Lu Zhixian posted that Weibo.

Old Zhao sat opposite him, his phone screen lighting up and dimming, dimming and lighting up again.

"You know that posting this Weibo is basically declaring war on the entire traditional literature circle, right?"

"I didn't declare war."

Lu Zhixian stuffed a mandarin orange segment into his mouth.

"I just spoke the truth."

"Your truth always manages to poke a hole in the sky."

Lu Zhixian didn't reply. He stood up and brushed the bits of orange peel off his hands.

"Let's go, time to head back."

Old Zhao stood up as well. Before leaving, he glanced at the corner of the teahouse where Senior Judge Qin Baichuan had been sitting.

The teacup hadn't been cleared away yet, and the tea had gone completely cold.

On the way back, Old Zhao's phone didn't stop ringing.

"He Zhiyuan reposted your Weibo."

"Mm."

"Jiang Cheng reposted it too, with a fist emoji."

"Mm."

"Can you show some reaction?"

"The oranges are quite sweet. Buy a couple more pounds next time."

Old Zhao decided to shut up.

That afternoon, the situation escalated far quicker than Old Zhao had anticipated.

Lu Zhixian's quote, "Where literature belongs shouldn't be decided by the platform," was screenshotted and reposted over a hundred thousand times.

The comment section instantly turned into a debate hall.

The traditional literature circle was the first to open fire.

Deputy Chairman Zheng Hongru, vice president of the Writers' Association, posted a long Weibo. His phrasing was polite, but his stance was clear.

"The Huawen Literary Award has been established for thirty-two years, and all participating works have been officially published works."

"This is not discrimination; it is a standard. Once standards are relaxed, the award's credibility will cease to exist."

Immediately following, six traditional writers jointly reposted it, expressing their support for Deputy Chairman Zheng Hongru's views.

One of them, a middle-aged female writer named Fang Yanqiu, wrote even more directly.

"I respect the literary value of to live, but rules are rules. If we make an exception for one book today, does that mean any random web novel can come and compete tomorrow?"

As soon as these words came out, the web novel circle exploded.

"What do you mean 'any random web novel'? Have you even read to live?"

"So in your eyes, web novel platforms are just trash cans, is that it?"

"Just because they let readers read for free, they are inferior? Does it have to cost money to be published as a book to be called literature?"

Readers from both circles fought tooth and nail in the comment section.

#Where Literature Belongs Shouldn't Be Decided by the Platform#

#Controversy Over Huawen Literary Award Entry Standards#

Both hashtags hung high on the trending searches.

Lu Zhixian himself made no response.

He cooked a bowl of noodles at home, took a shower after eating, and then curled up on the sofa to watch two episodes of a documentary.

Old Zhao sent a message every half hour to report on the state of the battle, and Lu Zhixian replied uniformly: "Got it."

The real turning point occurred at six in the evening.

Song Yuanzhi published a long article.

It wasn't on Weibo, but a three-thousand-word article published directly on his personal WeChat public account, titled "On 'Convention' and 'Rules'".

The article drew blood right from the start.

"I have reviewed all the charter documents of the Huawen Literary Award since its inception, including the 1992 first edition, the 2003 revised edition, and the latest 2018 edition. In none of the three versions is there any explicit rule stating that participating works must be physical publications."

"The requirement for so-called official publications has never appeared in black and white in any official document."

"It is a convention, a default, a sort of inertia where because everyone does it, it is assumed it should be done."

"But convention is not a rule."

The final paragraph of the article read: "The medium of literature has evolved from bamboo slips to paper, from manuscripts to printed matter, and from physical books to electronic screens. The medium is constantly changing."

"If the judges of the Huawen Literary Award cannot even understand this point, then what needs to be questioned is not the eligibility of to live, but the judgment of the judges themselves."

Within an hour of this article being published, its views exceeded one million.

Deputy Chairman Zheng Hongru did not respond.

Of the six co-signing writers, two quietly deleted their reposts.

Fang Yanqiu, however, stood her ground and posted another update.

"Song Yuanzhi makes a fair point, but I reserve my opinion."

No one in the comments section paid her any mind.

The next morning, Lu Zhixian did something.

He opened Senior Judge Qin Baichuan's letter, took a photo of it, and posted it on Weibo.

The recommendation preface was eight hundred words long, without a single wasted word.

It began: "I have worked in literature for fifty years, and the novels I have read are already beyond count. But to live has reminded me of one thing: good literature does not need any prefixes. It is simply literature."

The middle section analyzed in detail the narrative techniques and linguistic features of to live, using three specific paragraphs as examples. Every single point of commentary was so precise that it was impossible to refute.

The final sentence read:

"This is one of the finest Chinese novels I have read in the past twenty years. I wrote this recommendation preface for it not because of who the author is, but because of what the work itself is."

Signed: Senior Judge Qin Baichuan. The date was yesterday.

After this Weibo was posted, the comment section fell completely silent for a full three minutes.

Then, it completely exploded.

