Pushing open the door,

A rich aroma of pork rib and lotus root soup wafted over, instantly dispelling the chill of the late night.

The living room lights were set to a warm tone.

The television was still on, the screen showing a recording of Jiangcheng No.1 Middle School.

Wang Xiulian sat on the sofa.

Clutching a wad of tissues in her hand, her eyes were red and swollen, clearly she had just been crying.

Lin Jianguo, standing next to him, had a half-smoked cigarette between his fingers.

His face, which was usually stern, was unusually soft at this moment.

Upon hearing the sound of the door lock turning, the elderly couple turned their heads almost simultaneously.

"You're back?"

Wang Xiulian quickly wiped her eyes, stood up and greeted them, her voice still nasal.

"Are you hungry? The soup in the pot is still warm, Mom will get you a bowl."

Lin Que changed his shoes and looked at his mother's red and swollen eyes.

The tension I felt on stage completely eased.

He threw his schoolbag onto the sofa.

His gaze swept across the coffee table, finally settling on his father's hands, and he smiled.

"Dad, you've practically squeezed this cigarette until it's soaked with sweat, are you planning to chew it up?"

Lin Jianguo blushed, threw his cigarette on the coffee table, and cleared his throat:

"Cough, I was engrossed in watching TV just now."

"You little rascal, that recitation tonight... not bad, you didn't embarrass the Lin family."

"It's more than just 'okay'!"

Wang Xiulian brought over a bowl of steaming lotus root soup and gave her husband a reproachful glare.

She reached out and gently straightened Lin Que's slightly disheveled collar.

"Mom doesn't understand what you mean by the third death."

Mom knew that as long as I'm alive, I'll remember you.

I remember it vividly, I can't forget it.

Lin Que paused for a moment while holding the soup bowl.

The steam from the lotus root soup felt hot on my face.

In his previous life, he died in a cold rented room.

I don't know how many days it will take before I'm discovered.

And now, someone is making a promise to him in the simplest and most clumsy way.

We must fight against that ultimate nothingness.

At this moment, he was simply Lin Que.

A child whom the parents have tried their best to remember.

"Mom, the way you're saying it makes me feel like I'm getting lost."

Lin Que took a big gulp of soup; the lotus root was stewed until soft and tender, leaving a lingering fragrance in his mouth.

"As long as you remember to make pork rib soup, I'll run to the ends of the earth and come back just by smelling the aroma."

"loquacious!"

Wang Xiulian stopped crying and smiled, then patted him lightly on the back.

"Eat up, you must be exhausted today! I saw you were sweating on stage!"

Lin Jianguo remained silent.

He simply pushed the pack of good cigarettes, which he himself was usually reluctant to smoke, toward Lin Que.

But halfway through the push, his hand froze in mid-air.

As if sensing something was amiss, they ultimately and abruptly withdrew their composure.

Instead, she placed a plate of sliced ​​apples next to her son in a sullen manner.

"Have some fruit to cut through the grease."

Lin Que watched this scene.

The weight on my heart regarding "forgetting" has finally been lifted.

It's good that someone remembers.

After finishing his late-night snack, Lin Que returned to his studio in SOHO Future City.

Close the door.

Unlike the strong family warmth at Xisheng Mansion, this place has a unique calm and austere atmosphere.

He turned on the computer, and both monitors lit up at the same time.

On the left is the backend of Hongguo.com, and on the right is the email address of "Jianshen".

As soon as the penguin went live, the icon in the lower right corner started jumping wildly.

The editor of Hongguo.com, Green Ivy, sent me more than a dozen messages, all of them exclamation marks.

[Green Ivy: Big news! Something terrible has happened! The Provincial Writers Association has sent a letter!]

[Green Ivy: But it's not a bad thing, it's a great thing!]

The Jiangsu Provincial Writers Association, in conjunction with several leading publications, is organizing a "Summit Forum for Emerging Writers" and has specifically invited you to attend!

[Green Ivy: This is official approval!]

As long as you show your face, the publication and adaptation of our novel "Human World is Like Prison" will be given the green light from the start!

Lin Que raised an eyebrow.

Instead of replying immediately, I opened Jian Shen's email.

Sure enough, there was a new email there.

The sender was Wang De'an, editor-in-chief of "New Tide".

The email was very formal, but the tone revealed an barely suppressed excitement.

[Teacher Jian Shen:]

Greetings.

The Jiangsu Provincial Writers Association will hold its first "Emerging Literature" Summit Forum in Nanjing next Friday, aiming to explore the integration and conflict between online literature and traditional literature.

Given the huge discussions that "The Ferryman" and "Human World is Like Prison" have recently sparked in literary circles,

The organizing committee has sent a special letter to cordially invite you to attend as a representative of the "healing" theme and participate in the roundtable discussion.

Additionally, according to internal sources, this forum was initiated by Fang Zhenyun, deputy editor-in-chief of the magazine "October".

This person is shrewd and experienced, and has previously criticized your work. This invitation may have a deeper meaning.

But this is also a great opportunity for "New Tide" to prove your worth.

Whether you go or not is entirely up to you.

—Wang De'an

Lin Que leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping lightly on the table.

Two invitations, for the same time and the same place.

Nanjing.

One is an officially recognized representative of the "healing" genre.

One is a controversial "dark" upstart.

Fang Zhenyun's move was an open strategy.

He had calculated that the styles of Jian Shen and the Dream Weaver were incompatible, like two kings who would never meet.

If one goes, the other will be criticized for being stage-frightened.

If they don't go to either, they'll solidify the stigma that "online writers are not respectable."

If I go to both...

That was exactly what he wanted to see: a showdown of the century in front of all the media and literary giants.

Regardless of who wins or loses, Fang Zhenyun and "October" are both directors of this grand drama, and they are guaranteed to profit.

Lin Que looked at the screen, a slight smile playing on his lips.

Fang Zhenyun probably never dreamed that...

These two "sworn enemies" caused a huge uproar in the literary world.

We are sitting in the same chair right now, drinking the same bowl of pork rib soup.

A cold glint flashed in Lin Que's eyes.

"Want to watch a show?"

"Then... I'll let you see as much as you want!"

...