Back in his seat, Wu Di quickly came over.

"Brother Que, what does Lao Fei want with you? Does he want you to recite again?"

Wu Di leaned closer, looking quite gossipy.

"Let me tell you, your 'Coco' movie has a really strong aftereffect."

Last night when I got home, I looked at pictures of my grandma and cried so hard I almost passed out.

"No recitation."

Lin Que turned a page in the history book.

"It was just an ordinary publicly funded trip."

"Damn! A publicly funded trip? To Nanjing?"

Wu Di's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets with envy.

"Brother Que, need someone to carry my bags? I don't ask for much, all I need is three meals of duck blood vermicelli soup for every 100 kilometers!"

Lin Que glanced at him.

"You should study hard. Stop thinking about playing. If you don't get into the top 500 on the final exam, your mom will skin you alive."

Wu Di let out a wail and lay on the table, continuing to play dead.

Lin Que ignored him, took out a notebook from his bag, and turned to a new page.

He drew two small circles and one large circle in the blank space.

That represents three identities, but there is only one person.

If both Jian Shen and the Dream Weaver are absent, and only student Lin Que attends...

Fang Zhenyun will definitely make a big deal out of that.

But if I go... that's even more impossible!

You can't exactly pull off a dramatic face-changing act at the meeting.

One minute he's wearing glasses to look profound, the next he's wearing a cloak to look like a pervert, right?

Lin Que twirled his pen, the tip making several black dots on the paper.

Since the physical body cannot be divided into two parts, we can only play with the "spirit".

...

After school, at SOHO Future City Studio.

Lin Que turned on his computer but didn't rush to reply to the emails.

Instead, they logged into their QQ account first.

The green ivy icon on Hongguo.com kept jumping around, clearly indicating that it was very anxious.

Lin Que typed a line of text.

[Dream Weaver of Hell: I can't access the forum.]

Green Ivy replied almost instantly:

"Huh? Why, sir? This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!"

Attending an official event of the provincial writers' association is like getting a prestigious title!

[The Dream Weaver of Hell: Busy brainstorming new book ideas. No time to listen to those old guys huddled around the table praising each other.]

Green Ivy: ...Big Brother, your reason is too straightforward.

Editor Fang will definitely use that as an excuse to make a fuss, and might even accuse you of being arrogant.

[The Hellish Dream Weaver: Let him say what he wants. However, even if you can't be there in person, you must still send your gifts.]

[Green Ivy: A gift? What gift?]

[Hell Dream Weaver: I will record an audio clip, please play it on site later.]

Since we're discussing emerging literature, I'll have a good chat with them about what truly defines emerging literature.

Green Ivy sent a shivering emoji:

【Sir/Madam, are you going to swear at me?】

[The Dream Weaver of Hell: How can a civilized person swear? I'm just being reasonable.]

Having settled things here, Lin Que switched to Jian Shen's email address.

The reply to Wang De'an was much milder.

It exudes a sense of aloofness and helplessness typical of scholars.

[Editor-in-Chief Wang: Thank you for your kind invitation. However, I am unwell and dislike noisy places, so I am afraid I will be unable to make the trip.]

Literature is about the pen, not the tongue.

If we must argue about who's better, we might as well write a couple more chapters.

However, since it was strongly recommended by "New Tide", I couldn't very well refuse.

I will write a letter by hand, and I would appreciate it if you could take it to the site.

The handwriting reflects the person; seeing the handwriting is like seeing the person in person.

Sent successfully.

Lin Que leaned back in his chair and stretched.

An audio recording, a letter, and a living, breathing Lin Que.

This "three-in-one" lineup is quite a show of respect for Fang Zhenyun.

Back home, Lin Que told his parents about his trip to Jinling.

Wang Xiulian is picking vegetables.

Upon hearing this, he paused in his work, his face showing a mixture of pride and worry:

"Going to Nanjing? That's the provincial capital, a major city."

Are you sure you can go alone? Do you want your dad to come with you?

"Mom, how old am I?"

Lin Que reluctantly took an orange from the fruit plate.

"Besides, the school has teachers leading the group, and there's that classmate with them, so they won't get lost."

"But we still need to be careful."

Lin Jianguo put down the newspaper and took off his reading glasses.

"There are a lot of people and cars in Jinling. When you get there, don't wander around. Stay with your teacher."

Also, that forum, that kind of setting is definitely for important people, so you have to be very careful in your interactions with them, you know?

Lin Que peeled an orange and nodded obediently:

"Okay, Dad. I'm just going to be a mascot, responsible for clapping and nodding."

"By the way! Do you have enough money?"

Wang Xiulian wiped her hands and was about to go to the bedroom to get her wallet when Lin Jianguo stopped her.

"Alright, our son can earn money now, why do you need to worry about him so much!"

"What do you know? When you're traveling, it's better to be poor at home and rich on the road."

"That's enough, that's enough. I haven't even spent all of my bonus from last time."

Lin Que quickly stopped him.

"Besides, this is all on public funds, including food, lodging and transportation, so there's no need to spend any money."

Seeing his parents bustling around taking care of him, Lin Que felt a warm glow in his heart.

He thought of Fang Zhenyun, and of the forum that was about to begin.

Those people are high and mighty, holding the power of discourse.

They thought they could define literature at will and judge others arbitrarily.

But Lin Que simply refused to believe this superstition.

He wants to stir up this stagnant pool.

...

Friday morning, Jiangcheng High-speed Railway Station.

The winter wind stung his face like a knife; Lin Que was wrapped in a black down jacket.

She wore a gray scarf knitted by Wang Xiulian around her neck, and huddled up like a quail.

Zhao Zichen was standing next to him.

This top student maintained his composure.

He was wearing a dark gray wool coat over a crisp shirt.

He was also holding an all-English version of "Ulysses" in his hand.

Despite the noisy environment of the waiting hall, I somehow managed to evoke the feeling of being in a library.

"Hey, Lao Zhao, aren't you cold?"

Lin Que sniffed and looked at Zhao Zichen's exposed ankles.

Zhao Zichen closed the book, adjusted his glasses,

He brushed away non-existent dust from his coat with his fingertips and said casually:

Clothing is an expression of thought.

Moreover, true focus can isolate you from most physical discomfort.