Thursday, 7:26 AM.

When Lu Zhixian's phone rang, he was standing in front of the bathroom mirror brushing his teeth.

It was a call from Old Zhao.

"Zhixian."

Old Zhao's voice sounded off.

Usually, when he called, it was either to complain or to report on business.

But today, when these two words came out, his voice was trembling.

"Hmm." Lu Zhixian had toothpaste bubble in his mouth, his pronunciation indistinct.

"You won it."

"Huh?"

"The Huawen Literary Award, you damn well won it."

Lu Zhixian's toothbrush paused for a moment.

Then he continued brushing.

"Oh."

The other end of the line was silent for two seconds.

Then Old Zhao's voice went up an octave.

"Oh?? That's the reaction you're giving me? 'Oh'?? The Huawen Literary Award! Best! You! Won!"

Lu Zhixian said something with bubble in his mouth, but Old Zhao didn't hear it clearly.

"What did you say?"

Lu Zhixian spat out the bubble, rinsed his mouth with water, and wiped his mouth.

"I said, are you sure the news is accurate?"

"The official Weibo posted the announcement eight minutes ago! I took screenshots! Check your WeChat!"

Lu Zhixian brought his phone in front of his eyes and switched to WeChat.

Old Zhao had sent six screenshots, plus a string of exclamation marks and three fist emojis.

He clicked on the first screenshot.

Huawen Literary Award official Weibo. Pinned announcement.

"Following the final vote by the 27th Review Committee of the Huawen Literary Award, the list of this year's winners is hereby announced as follows."

"Best Novel: 'to live', author Lu Zhixian."

"Award citation: With minimalist language, it reaches the deepest compassion of literature. In a farmer repeatedly crushed by suffering, the author did not choose to accuse, did not choose to sensationalize, but instead let a person live quietly."

Lu Zhixian enlarged the screenshot and read the citation once.

Then read it again.

Then he put the phone back on the vanity and picked up a towel to wipe his face.

He stared at it for two seconds, his mouth twitching.

Old Zhao was going crazy on the other end.

"Are you still there? Are you zoning out again?!"

"I'm here."

"How do you feel right now?"

Lu Zhixian thought for a moment.

"Hungry."

"..."

"I'm going to make breakfast first, we'll talk later."

"You..."

Lu Zhixian walked to the kitchen and opened the fridge.

There were two eggs left, half a sausage, and three slices of toast he bought yesterday.

He poured a glass of milk.

He sat down and took a bite.

His phone kept ringing in the living room.

He didn't move.

There were over a hundred unread messages on WeChat.

Weibo notifications had already exploded; he couldn't even scroll through them.

Old Zhao called three more times and also sent a voice message.

He clicked to listen to it; the first five seconds were a normal-speed work report, and the rest was just swearing.

Top three on the hot search.

"Huawen Literary Award Best Novel".

"Lu Zhixian to live".

"Huawen Literary Award youngest winner".

He clicked on the first one to take a look.

The comment section had already exploded.

"He actually won!!!"

"From free Tomato Novel to Huawen Literary Award Best Novel, what kind of novel protagonist script is this?"

"The entire literary circle is probably undergoing psychological adjustment."

"The youngest winner in history, and the first winning work to come out of a web novel platform, breaking two records at once."

"Wait, this guy can write songs and books, is there anything he can't do?"

Lu Zhixian flipped through a few pages and stopped looking.

He switched back to WeChat.

Old Zhao.

"Are you going to reply to messages or not? Do you have any idea how many media outlets are contacting me??"

Lu Zhixian replied with a "Hmm."

Old Zhao: "Hmm your head! Why don't you go outside and see the world right now!"

Lu Zhixian ignored him and scrolled down.

He saw Song Yuanzhi's Weibo post.

At nine o'clock sharp, Song Yuanzhi posted a Weibo, less than a hundred words in total.

"Lu Zhixian's 'to live' winning is the least controversial result I've seen in the last five years. Whether viewed from language, structure, or emotional completeness, this work deserves this award. Congratulations."

It was reposted over a thousand times.

The official account of the Huawen Literary Award Review Committee office reposted a statement at 10:03, citing the source as "Senior Judge Qin Baichuan".

There were only four words.

"Well-deserved."

The top reply with over twenty thousand likes was:

"If Elder Qin says it's well-deserved, then it really is well-deserved. These four words carry more weight than a thousand-word review."

When Lu Zhixian saw these four words, the image of Senior Judge Qin Baichuan handing him the recommendation preface at the teahouse flashed through his mind.

