Dream Weaver posted on Weibo!”

Lin Que was startled.

When did he post on Weibo? Why didn't he know?

He looked closely and saw that the Hong Guo Net official Weibo had reposted a review of the human world is like a prison, along with an image.

The image showed the back view of Yang Jian standing in ruins from the human world is like a prison, with the caption:

[Hell is empty, and the devils are here on earth.]

In the comment section, a high-copy account named “Hell Dream Handsome” posted a comment:

[Heard the neighbors wrote a wasteland? Heh, that's my territory.]

This comment was pinned to the top, and below it, the fans of the two writers were fighting fiercely.

[Jian Shen Fan: Taking our great author away, not interested! Horror writers shouldn't come here to leech off the hype!]

[Dream Weaver Fan: Who's leeching off whom? When our great Dream Weaver made his name, your Jian Shen was still cooking chicken soup!]

[Passerby: Fight! Fight! I want to see Yang Jian go to the wasteland and chop Tristan down!]

Lin Que couldn't help but twitch his mouth again.

These netizens are so dramatic.

“Brother Que, do you think these two great authors hate each other?”

Wu Di was full of gossip.

“The tension feels really strong.”

Lin Que rubbed his temples and spoke serious nonsense:

“Maybe. Perhaps they were enemies in a past life, and now they love and kill each other.”

“Love and kill each other?”

Wu Di shivered.

“Ew, that's too intense.”

Lin Que smiled and turned to look out the window.

The rain had stopped, the dark clouds scattered,

a beam of golden sunlight pierced the clouds and shone onto the sports field.

Just like the golden wasteland described in the ferryman.

He not only wanted to plant roses in this cultural desert but also build a Tower of Babel here.

Jian Shen would be responsible for guiding the direction at the top of the tower,

and Hell Dream Weaver would be responsible for suppressing the evil spirits at the base of the tower.

Speaking of which,

the foundation of the tower is now solid; it's time to climb higher...