91: Two invitations

After the party, a strange atmosphere permeated the school.

On the way to the dorms, several cheerleaders who were dancing on stage just now walked quietly.

One of them suddenly stopped, took out her phone, and dialed a number.

She choked up to the person on the other end:

"Hey, Grandma... nothing's wrong, I just missed you."

Elsewhere, several boys who usually loved discussing games and sneakers gathered in front of the bulletin board.

Looking at the old photos posted there, one of them pointed to the school sports meet in the photo and muttered:

"My brother was in this batch. He said he broke his leg running the relay, and it was the PE teacher in this photo who carried him to the infirmary... My brother hasn't mentioned it in a long time."

The noise of previous years was replaced by a heavy thoughtfulness.

Everyone stopped discussing which performance was good and instead tacitly talked about those forgotten people and events.

Tonight, Lin Que plunged the entire school into a grand act of remembrance.

...

Lin Que carried his backpack, deliberately avoiding the crowded crowd, and slipped out of the side door of the auditorium.

The rain outside had stopped, and the air was damp and cold.

He took a deep breath, exhaling the stuffiness caused by excessive immersion.

He looked calm and relaxed during the performance, but he was actually tired too.

The feeling of having to convey emotions precisely to two thousand people while controlling the rhythm to prevent the scene from getting out of control was indeed more draining than writing.

"This kid, runs fast."

The sound of high heels stepping on the concrete came from behind.

Lin Que knew who it was without turning back.

Shen Qingqiu wrapped her coat tightly and walked quickly to his side.

Her eyes were red, obviously she had shed many tears just now, but her face now wore an expression of "I am very gratified but I won't say it."

"Teacher, please don't praise me."

Lin Que spoke first, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender.

"I can't handle praise. Once praised, I float, and once I float, I easily stop turning in homework."

"Stop with the glib talk."

Shen Qingqiu reached out and patted the back of his head lightly, with very little force.

"You performed well just now. The principal just told me he wants to print your manuscript and distribute it to the whole school, and we will study it together in class meeting next week."

Lin Que's face collapsed:

"Don't, right? Won't that become a public execution? If the whole school recites 'Three Deaths' by then, can I still stay in this school? Won't I become the 'Fourth Death' even more powerful than 'Three Deaths', a social death!"

Shen Qingqiu was amused by him:

"Alright, we'll talk about the details later. The principal and several city leaders are in the lounge and said they want to see you."

"Ah? See me?"

Lin Que shook his head like a rattle.

"No, no, Teacher, you just say I was too nervous just now and fainted and was sent to the infirmary. I can't handle this kind of occasion; it's all official jargon. I'm afraid I'll be unable to resist telling them ghost stories."

Shen Qingqiu glared at him:

"You have no respect. Those are leaders from the City Education Bureau; many people want to see them but can't."

"Then leave the opportunity to Li Ze; he will definitely be happy."

Lin Que tightened his backpack straps and took two steps back.

"Teacher, I'm really hungry. I didn't eat dinner just now to brew emotions. You don't want to watch your proud student starve to death on campus, right?"

Shen Qingqiu looked at his appearance of being eager to run away and sighed in her heart.

This child lives too clearly and is too alone.

He doesn't care about those so-called honors and connections; in his eyes, it might not be as important as a hot meal.

"Fine."

Shen Qingqiu waved her hand.

"I'll block them for you, go eat!"

"Got it! Teacher Shen is righteous!"

Lin Que felt like he was granted amnesty and turned and ran.

"Wait."

Shen Qingqiu called him again.

Lin Que braked urgently and looked back:

"What now?"

She hesitated for a moment, but still asked the question that had been hidden in her heart.

"Lin Que."

Her voice was lower than before.

"That manuscript... how did you write it?"

When Lin Que spoke of "Ultimate Death," she couldn't equate the desolate soul on the stage who understood life and death with the seventeen-year-old boy who was cracking jokes in front of her.

What kind of unknown story did this student carry?

Lin Que stood in the shadows, silent for a moment.

He thought of himself who had died alone in a rental house in the previous life.

He thought of himself whom no one remembered except for the landlord urging for rent.

The so-called "Three Deaths," rather than saying it was seen in a movie, was more like his most real fear from his previous life.

"Teacher."

Lin Que raised his head, with that signature, inscrutable smile on his face.

"I said, that was seen from a movie. However..."

He changed the subject, his eyes drifting to the dark night sky in the distance, his voice carrying a hint of self-mockery.

"Maybe it's also because I read too many novels. When you read too much, you always let your imagination run wild, thinking about what it would be like if a person completely disappeared. Art, after all, is all pieced together and copied like this, don't you think?"

Shen Qingqiu stared into his eyes, trying to find flaws.

But there was only the boy's clarity and the hunger that hadn't yet faded in those eyes.

"Fine."

Shen Qingqiu stopped asking.

"Go, go, be careful on the road."

Watching Lin Que run away, Shen Qingqiu shook her head, wrapped her coat tightly, and turned toward the administration building.

...

Pushing open the door, a rich smell of pork rib and lotus root soup rushed to his face, instantly dispelling the chill of late night.

The lights in the living room were set very warm.

The TV was still on, and the screen was paused on the recording of Jiangcheng No. 1 High School.

Wang Xiulian sat on the sofa, clutching a tissue in her hand, her eyes red, obviously having just cried.

Lin Jianguo beside her held half a cigarette that hadn't been lit in his hand, his usually stern face having lines that were now unusually soft.

Hearing the sound of the door lock turning, the old couple turned their heads almost at the same time.

