The food in front of the girls at the next table hadn't been touched much.
The chopsticks poked holes in the rice, leaving it riddled with them.
His face was etched with the word "anxiety".
Lin Que chewed on a straw, looking out at the gray sky.
Although it is only a small city, it has more than 3,300 people.
The numbers are quite impressive.
The world has experienced a cultural disconnect for far too long.
Most students are still playing word games.
Their writing may be ornate, their technique may be skillful,
But like Ye Xi practicing the zither, it always lacks a certain soul.
A soul isn't something you can train; it has to be forged through hardship.
It was forged through the struggles of shouting and enduring in an iron house, like Mr. Lu Xun.
It's like Mr. Shi sitting in a wheelchair at the Temple of Earth.
"Lin Que".
A voice interrupted his thoughts.
Li Bowen sat opposite him, holding a tray of food.
The thick lenses of his glasses were fogged up, making him look a little cramped.
"sit."
Lin Que pointed to the chair opposite him.
"Want some?"
Lin Que shook the half-finished milk tea in his hand.
Li Bowen didn't touch his chopsticks, staring at Lin Que for a long time before finally managing to utter a sentence:
"Did you really write your piece 'Listening to the Snow' in just forty minutes?"
"Hmm, what's wrong?"
"I don't understand."
Li Bowen frowned, as if he had encountered an unsolvable math problem.
"I analyzed the structure of your article, and there's nothing special about it."
The arguments are rather scattered.
Why did Teacher Shen say you wrote well? Why did the judges give you such high praise?
He is a person with a strong scientific mindset, and he always wants to find a formula and the optimal solution for everything.
Lin Que looked at him and suddenly smiled.
He put down his milk tea and leaned forward slightly.
His previously lazy demeanor vanished instantly.
"Old Li, have you ever heard this saying?"
"What?"
"Da Yin Xi Sheng."
Li Bowen was stunned.
What does this have to do with "Listening to Snow"?
"When you write an article, you're building with blocks, trying to make it as high and stable as possible. That's not wrong."
Lin Que tapped the table with his fingertip.
"But with words, sometimes it's not about what you write, but what you don't write."
Li Bowen was stunned:
"Nothing was written?"
“In ‘Listening to the Snow,’ I didn’t write about cold, but the readers felt cold.”
I didn't write about death, but the reader saw a corpse.
Lin Que pointed to his chest.
"Skills are techniques, emotions are the principles."
"You have to take this heart out first, throw it in the snow and roll it around."
"Let it freeze completely, then pick it up and stuff it into your chest cavity."
"By then, you won't need to worry about any logical structure; the words will flow naturally from your veins."
Li Bowen's mouth opened slightly, and the rice in his spoon fell back into the plate.
Should I throw my heart into the snow and roll it around?
That sounds insane.
But upon closer examination, it seems to have a flavor that is hard to describe.
"Of course, this is just a metaphor."
Seeing that he had frightened the child, Lin Que instantly switched back to his lazy mode.
He sipped his milk tea in one gulp and stood up.
"Don't overthink it, everyone's path is different."
"Your rigorous logic is an advantage; there's no need to ask me, much less learn from me."
Once you get to the exam hall, nobody knows what kind of weird questions you'll get.
Maybe the exam will include something like "On the Literary Nature of the Pythagorean Theorem," then you'll be king.
Li Bowen was amused, his tense shoulders relaxed, and the confusion in his eyes dissipated considerably.
Thanks.
Lin Que waved his hand and turned to walk towards the door.
Pushing open the cafeteria door, a biting cold wind rushed in.
He squinted and looked toward the center of the city.
The white Jiangcheng Grand Theatre stands on the riverbank.
Like a giant seashell, it waits quietly for something.
That will be his new battlefield.
...
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com