Monday morning,

The air in Class 3, Grade 11 of Jiangcheng No.1 Middle School

It felt like being filled with tons of lead, so heavy it was hard to breathe.

It was raining heavily outside, and the classroom lights weren't on.

The dim light illuminated faces that looked as if they had lost their parents.

Those who used to copy homework, chat about games, or catch up on sleep are all silent today.

Most people are staring at their phone screens or the magazines they just bought.

He looked dazed, and his eyes were red.

"Dream Weaver...how could you be so cruel..."

Wu Di lay on the table.

Clutching a wad of tissues soaked with snot and tears,

She cried like a 200-pound child.

His eyes were swollen like walnuts, and he was mumbling incoherently:

"Old Xu... my Old Xu..."

Lin Que sat next to him, with half a meat bun in his mouth.

Although that chapter was published on Saturday night.

Two days have passed, but it is clear that the vast majority of readers have not yet recovered from Old Xu's sacrifice.

"Alright, stop howling."

Lin Que reached out and pulled out a tissue, then slapped it on Wu Di's face with disgust.

"Anyone who didn't know better would think someone from our class had left."

"Brother Que! You don't understand!"

Wu Di suddenly looked up, filled with grief and indignation.

"Old Xu is dead! He blew himself up to save Yang Jian!"

They didn't even leave a complete corpse! Can you believe a human being would do such a thing?!

"It's definitely not something a human would do."

Lin Que slowly swallowed the bun in his mouth and nodded.

"The killer is a demon, the writer is a devil. You're trying to talk about humanity with a devil?"

"You're making sarcastic remarks!"

Wu Di was so angry he wanted to bite someone.

Just then, a cold snort came from the front row.

"Why are you crying? It's just a publicity stunt."

It was Zhang Ya who spoke.

She held that issue of "New Tide" in her hands, the title "The Ferryman" on the cover particularly eye-catching.

She turned around, her eyes filled with disdain and annoyance.

He was clearly angered by the online flame war last night.

"That hellish dream weaver is a psychopath."

Zhang Ya slammed the magazine onto the table.

"It's one thing to kill off a supporting character, but to drag down the author Jian Shen as well?"

What do you mean there's no ferryman? He's just jealous!

I'm jealous that Professor Jian Shen can write about the brilliance of humanity, while he can only play with bloodshed in the gutter!

That shout was like pouring a ladle of water into a pot of oil.

The "dream weaver fans" in the class, who were still immersed in sadness, suddenly exploded.

"Zhang Ya, what do you mean?"

The sports committee member suddenly stood up and slammed his phone on the table.

"What do you mean by playing with bloodshed? Old Xu's actions are about righteousness!"

That was a sacrifice! That's reality! You don't know anything about reality!

"Does reality necessarily mean that people have to die?"

Zhang Ya stood up and fought back without backing down an inch.

"Literature is meant to give people hope!"

Like in "The Ferryman," Dylan can meet Tristan in the wasteland even after he dies—that's true redemption!

Where is your Yang Jian?

"Besides killing ghosts or being killed by ghosts, what's the point of watching that stuff other than giving nightmares?"

"Bullshit! That's called facing your fear!"

That's called selling anxiety!

"Jian Shen is just writing inspirational platitudes!"

"The dream weaver is a butcher!"

The classroom instantly turned into a vegetable market.

The two groups of people were arguing across the desks, spittle flying everywhere.

Some people waved the terrifying illustrations on their phones, while others held up the magazine "New Tide" as if it were the Bible.

Lin Que huddled in the corner and slowly took a sip of soy milk.

"Lin Que!"

The flames of war suddenly spread to a corner of the classroom.

Zhang Ya and Wu Di turned their heads almost simultaneously.

More than a dozen pairs of eyes focused on Lin Que.

"You're the grand prize winner, you tell me!"

Zhang Ya stared at him.

"You once said on stage that literature is a scalpel, used to cut open boils and heal wounds!"

Then look at this dream weaver, is he treating illnesses?

He's a mentally ill man with a chainsaw, a pure torturer!

You dare say he's not trash?