But recently, I've been deeply confused.

My students are currently engrossed in an online novel called "Human World is Like Prison." You've probably heard of it.

That was a book completely opposite to your work; it used the coldest, most detached language.

It depicts a desperate world corrupted by ghosts, spreading panic and unease.

The recent "last train" incident has caused severe psychological trauma for many students.

As a teacher, I am heartbroken.

I tried to guide them, telling them that literature should be uplifting and warm.

But my words seem pale and powerless in the face of such extreme sensory stimulation.

What makes me feel even more powerless is that one of my students possesses a literary talent unlike any I have ever seen in my life.

Yet he seemed deeply drawn to the book "Human World is Like Prison," and his thoughts and his pen inevitably slid into that dark abyss.

I criticized him, and he wrote outrageous words to question me.

I tried to influence him with your work, and he promised to study it in front of me.

But then he turned around and enthusiastically discussed with his classmates how to "control vengeful spirits."

I feel like a helpless gardener, watching helplessly as a sapling with the greatest potential to grow into a towering tree.

Yet it frantically absorbs poison, determined to grow into a twisted, poisonous tree that blossoms with evil.

I don't know whether to prune those sprawling branches or uproot them to prevent future problems.

[Professor Jian Shen, I know my question is ridiculous.]

You are the God who builds a warm world, yet I ask you, how should we deal with a devil who spreads despair?

However, you once said in your reply that literature connects ideals and reality.

So, when the darkness of reality is so powerful that even the light of ideals seems weak, how should we cope?

When a talent is inherently destructive, should we stifle it, or let it grow and see what kind of fruit it will ultimately bear?

Please forgive my incoherent writing. I look forward to your reply.

[From a perplexed reader]

...

Lin Que finished reading the letter.

He didn't laugh.

That smug satisfaction of controlling everything and watching from the sidelines.

The anxiety and questioning that permeated Shen Qingqiu's words quietly faded away.

Instead, it gave off an indescribable, heavy feeling.

This is asking me how to prevent myself from imitating others, and instead encourage others to learn from me.

He leaned back in his chair, his fingertips lightly tracing the tabletop.

He could sense Shen Qingqiu's struggle.

That wasn't the kind of stubbornness Wang Shouyi displayed, the kind used to maintain his authority.

Rather, it is the most genuine anxiety and sense of responsibility of an educator when faced with an uncontrollable "genius".

She didn't want to ruin him; she was just afraid he would ruin her.

"Prune the branches, or uproot it..."

Lin Que read the words from the letter softly.

How familiar this argument is.

In his previous life, he had also been "pruned" in this way.

The first screenplay he wrote when he first entered the industry

It is also a dark and suspenseful story.

He was told that the world he depicted was too dark.

He later learned to compromise, and as a result, he achieved great success.

However, the tree with its branches pruned became a scar that would occasionally sting his heart.

Now, as he looked at Shen Qingqiu's letter,

It was like seeing myself in a past life, holding scissors, looking worried.

But now, he has the chance to choose again.

This time, no one could pick up the shears and go near that tree.

He snapped out of his reverie and his gaze returned to the email.

Perhaps he could tell the gardener,

There is still no definition for what constitutes a "poisonous" tree.

The flowers that bloom may still produce fine wine.

Lin Que took a deep breath; he did not reply immediately.

He opened the creative document for "The Miracles of the Namiya General Store".

On the blank page, I typed the title of the new chapter.

[The musician at the fresh fish shop]

He wanted to work at Grandpa Namiya's general store.

Send a reply across time to this bewildered gardener.

The sound of keyboard typing rang out again in the quiet room.

This time, in his writing,

No vengeful ghosts, no despair.

There is only one soul struggling between dreams and reality.

This reply was addressed to Shen Qingqiu.

It's also a tribute to the self from ten years ago who suppressed her brilliance.

Don't rush,

Let the flowers on the tree bloom a little longer.

...