85: Coco

The morning sun,

tore away the haze that had covered Jiangcheng for days.

Golden rays shone through the windows of grade 11, class 3,

casting dappled shadows on the desks,

but failed to dispel the strange atmosphere in the classroom.

The bell for morning self-study hadn't rung yet,

but the classroom had already split into two distinct, opposing camps.

On the left were the devotees of "Dream Weaver," led by Wu Di.

Every one of them had dark circles under their eyes and looked excited,

passionately discussing Yang Jian's domineering nature and loneliness after achieving godhood.

"‘My body is Hell itself.’ Ponder that. What is style? This is style!"

"Exactly! Those who said Dream Weaver only writes gore must be eating their words now! This is philosophy! This is sacrifice!"

On the right were the "Jian Shen" guardians, represented by Zhang Ya.

They held the latest issue of New Tide magazine, their faces glowing with the radiance of being healed.

"Shallow."

Zhang Ya coldly glanced at the "Ghost Fans" next door.

"True strength isn't destruction, it's protection."

"To walk forward is courage; to dare to look back is a miracle.

Can you brutes, who only know how to fight and kill, understand this gentle power?"

"Precisely! Yang Jian's way is tyranny, but Tristan is the true god!

He accompanies you through Hell, instead of turning you into a part of Hell!"

The debate between the two factions had spilled over from online to offline,

escalating from simple plot discussion to the height of philosophical speculation.

Spit flew alongside literary terms,

and the "boundary line" drawn on the desks was nearly ignited by the sparks of intellectual fervor.

Meanwhile, the center of the storm,

was currently hiding behind a fortress built of books, his head covered by his school uniform,

trying to catch a moment of sleep amidst the surrounding noise of two fundamentally different "voices of faith."

"Brother Que, Brother Que!"

Wu Di poked him in the ribs, lowering his voice.

"Jian Shen's little fresh style can't beat our Dream Weaver's trump card! Am I right?"

Lin Que poked his head out from under the uniform and yawned,

physiological tears welling in the corners of his eyes.

"What's this about winning and losing? Tell me, is the moon square or round?"

Wu Di paused:

"It's round, of course."

"Then that settles it."

Lin Que rubbed his eyes.

"Who cares if Hell is empty or if a god is 'the ferryman',

aren't the steamed buns for breakfast today still meat-filled?"

Wu Di was choked speechless by this twisted logic,

and could only turn back sullenly to continue sharing a thousand different imagined scenarios of "Erlang Shen ruling the Heavenly Court" with his comrades.

Just as the two factions were arguing fiercely,

Wang Pangzi, the class's "information hub," rushed in through the back door like a gust of wind,

waving a newspaper in his hand, his face flushed with excitement.

"Guess what I saw when I passed the newsstand today?"

He waved the Su Province Daily he held.

Hearing his voice, everyone crowded around.

"Holy cow, this battle of the gods is even in the newspaper!"

"They used 'Battle of the Century' in the headline, isn't that a bit dramatic?"

The newspaper quickly passed through the students' hands until it reached Wu Di.

Lin Que also leaned over to take a look.

Nearly half of the A3 page was dedicated to reporting the thrilling literary showdown from the previous night.

On the left was the Hell Dream Weaver's iconic black-and-white ghost face illustration,

and on the right was the silhouette of Tristan from Jian Shen's "the ferryman."

However, Lin Que's gaze was drawn to the side margin of the newspaper.

It was a photograph.

The girl in the photo was wearing a long white performance dress, standing under a spotlight,

holding a golden trophy and a gold-embossed certificate.

Her smile was bright yet perfectly reserved,

her eyes curved like the crescent moon over the Qinhuai River.

The headline read: ["Spring of Su Province" Youth Piano Competition Concludes, Jinling Pearl Ye Xi Takes the Crown]

Below the photo was a brief interview and introduction,

Lin Que scanned it, which basically stated that Ye Xi came from a musical family, was exceptionally gifted,

had been "the child everyone else compares their kids to" since she was young, and her victory was widely anticipated.

It was her.

Lin Que looked at the familiar face,

but what appeared in his mind was the image of the gluttonous cat,

wearing a performance outfit and secretly gobbling down plum blossom cakes in the alley near the Confucius Temple.

"Plum blossom cake."

Lin Que subconsciously murmured the words softly.

"Huh?"

Wu Di, who was reading with great interest, turned his head, looking bewildered when he heard this.

"Brother Que, what slipped? Who slipped?"

Lin Que snapped back to reality and shook his head,

moving his gaze from the newspaper to the azure sky outside the window.

"Nothing."

He smiled and said in a tone that was almost a monologue:

"I just feel that some people stand in the spotlight, but all they might be thinking about is a hot piece of cake."

Wu Di was utterly confused and scratched his head:

"Brother Que, you're talking nonsense again. What does slipping have to do with cake?"

Lin Que did not reply, but the smile in his eyes deepened.

"Ding-a-ling—"

The bell rang,

and Shen Qingqiu walked into the classroom in high heels.

