The entire venue was filled with the scratching sound of pens.
Lin Que did not stop writing.
He continued writing about that famous scene.
I won! I won!
As he spoke, he stumbled backward, his jaw clenched, and he lost consciousness.
This writing doesn't seem to be about a happy occasion; it's more like it's about a sudden stroke.
The students around him had different expressions.
Some were frowning, while others were scratching their heads.
They either struggle with how to make the long-awaited reunion story more emotional, or they hesitate about whether the logic is rigorous enough.
The "joy" in their writing
It is the bright red candlelight, it is the deafening sound of gongs and drums.
Everything in this world is as beautiful as you wished.
Only Lin Que's place carried a fishy smell, like the stench of an old, rotten pond.
An elderly professor in charge of proctoring the exams strolled slowly down the corridor with his hands behind his back.
He was a senior lecturer at the School of Humanities of Haishi University and was temporarily transferred here to supervise the examinations.
After looking at the photos, the old professor felt a little bored.
Even though there were some parts that caught his eye at the beginning, most of the rest were just formulaic.
It's not about grandparents who have been ill for a long time and have no filial children, but suddenly recover.
It's about studying hard for years and finally succeeding.
The same old expressions of gratitude, the same old tears of joy.
He walked to row 14 of hall C.
Originally, I just wanted to casually glance at the examinee who was spinning his pen so fast.
Just as I lifted my heels to walk away, my gaze was drawn to a few words on the exam paper.
Butcher, madman, lard.
happy event?
What does this question have to do with slaughtering pigs?
The old professor stopped, adjusted his glasses, and leaned forward slightly.
Lin Que happened to write about that absurd climax.
Butcher Hu walked up to him menacingly, said, "You deserve a beating!" and slapped him across the face.
Seeing this, everyone, including the neighbors, couldn't help but laugh.
Fan Jin passed the imperial examination, but went mad. The cure was a hard slap from his father-in-law's greasy hand, the same hand he used to use for butchering pigs and cutting meat.
The old professor's pupils contracted slightly, and he subconsciously squinted.
Is this still a happy occasion?
This clearly portrays the scholars of that era.
That distorted desire for fame and fortune is stripped naked and left to bask in the sun.
That poor scholar who was usually timid and obedient, and was scolded by his father-in-law as a "good-for-nothing,"
He was so overjoyed by passing the imperial examination that he lost his mind and fell into a quagmire.
Meanwhile, the neighbors and relatives around them, who were avoiding him one moment, were now fawning over him the next.
The old professor looked at Lin Que's youthful profile and felt as if something had struck his heart.
He didn't write about the madman Fan Jin; he wrote about the state of the world and people's hearts.
Beneath the extreme "joy" lies the ugliness and absurdity of human nature.
This tragedy is disguised as a comedy, making people want to laugh, but after the laughter, a chill runs down their spine.
Lin Que was unaware of the gazes behind him.
He finished writing the last paragraph.
Fan Jin washed his face, changed his clothes, and, wearing the borrowed tattered cloth shoes, walked away surrounded by the crowd.
Butcher Hu stood behind, watching his son-in-law's retreating figure, his fleshy face plastered with an unprecedented fawning.
In the end, Lin Que did not write about Fan Jin's later rise to prominence.
He only wrote about those snobbish eyes and that swaying figure in the wind, seemingly still going mad.
The period ends.
Lin Que put down his pen and shook his slightly sore wrist.
I glanced up at the time on the big screen.
10:26.
There was still nearly an hour and a half left before the exam ended.
But he had no intention of making a move.
Even if I hand in my paper now, I'll just be standing here starving. It's better to sit here and keep warm.
As he looked at the ink stains on the paper, the image of a middle-aged man with a face covered in mud, clapping and laughing flashed through his mind.
In a world without "The Scholars"
This essay, "Fan Jin Passes the Imperial Examination," is his most biting satire of "joyful events."
The proctor stood behind Lin Que for a full five minutes.
He only came to his senses after Lin Que put down his pen.
He took a deep look at the candidate's admission ticket, then walked away with his hands behind his back and a complicated expression.
Time passed second by second.
Finally, the bell tolled to signal the end.
"Everyone stand up and stop answering questions."
More than ten proctors, each holding a black handheld terminal, walked to each table.
"drop--"
A red light swept across the exam paper.
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