Lin Que has finished writing.

His movements were not slow, but rather somewhat slow, each stroke clear and powerful.

He didn't write any outline; it just flowed from the tip of his pen.

This is a world without the sun.

The article begins with only one short sentence.

Li Yuanchao stepped down from the judges' panel and paced back and forth in the examination room.

This has always been his habit.

He likes to observe students as they write, occasionally glancing at their beginnings.

He walked past Zhang Ya and saw that the title of her essay was "Hope Shines in the Struggling Youth".

The opening paragraph is filled with a long string of parallel sentences, praising hard work and dreams.

Li Yuanchao nodded slightly.

It's a standard student essay, well-written, but ultimately lacks originality.

He looked at several more students, and they were all pretty much the same.

Then, he walked over to Lin Que's seat.

His gaze inadvertently swept over Lin Que's composition book.

Fireflies.

This question surprised him for a moment.

Using fireflies as a metaphor for hope is apt, but not particularly novel.

But when he saw the first sentence, he suddenly stopped in his tracks.

This is a world without the sun.

In just eleven words, a despairing worldview is constructed right from the start.

What a boastful tone!

Li Yuanchao immediately became interested.

He didn't leave, but stood diagonally behind Lin Que and quietly watched.

The sky is always gray, like a dirty rag.

Everything on earth was shrouded in this grayness; there was no color, only varying shades of black and white.

People live in underground caves, surviving by feeding on a type of bioluminescent moss. From birth, they know nothing of light or warmth. Their elders say the world has always been this way.

But my grandfather didn't think so. He told me that a long, long time ago, there was a giant fireball in the sky called the sun. The sun's rays could illuminate the whole world, making flowers bloom and rivers sparkle.

Everyone laughed at Grandpa, calling him crazy. Because in this world, light and warmth were merely words that existed only in fantasy.

Upon seeing this, Li Yuanchao's breathing slowed down.

He was captivated by the story.

Unlike the others, this boy did not immediately write down what his hope was.

Instead, he first used exquisite brushstrokes to depict a world without hope.

This use of contrast is brilliant!

Before my grandfather passed away, he gave me something. It was a tiny, grain-of-grain-like object. He said it was a spark, the last fragment left behind when the sun fell.

He said that as long as you nurture it with your heart and soul, one day it will reignite and become a new sun.

I sewed the flame into my breast, warming it with my heartbeat and nourishing it with my blood.

I've become the new madman. Everyone avoids me, laughs at me, and says I caught my grandfather's madness.

I don't care. Because on countless cold nights, I can feel the faint, almost imperceptible pulse of the flame in my chest.

That is my hope.

Lin Que paused for a moment at this point.

Li Yuanchao also subconsciously held his breath.

What a wonderful example of destruction followed by reconstruction!

First, create the deepest despair, then ignite the faint spark of hope.

This young man named Lin Que has a control over the narrative rhythm that far surpasses that of his peers.

He was even more experienced than many of the so-called writers present!

He couldn't help but glance at the judges' panel.

Wang Shouyi remained with his eyes closed, completely unaware of the precious gem he was about to miss.

Li Yuanchao shook his head inwardly, his gaze returning to the manuscript.

He couldn't wait to see the moment when hope would ignite.

I carried the flame and left my underground home. I wanted to find the legendary end of the world, that highest, highest peak.

Grandpa said that only there could the flame receive enough power to reignite.

Along the way, I encountered many dangers: silent swamps that devoured everything, gray forests covered with sharp bone spikes, and eyeless monsters lurking in the darkness.

Many times I wanted to give up. But each time, a warm fire would rise in my chest, telling me not to stop.

I walked for a very, very long time, so long that I forgot the time. My body grew old, my steps became unsteady. Finally, I climbed the highest peak.

On the mountaintop, the wind howled, like the wailing of countless vengeful spirits. With my last ounce of strength, I dug the spark of life from my chest.

It was no longer just sand. It had grown, becoming like a heart, entirely blood-red, and still pulsating slightly.

I raised it high, facing the gray sky, and let out my final cry: "Burn, my sun!"

When Li Yuanchao saw this, he clenched his fists.

It's here! The climax is coming!

The emotions in the entire article have been built up to their peak; what follows is bound to be a spectacular and earth-shattering display of light!

He could almost imagine that the next moment, the spark would burst forth with dazzling light, tearing through the sky and illuminating the entire world.

What a magnificent and glorious sight that would be!

However…

The embers did not ignite.

It simply cracked gently in my palm.