Her complexion was much better than in previous days;

the weariness around her eyes was replaced by an irrepressible excitement.

Clearly, the successful public relations turnaround last night

made her, a loyal reader of "Jian Shen," feel honored.

She placed her lesson plan on the podium and cleared her throat.

"Quiet."

The classroom instantly fell silent.

"Before we start class, let's address some class business."

Shen Qingqiu's gaze swept around the classroom,

finally landing precisely on the last row.

"Lin Que."

Me again?

Lin Que reluctantly looked up, displaying a docile expression that said, "Teacher, feel free to command me."

"Have you decided on the program for the New Year's Day Gala?"

Shen Qingqiu asked.

The moment this question was asked,

the entire class's gossip spirit was instantly ignited, and everyone pricked up their ears.

Lin Que stood up, wearing a professional smile:

"Reporting, Teacher, I have decided."

"Oh?"

Shen Qingqiu raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by his efficiency.

"Tell me, what are you planning to perform?"

The entire class's attention focused on Lin Que.

Wu Di desperately signaled to him from below, silently mouthing the words:

"Skit! Skit!"

Zhang Ya couldn't help but look back as well. She was also curious about

what kind of outrageous trick this guy, who always managed to pull off shocking stunts,

would come up with for a talent show.

"Teacher, classmates."

Lin Que cleared his throat, his expression turning serious and solemn.

"Given the recent large emotional fluctuations among everyone, I have decided

to abandon those flashy song and dance performances and return to simplicity,

presenting a program full of humanistic care that can touch the depths of the soul."

These grand words made Shen Qingqiu nod repeatedly, thinking that this kid was finally being reliable for once.

"What is it?"

she pressed.

Lin Que paused.

Then, he slowly announced in a tone suitable for an awards ceremony:

"It will be a poetry recitation."

"Pfft—"

The mouthful of soy milk Wu Di was secretly drinking under his desk was instantly spat out,

splashing the back of the student in front of him.

The whole class was first silent, then erupted into laughter.

"Poetry recitation? Did I hear that right?"

"We thought he was holding back something huge, but he just dropped a dud."

"That is so old-fashioned! They stopped using that performance style last century!"

Shen Qingqiu's face instantly darkened,

the slight curve of her lips freezing mid-air.

She felt her blood pressure spiking.

"Lin Que!"

"Teacher, I'm serious!"

Lin Que looked completely innocent.

"Didn't you say you wanted a surprise?

The entire school expects me to pull off some earth-shattering performance,

but I go up there and recite poetry with a straight face. That contrast—

isn't that the biggest surprise of all?"

"Surprise? I call it a shock!"

Shen Qingqiu was so angry she wanted to throw a piece of chalk at him.

"No! Change it! That is far too perfunctory!"

"Don't say that, Teacher."

Lin Que quickly waved his hands.

"Let me finish what I was saying. I'm not reciting someone else's poem; I wrote it myself."

"You wrote it yourself?"

Shen Qingqiu's anger subsided slightly.

"What did you write?"

"Well..."

Lin Que smiled, acting mysterious.

"It's a secret for now.

But I can guarantee the effect will be absolutely tear-jerking.

It will make the entire faculty and student body weep, profoundly realizing the meaning of life and the greatness of art.

When that happens, our class will definitely be the most dazzling presence at the gala,

and the principal and city leaders will surely be moved to tears by your teaching method of tailoring education to individual aptitude!"

This grand speech,

stifled the full force of Shen Qingqiu's prepared anger.

Looking at Lin Que, she couldn't tell if the boy was fooling around or being serious.

Tear-jerking? Making the whole school weep?

Shen Qingqiu looked at Lin Que's clear eyes, which held a hint of slyness,

and involuntarily recalled "A Reply Letter Sent to Heaven," the piece that had made her lose composure in the office.

If... if he could really write a work of that caliber,

and recite it at the New Year's Day Gala... the sheer thought of that scene was shocking enough.

Shen Qingqiu was silent for a moment, then finally compromised.

She knew the boy's temper too well; he responded to kindness, not coercion.

If pushed too hard, he might genuinely go up and perform sleeping on stage.

"Fine."

She nodded, but added a cautious remark.

"Once the manuscript is finished, you must show it to me first."

"Don't worry, Teacher."

Lin Que patted his chest in assurance.

"This one will definitely be positive energy—more positive than Xinwen Lianbo."

Having settled the performance, Lin Que sat down, feeling satisfied.

Poetry recitation was great.

No rehearsal needed, no movements to memorize.

He could just go up with the manuscript and read it, prioritizing ease and convenience.

As for the content... he already had a preliminary idea in his mind.

In his previous life, there was a phenomenal animated film,

and its theme song, titled "Remember Me,"

always brought a chorus of sniffles to the movie theater whenever it played.

That story about family, memory, and death,

used against this group of sensitive high school students,

was practically a dimensionality reduction attack.

Shen Qingqiu began explaining the textbook.

Lin Que took out his textbook but didn't open it.

Instead, he wrote five characters on a scratch paper:

Coco

...