"Holy crap?!"
A boy in a corner of the venue couldn't hold back and blurted out a curse.
The sound was particularly jarring in the quiet auditorium.
No one laughed at him, because everyone's expression was the same as his—completely split open.
Eight hours? Is this an exam?
My hand would break from writing for two and a half hours during a regular Chinese exam.
"Quiet down, students!"
The old man sternly rebuked him and continued:
"As you all know, the exam time is 12:30 pm. Staff will deliver lunch to everyone's table."
Please eat your meal while seated. Meal time will be counted towards the exam duration.
Lin Que adjusted his posture and gently tapped the black laptop casing with his fingertips.
No wonder.
A week before the exam, the school suddenly sent out a form.
We compiled statistics on the "dietary restrictions" and "allergens" of all students who participated in the semi-finals.
At the time, everyone joked that the organizers had a change of heart and were going to treat everyone to a meal; it turns out that this was the foreshadowing.
This isn't a treat; it's because I'm worried you'll starve to death in the exam hall.
"in addition."
The old man tapped the table and dropped his final bombshell.
"In principle, it is not recommended to frequently enter and exit the restroom. Each time you enter or exit, you will need to undergo a security check again, and you will be responsible for the time it takes."
Upon hearing this, many people below immediately changed their expressions.
The boy on the left turned green and muttered a curse in a low voice:
"Damn, I should have known better than to drink that milk tea to calm my nerves before I came in."
For eight hours, they ate, drank, and relieved themselves all at this small desk.
This is a triple test of physical, mental, and even bladder limits.
Lin Que stared at the exam time on the screen, his mind filled with thoughts.
The eight-hour time limit means that what I have to write this time is definitely not that mere 1,500-word short essay from the preliminary round.
Those "phoenix head and leopard tail" styles that rely on flowery language and quotations from famous figures and literary allusions at the beginning and end to get high scores will be exposed in the face of this length.
This is the pace of writing a short story.
Moreover, it has a structure of at least eight thousand words.
For these high school students who are used to writing essays on assigned topics and dancing on graph paper, this is nothing short of an unprecedented battle.
They need to build a complete worldview, create believable characters, and develop a dramatic plot in a short period of time.
If the logic falters even slightly, or inspiration runs dry, the remaining hours become pure torture.
The surrounding air pressure was terrifyingly low.
The girl from the port city on the right was already taking deep breaths; her hands were shaking so badly she couldn't even open the pen cap.
One of the boys in the front row was slumped over the table, as if he was already exhausted before the exam even started.
Lin Que leaned back, his back pressed against the chair back.
This kind of closed, high-pressure, and long-duration extreme creative environment is torture for others.
For a "keyboard warrior" like him who habitually writes late into the night,
Eight hours. A closed space. Absolutely quiet.
This is simply... heaven.
He can create a dream without restraint.
"One minute countdown."
The chief examiner's voice rang out again.
"All candidates, check your computers, check your equipment, and open your documents."
Lin Que reached out and opened the laptop in front of him.
The screen lit up, its pale blue light reflecting on his calm face.
The membrane keyboard feels a little stiff when your fingertips lightly touch it, but the rebound is strong.
That's enough.
"The last ten seconds."
The red numbers on the screen started jumping wildly.
10, 9, 8...
All the hundreds of candidates in the room held their breath at the same time.
Hundreds of eyes were fixed on the big screen, waiting for the question that would determine their fate.
The air was as taut as a fully drawn bowstring.
3, 2, 1.
"bite!"
A crisp electronic notification tone.
The red countdown on the screen disappeared.
Subsequently,
Two images with drastically different colors and completely unrelated content.
It slowly emerged.
...
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