He picked up the water cup on the table, took a sip, and put his phone down.

By noon, public opinion had completely fermented.

Media reports were overwhelming, with headlines getting more exaggerated one after another.

"28 years old, youngest ever, first from a web novel platform, Lu Zhixian rewrites the history of the Huawen Literary Award."

"From Tomato Novel free to Huawen Literary Award Best, why 'to live'?"

"With one web novel, he shut everyone's mouths."

In stark contrast to this—the people who had jumped out to question him before had collectively disappeared.

Fang Yanqiu's Weibo hadn't been updated for three days.

Deputy Chairman Zheng Hongru's last Weibo post was still a book-sharing repost from last week, and the comment section below was full of mockery.

The six traditional writers who had joined the protest didn't make a sound either.

He opened Weibo, thought for a moment, and reposted the official Huawen Literary Award announcement.

The caption was only four words.

"Thank you, Fugui."

He locked his screen after posting.

After this Weibo post went out, the comment section was quiet for about thirty seconds.

Then it completely exploded.

"Thank you, Fugui... I'm crying again."

"Those who know, know; he isn't thanking any real person, he is thanking the person who survived."

"This acceptance speech carries more weight than writing three thousand words."

"Lu Zhixian is truly something, you never know what he's going to say next. But every time, he hits the nail on the head."

There was one more item on the hot search.

"Thank you, Fugui".

At 3 PM, Lu Zhixian replied to the messages that needed replying.

He called his parents, and his mom said on the phone: "I saw the news, is this award of yours very impressive?"

"It's alright."

"Your dad is so happy, he walked twenty laps in the living room, but he's too shy to tell you."

"Then let him keep walking."

His mom laughed, told him to eat well and sleep well, and then hung up.

Simple.

His mom never over-dramatized anything.

At 4 PM, he received a call from Teacher Ye Minglan.

Teacher Ye Minglan was one of the recommendation judges, having worked in literary criticism for thirty years, and she spoke slowly and steadily.

"Lu Zhixian, your book... I've spent a lifetime reviewing other people's works, and rarely has a book made me sit for half an hour after finishing it, thinking of nothing, just feeling empty inside."

"'to live' achieved that."

"Thank you, Teacher Ye."

"Don't thank me, just thank Fugui."

Lu Zhixian paused for a moment, then laughed.

"Did you see my Weibo too?"

"I did. It was well written." Teacher Ye Minglan paused. "Better than your book."

After the call ended, Lu Zhixian sat on the sofa, holding his phone and zoning out for a while.

A new message popped up on WeChat.

Lin Shiya.

"Congratulations, Writer Lu."

Followed by a clapping emoji.

Lu Zhixian stared at the words "Writer Lu" for two seconds, and goosebumps rose on his skin.

"Don't call me that, it gives me goosebumps."

"Not accepted. From today on, you are Writer Lu."

"Then I'll call you Diva Lin."

"Go ahead."

"...Never mind."

About a minute later, Lin Shiya sent another message: "You deserve this award."

Lu Zhixian looked at this message, his mouth curved up, and he replied with a "Thank you."

At 7 PM, Old Zhao called again.

This time his emotions had transitioned from ecstasy to rational excitement.

"Zhixian, I'm asking you something seriously."

"Do you want to hold a celebration banquet? It doesn't need to be big, just invite a few close friends in the circle, I'll book the place, and the company will cover the expenses."

"No need."

"Are you sure? This is the Huawen Literary Award, how many times can you win this in a lifetime?"

"I'm sure, we aren't holding one."

Old Zhao sighed: "Alright then. What about the interviews..."

"Put them in the queue first, no rush. Help me fend them off for a few days, I have other things to deal with."

"What things?"

"'nocturne'."

Old Zhao went silent.

"You mean... that song of yours?"

"Yes, it's time to release it."

The other end of the line was silent for a few seconds.

"Lu Zhixian, can you let the people of the country take a breather? You just won the Huawen Literary Award today, and you want to release a song tomorrow?"

"Not tomorrow, in a few days. The master tape is already set, you arrange the cover and distribution channels."

"You..." Old Zhao took a deep breath on the other end. "Fine. I'll arrange it."

"Thanks, Brother Zhao."

"Don't thank me, go thank your Fugui."

Lu Zhixian laughed and hung up the phone.

He walked to the desk and sat down, opening his computer.

The folder on the desktop lay there quietly.

"nocturne_final".

He put on his headphones and double-clicked to open it.

He leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and listened to the song from beginning to end.

Literary matters, settled for now.

It was time to return to music.