The call of an unknown bird outside the window pulled everyone back to reality.
Wu Di opened his mouth wide, and after a long while, he managed to choke out a sentence:
"Brother Que... are you writing about snow? I feel like you're writing about fate."
Although he didn't quite understand what the wheel of history was or what the concept of nihilism was.
He only felt cold.
Zhang Ya turned around, her gaze towards Lin Que was complex.
That night, she stayed up all night reviewing past years' top-scoring essays.
I cobbled together a beautifully written piece titled "Silent Fatherly Love," and thought I had it all figured out.
But compared to this,
Her article was like a beautifully decorated show flat—it was gorgeous.
But this piece, "Listening to the Snow," is like a lonely grave in a desolate wasteland.
Just standing there makes you want to cry.
"It doesn't resemble the typical writing style of a high school student's essay at all."
Li Bowen pushed up his glasses and muttered to himself.
"This is Lin Que's 'Listening to Snow'."
Shen Qingqiu said calmly.
"Words are not only for recording beautiful things."
Although I don't encourage you to learn this style now.
But you must understand, good writing has weight.
Lin Que looked at Shen Qingqiu on the podium and was somewhat surprised.
"Your three articles are posted on the blackboard at the back. Students who want to read them after class can take a look themselves."
Shen Qingqiu handed the three sheets of paper to the person in front, then looked at the person in the back.
"Lin Que, come out here for a moment."
It was a bit windy in the corridor, and it hurt my face.
Shen Qingqiu leaned against the railing, looking at the sparse figures on the playground below, without glancing at Lin Que:
"I noticed you were frowning the whole time I was reading this."
What, you're not satisfied with what you wrote?
"no."
Lin Que put his hands in his pockets and shrank his neck.
"You read it so emotionally that it gave me goosebumps."
Shen Qingqiu was so angry that she laughed. The words of "avoid arrogance and impetuosity" that she had prepared were stuck in her throat.
"You always dodge the question when I try to talk to you about serious matters."
"The requirements for this preliminary selection were not high; those without obvious mistakes were basically accepted."
But in the preliminary rounds, it's a real, head-to-head battle; there's no time for 'listening to the snow.'
"What if I encounter a rigid topic, and a rigid reviewer..."
"Yes, teacher!"
Lin Que interrupted her with a sincere expression.
"I'll try my best not to use knives!"
"You... sigh."
Shen Qingqiu pointed at him, then reluctantly lowered her hand.
"Alright, let's go back."
When the two returned to the classroom, the atmosphere had become extremely tense.
The way the students looked at Lin Que seemed to have changed.
Wu Di held the piece of paper, examining it for a long time as if it were a talisman.
Suddenly, he slapped his thigh:
"Brother Que, I understand!"
Your statement, "Snow is dead rain," is practically a universal formula!
He leaned closer, his face pleading for praise:
"Then next time I write about 'farts,' can I write about that?"
"Fart, is it dead food?"
Lin Que slipped and almost knelt on the ground.
"puff--"
Li Bowen, who was drinking water in the front row, almost spat it out.
Immediately afterwards, bursts of laughter erupted like thunder, lifting the ceiling of the classroom.
The heavy, oppressive atmosphere just now...
I was instantly shattered by this flavorful "philosophy".
"Wu Di, you're absolutely unbeatable!"
Lin Que patted him on the shoulder, his face full of sincerity.
"The path of literature is too narrow; you should try another one."
For example, you could try performing crosstalk or stand-up comedy; there's no need to fixate on academic studies.
Zhang Ya laughed so hard she was doubled over, her body hunched over the table.
Even the PE students in the last row who were catching up on sleep were woken up by the laughter, and asked in a daze, "Who farted?"
Lin Que looked at Wu Di's face, which clearly said, "I'm serious."
His lips twitched twice.
He reached out and took the half-eaten bag of instant noodles from Wu Di's table.
It was accurately thrown into the trash can by the back door.
"Besides, dead food is called shit, not fart."
Lin Que remained expressionless.
"A fart is at most the vengeful spirit of food."
Also, don't say you know me when you go out in the future.
...
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