The morning sunlight,

It tore away the gloom that had shrouded Jiangcheng in gloom for days.

Golden sunlight streamed through the window of Class 3, Grade 11.

The dappled light and shadows cast on the desks

However, it failed to dispel the strange atmosphere in the classroom.

The bell for morning self-study hasn't rung yet.

The classroom had been divided into two distinct camps.

On the left are Wu Di and his followers, who are considered "dream weavers."

They all had dark circles under their eyes and looked excited.

They discussed Yang Jian's domineering aura and loneliness as he was deified, their words flying as they spoke.

"'My body is hell,' you guys think that's what high-class style is. This is high-class style!"

"Exactly! Those who said dream weavers only write gore, they've been proven wrong now, haven't they? This is philosophy! It's sacrifice!"

On the right are the "Insightful" guardians, represented by Zhang Ya.

They held the latest issue of "New Tide" magazine in their hands, their faces glowing with a sense of healing.

"shallow."

Zhang Ya glanced coldly at the "ghost fan" next door.

"True strength is not destruction, but protection."

"It takes courage to move forward, and it takes a miracle to dare to turn back."

"You bunch of brutes who only know how to fight and kill, can you understand this kind of gentle power?"

"Exactly! Yang Jian's approach is dictatorship, Tristan is the real god!"

He will accompany you through hell, not make you a part of hell!

The debate between the two factions has spread from online to offline.

The discussion has evolved from a simple plot point to a philosophical debate.

Spit and literary terms flew together.

The "38th parallel" on the desks was almost ignited by sparks of thought.

And at the eye of the storm,

He was currently lying behind a bunker made of books, his head covered with his school uniform.

I tried to catch a glimmer of sleep amidst the two distinctly different “voices of faith” surrounding me.

"Brother Que, Brother Que!"

Wu Di nudged his lower back and lowered his voice.

"Jian Shen's 'fresh and innocent' style is no match for our Dream Weavers' trump card! You agree, right?"

Lin Que poked his head out of his school uniform and yawned.

Physiological tears were hanging from the corners of her eyes.

"What do you mean by winning or losing? Do you think the moon is square or round?"

Wu Di was stunned for a moment:

"Of course it's round."

"That settles it then."

Lin Que rubbed his eyes.

"Whether hell is empty or the gods are ferrying people across, who cares?"

The steamed buns for breakfast today were still filled with meat, weren't they?

Wu Di was speechless, choked by his twisted logic.

He could only turn back dejectedly and continue sharing with his comrades the thousands of ways they imagined Yang Jian sitting in the Heavenly Court.

Just as the two factions were arguing heatedly,

Wang Pangzi, the class's "information broker," burst in through the back door like a gust of wind.

He held a newspaper in his hand, his face flushed with excitement.

"Guess what I saw when I passed a newsstand today?"

He waved the newspaper "Su Bao" in his hand.

As he spoke, everyone crowded around him.

"Holy crap, this battle of gods is even in the newspapers!"

"The title even uses 'the war of the last century,' isn't that a bit of an exaggeration?"

The newspaper was passed quickly among the students and eventually reached Wu Di.

Lin Que also leaned over to take a look.

Almost half of page A3 was dedicated to reporting on last night's thrilling literary showdown.

On the left is the iconic black and white ghost face illustration of "The Dream Weaver of Hell".

On the right is a silhouette of Tristan from the film "The Ferryman".

Lin Que's gaze, however, was drawn to the side of the newspaper.

That was a photograph.

The girl in the photo is wearing a white performance dress and standing under the spotlight.

He was holding a golden trophy and a gold-embossed certificate.

Her smile was bright yet carried just the right amount of reserve.

Her eyebrows and eyes were curved, much like the crescent moon on the banks of the Qinhuai River.

The title reads: [“Jiangsu Spring” Youth Piano Competition Concludes, Nanjing’s Hidden Gem Ye Xi Wins the Crown]

Below the photo is a brief interview and introduction.

Lin Que glanced at it; it was nothing more than saying that Ye Xi came from a musical family and was exceptionally talented.

He was always the "model child" since he was little, and this time his victory was the expected result of everyone's hopes.

It's her.

Lin Que looked at that familiar face,

What came to mind, however, was the alleyway near Confucius Temple.

The figure of a gluttonous cat, dressed in a performance costume, wolfing down plum blossom cakes.

"Plum blossom cake".

Lin Que subconsciously muttered a sentence to himself.

"What?"

Wu Di, who was watching with great interest, turned his head away blankly upon hearing this.

"Brother Que, what slip? Who slipped?"

Lin Que snapped out of his reverie and shook his head.

I looked up from the newspaper and gazed at the clear blue sky outside the window.

"nothing."

He smiled and said, almost to himself:

"I feel that some people stand in the light, but what they may really want is a hot potato."

Wu Di was completely confused and scratched his head:

"Brother Que, you're talking nonsense again. What does slipping have to do with cake?"

Lin Che did not answer, but the smile in his eyes deepened.

"Ring ring—"

The bell rang.

Shen Qingqiu walked into the classroom in high heels.

Her complexion was much better than it had been a few days ago.

The weariness in his eyes was replaced by an irrepressible excitement.

Clearly, last night's impressive public opinion comeback...

This made her, a loyal reader with "profound insights," feel proud.

She put her lesson plan on the podium and cleared her throat.

"Quiet."

The classroom fell silent instantly.

"Before class begins, let's take care of some class matters."

Shen Qingqiu's gaze swept around the classroom.

It ultimately landed precisely in the last row.

"Lin Que".