"A handwritten recommendation preface from Elder Qin... am I seeing this right?"

"One of the best Chinese novels of the last twenty years."

"And it was said by Senior Judge Qin Baichuan."

"Is anyone else still questioning it? Come on, step forward and let me see whose face is thicker than a city wall."

"Where are Deputy Chairman Zheng Hongru and Fang Yanqiu? Why don't you come out and take a few steps?"

That afternoon, several members of the Review Committee who had previously held ambiguous stances began to voice their opinions on various occasions.

Teacher Ye Minglan posted on her WeChat Moments: "Looking forward to the voting day."

Another member of the Review Committee, Chen Weizheng, a Chinese professor at Fudan University, said during an interview:

"Personally, I believe that the quality of the work is the sole standard. As for the publishing platform, it is not within my scope of consideration."

The direction of the wind was already very clear.

When Old Zhao called, his voice carried an irrepressible excitement.

"Right now, I can confirm at least nine votes clearly in support. The opposition is still those three, plus one or two swing votes. A majority of seventeen votes is nine votes. It's in the bag."

"Mm."

"Just an 'mm'?"

"What else?"

"Can you act like a normal person? This is the Huawen Literary Award!"

"The vote hasn't even started yet."

"Three days. The Review Committee will hold the official vote in three days."

Lu Zhixian leaned back on the sofa, holding the remote control to change channels.

"Got it."

"What do you plan to do during these three days?"

"Haven't thought about it. Maybe study some new recipes."

Old Zhao fell silent for five seconds on the other end of the line.

"Are you trying to annoy me on purpose?"

"No. I really want to learn how to make sweet and sour pork ribs."

"...Fine."

Old Zhao hung up.

Lu Zhixian tossed the remote aside and glanced at his phone screen.

On the system panel, his popularity points were still ticking upward.

He closed the panel, opened a food delivery app, and ordered some fried chicken.

At eleven in the evening, a message from Lin Shiya came in.

"Are you asleep?"

"No. Watching a football match."

"You watch football matches?"

"Why, is that not allowed?"

"I didn't say it's not allowed. I just thought you'd be pretty busy these past couple of days."

"Busy with what? It's not like I'm the one voting."

Lin Shiya sent an ellipsis.

"Are you truly not nervous, or are you just pretending?"

"Truly not nervous. The book is already finished, and everyone who needs to read it has read it. How the judges vote is their business; I can't change it."

"What if it doesn't pass?"

"Then it doesn't pass. The book is still there, and the readers are still there. It's just an award."

It took Lin Shiya over ten seconds to reply.

"Your attitude is really asking for a beating."

"Thanks for the compliment."

"I'm not complimenting you."

"So, how many stops are left on your tour?"

The topic was easily diverted by him. Lin Shiya didn't pull it back.

"Three stops left."

"Are you tired?"

"It's alright. Just the jet lag is a bit annoying."

"What time is it over there now?"

"You're quite nosey."

"Can't I show some concern for a friend?"

Lin Shiya didn't reply to this.

After a while, she sent a photo. It was the stage of the rehearsal venue; the lights weren't fully lit yet, and the empty spectator seats stretched far into the distance.

"This place will be packed the day after tomorrow."

"Definitely."

"I read your book again."

"Mm?"

"The second time was even more painful than the first."

Lu Zhixian looked at this sentence and didn't reply immediately.

Lu Zhixian typed a few words, deleted them, and typed a few more.

What he finally sent was: "You understood it."

"It wasn't hard to understand in the first place."

Lin Shiya sent a message: "I should go get ready. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

"Mm."

Lu Zhixian put his phone on the coffee table. The match was already over, and he hadn't even noticed the score.

He stared at the ceiling for a moment, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly.

Then he rolled over, closed his eyes, and went to sleep.

2:47 AM.

His phone buzzed once.

On the third buzz, he groggily reached for his phone and squinted at it.

A message from Old Zhao.

"Are you awake?"

"Something's come up."

"Word from the Review Committee is that the vote will highly likely pass. But..."

Lu Zhixian scrolled down.

"Review Committee member Zhou Jingtang just posted a statement on his personal Weibo, announcing his resignation from his position on the Huawen Literary Award Review Committee."

Lu Zhixian was now completely awake. He tapped on the link Old Zhao had forwarded.

Zhou Jingtang's statement wasn't long, but his tone was very severe.

"When a literary award begins to bow to traffic, and when judging standards can be rewritten at will due to public pressure, I believe this award has lost its meaning of existence."

"I cannot agree with such a direction, so I choose to step down. This is not a rejection of any specific work, but a protest against a trend. I still believe that the temple of literature should have its threshold."

The final sentence read:

"This is my final show of respect for literature."

Posted at 2:31 AM.

After reading it, Lu Zhixian put his phone back beside his pillow.

Old Zhao sent another message: "This will definitely hit the trending searches again tomorrow. What do you think?"

Lu Zhixian closed his eyes and thought for a few seconds.

He replied with: "He has his convictions, and I respect them."