"You're back?"

Wang Xiulian quickly wiped her eyes, stood up to greet him, her voice still carrying a heavy nasal sound.

"Are you hungry? The soup in the pot is still hot, Mom will ladle you a bowl."

Lin Que changed his shoes, looking at his mother's red and swollen eyes, the string that had been taut on the stage completely relaxed.

He threw his backpack on the sofa, his eyes scanned the coffee table, and finally fell on his father's hand, and he smiled:

"Dad, you've almost squeezed water out of this cigarette; are you planning to chew it?"

Lin Jianguo's old face flushed, he threw the cigarette on the coffee table, and cleared his throat:

"Cough, I was mesmerized watching TV just now. You kid, that recitation tonight... it was okay, didn't disgrace the Lin family."

"It was more than just okay!"

Wang Xiulian brought over a steaming bowl of lotus root soup and glared at her husband chidingly.

She reached out to help Lin Que straighten his somewhat messy collar, her movements very light:

"Mom doesn't understand that 'Third Death' thing you talked about. Mom just knows that as long as I'm alive, I will definitely remember you, remember you firmly, and won't forget."

Lin Que's hand holding the soup bowl paused.

The heat of the lotus root soup steamed on his face, a bit hot.

In his previous life, he died in a cold rental house, not knowing how many days it would take for him to be discovered.

And now, someone was making a promise to him in the most simple and clumsy way, wanting to fight against that ultimate nothingness.

At this moment, he was just Lin Que.

A child firmly remembered by his parents with all their might.

"Mom, the way you say that, it sounds like I'm about to get lost."

Lin Que took a big sip of the soup; the lotus root was stewed soft and rotten, full of fragrance.

"As long as you remember to make pork rib soup, I'll have to smell the scent and come back even if I run to the ends of the earth."

"Glib tongue!"

Wang Xiulian laughed through tears and patted him on the back lightly.

"Eat quickly, you must be exhausted today! I saw you sweating on stage!"

Lin Jianguo didn't speak on the side, just pushed the pack of good cigarettes that he usually couldn't bear to smoke towards Lin Que's direction.

But halfway through, his hand stiffened in mid-air, as if he felt it was inappropriate, and finally stiffly retracted it, replacing it with a plate of sliced apples, and placed it sullenly beside his son's hand.

"Eat some fruit, it's refreshing."

Lin Que watched this scene, and the stone about "forgetting" in his heart completely landed.

It's good to be remembered.

After finishing the late-night snack, Lin Que returned to SOHO Future City, his studio.

Closing the door, unlike the strong family warmth in Xisheng Mansion, this was the unique calmness and murderous atmosphere of a studio.

He turned on the computer, and both monitors lit up at the same time.

On the left was the backend of Hong Guo Net, and on the right was the email of "Jian Shen".

As soon as Penguin went online, the icon in the lower right corner began to jump wildly.

Green Luo, the editor of Hong Guo Net, sent a dozen messages, all exclamation marks.

【Green Luo: Great Master! Big trouble! The Writers Association has issued a letter!】

【Green Luo: But it's not a bad thing, it's a huge good thing! The Jiangsu Provincial Writers Association, in conjunction with several top publications, wants to hold a "New Tide Literature Summit Forum" and has specifically named you to attend!】

【Green Luo: This is an official stamp of approval! As long as you show your face, the publication and adaptation of our "the human world is like a prison" will be green-lit!】

Lin Que raised his eyebrows, didn't rush to reply, but clicked on the email of "Jian Shen".

Sure enough, there was also a new email lying there.

The sender was Editor-in-Chief Wang De'an of New Tide.

The email content was very formal, but the tone revealed an irrepressible excitement.

【Teacher Jian Shen: Hello. The Jiangsu Provincial Writers Association will hold the first "New Tide Literature" summit forum in Jinling next Friday, aiming to explore the integration and conflict between online literature and traditional literature. In view of the huge discussion caused by "the ferryman" and "the human world is like a prison" in the literary world recently, the organizing committee has specifically issued a letter, sincerely inviting you to attend as a representative of the "healing system" and participate in the roundtable discussion. Also: According to internal news, this forum was facilitated by Fang Zhenyun, deputy Editor-in-Chief of Shiyue Magazine Agency. This person has a sharp style of doing things and has previously had criticisms of your work; there may be deep meaning in this invitation. But this is also an excellent opportunity for New Tide and you to clear your name. To go or not to go depends entirely on your intention. — Wang De'an】

Lin Que leaned on the back of the chair, his fingers tapping the desktop lightly.

Two invitation letters, the same time, the same place.

Jinling.

One is the officially stamped representative of the "healing system,"

The other is the controversial "dark system" upstart.

This move by Fang Zhenyun is an open conspiracy.

He calculated that the styles of Jian Shen and Dream Weaver were opposite, and the king does not meet the king.

If one goes, the other will be scolded for having stage fright.

If neither goes, the stigma of "online writers can't get on the stage" will be confirmed.

If both go...

That is even more what he wants to see, a century duel in front of all media and literary giants. No matter who wins or loses, he, Fang Zhenyun, and October are the directors of this big play, making a profit without losing.

Lin Que looked at the screen, the corners of his mouth slightly split open.

Fang Zhenyun probably never dreamed that these two "archenemies" who made the entire literary world quarrel, were sitting in the same chair at this moment, drinking the same bowl of pork rib soup.

A cold light flashed in Lin Que's eyes.

"Want to watch a play?"

"Then... let you see enough!"