Inside Xu Ji Old Duck Soup Shop,

"Snap—Snap—"

The sound of camera shutters blended into a continuous daylight.

Facing a camera and microphone almost shoved in his face, and the reporter's aggressive questioning,

Lin Que slowly tore off a tissue and wiped away non-existent grease from the corner of his mouth.

"As a student who won the top prize, was leaving halfway through intentionally meant to humiliate the Jiangsu Provincial Writers Association?"

"Lin Que, please explain!"

The reporter pressed for more information.

"explain?"

Lin Que precisely tossed the tissue into the trash can, as if he had heard a joke.

I was so hungry in the meeting room that my stomach was practically sticking to my back.

Spending a few dollars to drink a bowl of soup to keep yourself alive is considered an insult to the Writers' Association?

"So, if we don't come out to eat, does that mean we have to starve to death inside to be considered respectful to our teachers?"

The reporter paused for a moment, then quickly adjusted the offensive:

Please don't try to confuse us! We're asking about your attitude!

I'm just stating a fact.

It's you who insists on bringing politics into the matter of eating.

Isn't this a bit too much of a bullying of us high school students?

The store was quiet for a moment, then erupted into a commotion.

"Exactly, they're making a big deal out of a simple meal."

"Young man, you're right. No matter how important your meeting is, can it be more important than filling your stomach?"

The reporter was embarrassed by the laughter.

His face turned pale and then flushed...

"But you used the word 'fraud' in the meeting!"

Reporters in the second row squeezed to the front, practically shoving their microphones into Lin Que's mouth.

"You accuse a senior editor-in-chief and member of the provincial writers' association of literary fraud."

Isn't this an extreme attack?

The surrounding diners all stopped eating and craned their necks in curiosity.

The owner stood at the kitchen doorway, holding a strainer, looking completely bewildered.

Lin Que smiled.

This is what a journalist is like.

They don't care what you ate.

All I care about is whether I can scrape a tiny bit of meat out of your teeth that could go viral.

Even if it's taken out of context, even if it's a malicious misinterpretation,

As long as it generates traffic, they don't mind turning black into white.

He didn't respond to that conversation, which was full of traps.

He simply pointed to the empty bowl in front of him, which now only contained the broth.

"Brother, I know you're in a hurry. Please take a look at this bowl of soup."

The reporter was taken aback and instinctively pointed the camera at the greasy bowl.

"This duck blood and vermicelli soup is very oily and very spicy,"

Lin Que's voice was neither hurried nor slow.

"According to the standards of many authentic or health experts..."

This stuff is unhealthy and unorthodox.

"But look, the shop is packed with people, and everyone is sweating profusely from eating, saying it's so satisfying."

Lin Que stood up, his figure appearing as upright as a pine tree in the dim light.

He looked directly into the camera, a slight smile playing on his lips.

"Editor-in-Chief Fang wanted us to drink plain water, telling us that that was the highest quality taste."

But my classmates and I just happen to love this strong-flavored duck blood soup.

We feel this is what life truly tastes like.

"To tell the truth is to attack, to choose one's own preferred taste is to confront."

Lin Que shrugged, looking completely innocent.

"Then just take it as me being in a confrontation."

After all, I have a mouth and a stomach, so it's my own.

"You can't just starve yourself to death to conform to the so-called 'mainstream,' can you?"

"good!"

Someone in the corner shouted first.

Immediately afterwards, a sparse but exceptionally sincere round of applause rang out in the store.

The reporter was speechless, turning pale, at this "duck blood and vermicelli soup theory."

They were just about to change their approach and continue to make things difficult.

"Enough!"

It was at this moment that

The cotton curtain of the small shop was suddenly lifted.

Shen Qingqiu, panting, pushed her way through the crowd.

She was feeling restless in the hotel lobby.

Seeing the group of reporters rushing out of the venue like madmen, I chased after them without thinking.