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Chapter 22: A Historically High Score
“This is from a third-year student… Not only is their literature strong, but their history knowledge is impressive too,” Jian remarked as he read the third paragraph of the essay, which brimmed with historical allusions.
[Flowing hair and the steadfast ox, profound in its profundity—that’s Laozi.
Fishing by the Pu River, ethereal and vast, weaving fable upon fable—that’s Zhuangzi.
Roaming the world, sharpening lives, expansive in its expansiveness—that’s Confucius.
Debating across the cosmos, enlightening generations, immortal in immortality—that’s Mencius…]
One such allusion referenced Zhuangzi’s famous encounter at the Pu River, where two ministers of King Chu sought to persuade him to enter public service.
“If this were delivered as a speech, it would be absolutely electrifying,” Jian mused. Though not an experienced speaker himself, he understood that parallelism elevated rhetoric.
“Sichuan-Chongqing region, huh? It’s no wonder they produce literary giants like Ba Jin, Ai Wu, Sha Ting, Zhang Xiusu, and Ma Shitu.” He sighed appreciatively.
These five masters from Sichuan held legendary status in Chinese literary circles. Moreover, due to the relatively low number of participants from the southwestern provinces, the preliminary rounds combined Sichuan-Chongqing into one division and Yunnan-Guizhou into another for easier evaluation.
“From Han fu poetry, Tang poems, Song ci lyrics, Yuan dramas filled with cries that moved heaven and earth—this young writer’s foundation in literature must be rock-solid. Look at how seamlessly they weave these references together: Tang poetry, Song lyrics, Yuan plays, Ming-Qing novels… Wait, why did they swap Ming-Qing novels for Han fu?” Jian furrowed his brow momentarily before reminding himself to stop marveling and focus on his duties as a judge.
After much deliberation, he finally settled on a score.
The Ye Shengtao Cup’s scoring system was divided into two categories: basic criteria (content, structure, language) worth 60 points, and bonus criteria across seven subcategories totaling 40 points.
“98 points,” he murmured aloud. “Deducting only for lack of originality in structure—it deserves full marks otherwise…” The piece adhered strictly to the classic format of a speech, almost textbook-perfect, leaving little room for innovation.
Just as he prepared to finalize the score, Jian hesitated. Since its inception in 2003, the Ye Shengtao Cup had seen nine years of submissions, with the highest recorded score being 96.
“Setting a new record feels… ostentatious, doesn’t it?” He adjusted his decision slightly downward, settling on 97.
The quality of the work convinced him that this wasn’t the result of heavy-handed editing by the mentor teacher. To put it bluntly, if a literature teacher possessed such writing prowess, they could easily carve out a respectable place in the literary world themselves.
As he began drafting his critique, something nagged at the edges of his mind. “Gu Lu… That name sounds familiar. Didn’t I see it recently in Young Literature?” Checking his email, he recalled receiving a submission titled Breaking the Pig just two days prior from their youth magazine. They’d requested him to write an introduction for it.
In Young Literature, introductions were called “This Issue’s Reading Map,” highlighting standout pieces each issue.
“What does ‘Gu Lu’ mean anyway? Could it refer to ancient surnames or clans?” Jian hadn’t considered that both entries might come from the same person. Even if Gu Lu’s name appeared in Young Literature, there was no way to confirm whether it was real or a pen name.
Though many middle and high school students contributed to Young Literature, Jian had personally reviewed Breaking the Pig. Its prose was sharp and mature, devoid of the flowery descriptions typical of younger writers. Clearly, it wasn’t written by a teenager.
Pushing these thoughts aside, Jian focused intently on crafting his critique. Awarding a historically high score required justification, especially since cross-evaluation by other judges was standard procedure.
---
[Orange Chief: I’ve submitted a few more pieces. This time, I’m experimenting with a story-driven approach, so my style has shifted. It should fit well with Story Digest.]
[Mu Zi Zi: Be careful—not every change is necessary!]
[Orange Chief: Don’t worry. After reading Strange Tales Under the Fluorescent Window, I picked up some eerie vibes and decided to try something bold. Once I finish all my drafts, I’ll send them over.]
Reading this exchange, Old Li broke into a cold sweat. Every writer had their own formula, and deviating from it often led to disaster. In simpler terms, while skilled authors could adapt their styles, doing so risked losing clarity in conveying their intended message. Old Li feared he might inadvertently derail the promising career of a rising literary talent.
Though Strange Tales Under the Fluorescent Window wasn’t widely known, as a secondary review editor, Old Li recognized it as one of China’s four great collections of ghost stories, alongside Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio, What the Master Would Not Discuss, and Notes from the Reading Room.
Before Old Li could type out his concerns, the QQ chat window went offline. With a resigned sigh, he pulled his hands away from the keyboard.
---
Monday—the day most students dreaded. Not only did it mark the end of the weekend, but it also meant the weekly flag-raising ceremony, requiring everyone to gather on the playground.
Class Five lined up neatly, though whispers buzzed among the students. As long as things didn’t get out of hand, Mr. Li saw no need to intervene.
After the ceremony, a student from Class Ten stepped onto the stage to receive an award. He had won third prize in the 2011–2012 National Junior High School Mathematics Competition in Chongqing and secured early admission to Chongqing Bachuan High School, one of the city’s top ten institutions.
While junior-level math competitions ranked slightly below Olympiad contests, the achievement was still commendable. Principal Chang himself took the stage to present a 1,000-yuan scholarship, followed by a brief acceptance speech from the winner.
“To excel in math is divine,” Gu Lu thought privately. Unlike other fields tainted by pretense, mathematics never lied—you either understood or you didn’t.
Line formation during ceremonies depended on height. In seventh grade, most girls towered over boys due to earlier physical development. By ninth grade, however, many boys had caught up—except for Gu Lu, whose malnourished frame kept him near the front.
“What are you muttering about?” Tang Jingjing whispered beside him.
Every class had its gossiper, and Tang Jingjing, nicknamed Donald Duck, filled that role admirably.
“I was thinking, wouldn’t it be cool to stand on stage giving a speech someday?” Gu Lu replied, his inner show-off awakened.
“That’s easy. One yuan can make it happen,” Tang Jingjing whispered conspiratorially.
“Oh? Enlighten me,” Gu Lu prompted.
“Buy two cigarettes from the shop outside, smoke them in the restroom, and get caught. On Monday morning, you’ll earn yourself a public reprimand during the flag-raising ceremony,” she explained matter-of-factly.
“Are you secretly a genius?” Gu Lu joked.
Cigarette vendors near schools discreetly sold singles to students, capitalizing on their limited budgets. For instance, packs priced at five yuan contained twenty cigarettes, meaning one yuan bought three sticks.
Whether driven by rebellion or vanity, some students indulged in smoking. From past memories, Gu Lu knew classmates like Zhang Yudong and Wang Wenjun occasionally sneaked puffs behind closed doors.
As students trickled back to the teaching building after the ceremony, Fan Xiaotian hurried over to warn Gu Lu.
“Don’t talk too much with Duck Lady (a less-than-flattering nickname for Tang Jingjing). Whatever you tell her will spread faster than wildfire.”
Fan Xiaotian had reason to resent her. Back in seventh grade, when a tear in his pants exposed his predicament, Tang Jingjing wasted no time spreading the news throughout Class Five within hours.
If Gu Lu’s solitary nature stemmed from personality quirks, then Fan Xiaotian’s poor social standing owed much to incidents like these. Unlike adults who masked their dislike with polite facades, students expressed disapproval through outright exclusion.
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