Zijin Villa, third-floor conference room.
The cigarette butts in the ashtray were piled up into a small mountain.
The air was filled with a strong smell of tea and tar.
Although it was late at night, the conference room was still brightly lit.
On either side of the long conference table sat the core members of the marking team.
On the left is the "royalist faction".
The group was led by Ma Peiyuan, a special-grade teacher from the Provincial Experimental High School and the head of the marking team.
There was only one person on the right, and that was Yan Zheng, who received a score of zero.
The exam paper sat alone in the very center of the table.
Title: People Waiting to Die
That bright red "0" score looked like a bloodshot eye.
He stared at everyone present.
"Teacher Yan, let's stick to the facts."
Ma Peiyuan slammed the thermos on the table with a little force, causing the goji berries inside the lid to sway.
I've read this article three times.
The structure, the masterful brushwork, and the compassion that shines through the paper—
Let alone high school students, how many of us in the Writers' Association could write something like that?
Giving it zero points, isn't that too personal and emotional?
Yan Zheng sat upright, his knuckles tapping on the table:
"Team Leader Ma, I don't deny your talent."
If this article were submitted to a magazine, I would wholeheartedly support it.
But this is a middle school essay competition, a trendsetter for hundreds of thousands of students across the province!
The protagonist robs and insults others, using evil deeds as a means to an end.
If we give full marks today, students will dare to write that murder and arson are for redemption tomorrow.
Once this door is opened, there will be no bottom line!
"Teacher Yan, this is a literary character! It's artistic embellishment!"
A young female teacher nearby couldn't help but chime in.
"Kids these days don't buy into the 'glorious and righteous' ideology anymore."
The core of this article is redemption, compassion that uses evil to combat evil.
Isn't this far more profound than those pointless, melodramatic waits for flowers to bloom?
"profound?"
Yan Zheng gave a cold laugh.
"If the price of something profound is a distorted set of values, then I'd rather it be something shallow."
I'll say it again: as long as I'm still on the grading team, I won't change this score to zero.
The atmosphere reached a deadlock.
Just then, the conference room door was pushed open.
A middle-aged man wearing a white shirt and crisp trousers walked in.
His secretary followed behind him, holding a document in her hand.
"What's wrong?"
The man glanced around the smoke-filled conference room and frowned.
“I could hear you arguing from far away.”
"Wasn't the marking process already finished? What, are there still some tough nuts to crack?"
Everyone present immediately stood up.
"Director Zhou."
The visitor was Zhou Weiguo, the deputy director of the Provincial Department of Education.
This "Relief from Worries Cup" is a key project promoted by the province.
He came here specifically tonight to inspect the final rankings.
Old Ma sighed and handed over the exam paper:
"Director Zhou, you've come at the perfect time."
The list of the top twenty is basically finalized, except for this one.
Teacher Yan gave it a zero, but the review team felt it had the potential to get a perfect score.
The differences are still too great to reach a consensus.
"oh?"
Zhou Weiguo raised an eyebrow, showing interest.
"Zero points and full marks? Such a big difference, that's interesting."
He took the exam paper but didn't rush to look at the contents.
I glanced at the glaring zero first, then at Yan Zheng.
"Old Yan, it's you again."
Zhou Weiguo smiled, his tone slightly teasing.
"The title of 'Iron-Faced Judge' is truly well-deserved."
"Fine, I'll see what kind of article could make you this angry."
He pulled out a chair, sat down, and unfolded the exam paper.
The meeting room fell silent instantly, with only the soft rustling of papers in the air.
Zhou Weiguo read very slowly.
At first, he looked relaxed.
It even carried a hint of nonchalance in its scrutiny of the leaders' inspection of the work.
But as his gaze moved downwards, his fingers, which were resting on the edge of the table, stopped tapping.
That homeless man named Crow,
That monster that waits for death under the bridge, yet drives death away with malice.
I crawled out by following the text.
That raw, bloody realism,
This allowed Zhou Weiguo, a seasoned veteran of the officialdom, to...
They all felt a slight physical discomfort.
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