In the studio,
It was so quiet that you could hear the faint sound of the central air conditioning blowing air.
Lin Que did not turn on the lights.
He let the neon lights of the city outside the window cast fragments of light and shadow onto him.
He had just hung up on a call from an unknown number.
The other person's voice was polite.
He claimed to be Fang Zhenyun from "October," but the oppressive feeling in his words almost overflowed from the receiver.
"Professor Jian Shen, I think there's been some misunderstanding between us."
You may not know this, but in China, the literary circle is very small, and the path is very narrow.
Sometimes, choosing who to walk with is more important than simply focusing on the journey.
Lin Que remained silent.
Wang De'an of "New Tide" is a kind-hearted man with ideals.
But ideals can't put food on the table, nor can they support a true literary status.
This is the shortest path to the summit.
Seeing that Lin Que remained silent, Fang Zhenyun chuckled softly.
"I've heard you value your privacy a lot? That's good; geniuses always have some quirks."
But as you know, there are no impenetrable walls in this era.
I just don't want things to get misunderstandingd someday.
"Let some people with ulterior motives dig up things you don't want to see in the light of day..."
On the other end of the phone, Fang Zhenyun's voice carried a sense of complete control and ease.
Lin Que finally spoke, his voice processed by a voice changer.
Unable to detect any emotion:
"Are you done talking?"
Fang Zhenyun was taken aback.
"My future is none of your concern."
After saying that, Lin Que hung up and blocked him.
He leaned back in his chair.
I stared silently at my phone screen, my indifferent face reflected in it.
Fang Zhenyun probably never dreamed that he had already spent a lot of money to strengthen the network.
Why would I repeat the mistakes I made in my past life?
It's not hard to guess what Fang Zhenyun will do next.
People who are used to controlling the game
When they find that the pieces are not behaving properly, they often like to overturn the chessboard.
"Trying to overturn the chessboard?"
He muttered to himself.
"We'd better be prepared to have the table smashed too!"
This feeling of being spied on and threatened made him extremely uncomfortable.
Lin Que stretched, pulling himself out of his fatigue.
He opened Jian Shen's email.
I'm going to process some reader mail, then I'll shut down my phone and go home.
On the screen, Xu Lan's email was already there.
[Good evening, Professor Jian Shen. The latest batch of selected reader letters has been attached. Please take a look when you have time.]
In addition, Xiaoduo has been properly taken care of.
The Women's Federation is applying for a restraining order for her mother, and we will continue to follow up on the matter.
On behalf of them, I would like to express my sincerest gratitude to you once again.
Upon seeing the words "proper resettlement",
Lin Que's tense nerves relaxed for a moment.
He remembered the video Xu Lan had sent him.
The mother and daughter huddled in the corner, their eyes filled with utter despair.
It was worth it.
Then, he casually opened the compressed file attached to the email.
Inside were still scanned copies of letters, categorized by type.
He intended to just glance at it and close it, but his gaze was fixed on the filename of one of the letters.
It was a letter without a title, and the filename had a note added to it:
[A Chinese Language Teacher's Dilemma]
A Chinese language teacher?
Lin Que's fingertips paused for a moment, then he clicked on it as if possessed.
The style of the letter paper looks familiar.
It was the manuscript paper used by the teaching and research group of Jiangcheng No.1 Middle School, with the school emblem faintly printed on it.
The handwriting is neat and elegant, carrying the crispness and strength honed through years of blackboard writing.
It is Shen Qingqiu's courtesy name.
Lin Que could even picture her as she wrote the letter.
Most likely, he's in his office late at night, frowning.
A cup of tea that had gone cold sat beside him, and the pen hovered over the paper several times, carefully considering each word.
Dear Professor Jian Shen, hello.
I apologize for writing so abruptly. I am an ordinary high school Chinese teacher and a loyal reader of "The Miracles of the Namiya General Store".
I am moved by Grandpa Namiya's wisdom and compassion, and I am deeply impressed by the heartwarming power of your writing.
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