Chapter 591: One Person
Chapter 591: One Person
"Uh…this is lyrics, right…?" Oscar's mind reeled with a thousand divine beasts stampeding through his thoughts, but he forced himself to stay composed, swallowing the words, "And not a single word was changed… You copied it verbatim! Even if it's an old song, plenty of people have heard this before… And even if they haven't, once the episode airs, anyone searching online will immediately find out…"
Feng Bu Jue looked at him, completely unfazed. "What's wrong?"
"Er…Bu Jue…" Oscar replied, desperately shooting Feng Bu Jue a glance while speaking in a deliberate tone, "The content you wrote… seems oddly familiar." He flicked his eyes toward the camera, "There's still plenty of time left. Maybe you should revise it?"
His meaning was clear—I already know this isn't your original work. You still have time to fix this.
Feng Bu Jue, however, remained stubbornly unresponsive.
"Of course it's familiar", Feng Bu Jue said casually, "It's lyrics."
Oscar silently screamed, "You admitted it outright on camera?! Is this really okay?!" He quickly turned to the director with a desperate look, silently begging for instructions.
"Keep recording. No problem", Feiran's voice came through the communication channel. "The rules never said plagiarism was prohibited."
"Aha…Bu Jue, you're really honest", Oscar sighed, grasping for polite words.
Unfortunately, Feng Bu Jue refused to play along.
"I was just too lazy to think of anything myself", Feng Bu Jue replied instantly, "So I randomly copied something that fit the theme."
The moment those words left his mouth, even the audience fell into stunned silence…
What exactly is this kid trying to do? Oscar thought. You're not just digging your own grave—you're being shameless!
At this point, Oscar turned his face away from the camera's view. A seasoned performer, he deliberately avoided having his expression captured.
"The rules allow it, right?" Feng Bu Jue leaned back, hands behind his head in an arrogant pose. "Isn't this the same as quoting famous references?"
Except it's not! Oscar thought bitterly. Quoting references is to illustrate a point, but you copied an entire segment without a single original line…
"Hmm…haha", Oscar forced a laugh, "Well… we'll see the results in a while." He hurried to shift the focus.
Xiao Wu, the cameraman, was quick on the uptake. Sensing the situation, he smoothly panned the camera to other writers.
Oscar adapted swiftly, stepping away from contestant area six. "Time is ticking away", he announced, "While contestant Bu Jue has finished, the other six writers are still hard at work creating their pieces. Perhaps from their expressions, we can glimpse some clues…" His narration, synchronized with Xiao Wu's camera work, successfully redirected the audience's attention.
…...
Seven minutes passed quickly. One by one, writers clicked the submission button on their screens.
Oscar filled the time with small talk—seemingly related to the show, yet essentially meaningless chatter. Even so, he never allowed silence to stretch beyond ten seconds—this was professionalism.
"Time is nearly up… Let's countdown ten seconds…" Oscar timed his cue perfectly as the big screen approached its final moments, "Ten… nine… eight… seven… six…" He counted down, finishing with, "…Time's up!"
A five-second background music segment played, accompanied by flashing stage lights.
Cameraman Xiao Wu adjusted his position, ready to follow the host's lead.
"It's time to reveal the results", Oscar said, listening to instructions through his earpiece, "Careful viewers must have already noticed the order of our article reveal." He paused, "No need for suspense—we'll start with the first submission…" Turning around, he announced, "…Contestant Bu Jue."
With that, he led the camera to Feng Bu Jue's station.
At that moment, Feng Bu Jue's writing appeared on the big screen.
The live audience murmured among themselves, but no applause came.
Oscar read the lyrics aloud, then said, "Well… It's written very well." He glanced at Feng Bu Jue, "And it definitely fits the keywords 'love' and 'time'." Smiling, he added, "Pity… It doesn't seem like something you came up with yourself…"
This follow-up question wasn't Oscar's attempt to sabotage Feng Bu Jue—it was a direct order from Feiran through the earpiece. The director clearly planned to let Feng Bu Jue fall in the first round.
"Right", Feng Bu Jue replied with a deadpan expression, "It's by Mr. Li Zongsheng."
"But copying the entire segment like this…" Oscar said carefully, "The audience might not accept it."
"Nothing to worry about", Feng Bu Jue replied calmly.
Oscar widened his eyes at the camera in exaggerated helplessness, then gave a shrug.
Moving to contestant station four, he continued, "Well then, let's see contestant Rose, who submitted after five minutes and eleven seconds. Let's see what she wrote."
The atmosphere had grown icy in the past minute. Many of Feng Bu Jue's supporters sat in stunned silence, unsure what to make of the situation or how to react.
Oscar, however, proceeded methodically, revealing the other writers' submissions one by one.
Except for Feng Bu Jue, all other contestants had created original content on-site.
First was Rose. Her passage was undeniably gothic—filled with despair, darkness, death, Gu Du, and thick middle-school-syndrome vibes. Unexpectedly, her writing blended the themes of "Love" and "Time" surprisingly well, earning enthusiastic reactions.
Next up was Yamucha. Compared to other writers, his literary skill was underwhelming. Still, his straightforward, easy-to-understand narration had merits. Using the full pinyin input method on the on-site console, he managed to type over five hundred characters in six minutes. He opted to write a short story fitting the theme. Unfortunately, the plot felt childish and overly idealistic, his writing failing to compensate for these shortcomings. The overall effect was underwhelming.
Then came Qishui's piece. A skilled storyteller with excellent writing ability, he was stylistically close to Feng Bu Jue. He also wrote a short story around the themes of "Love" and "Time", though with fewer words than Yamucha. His more refined prose, however, generated significantly more enthusiastic reactions.
As for the remaining three contestants—Night Flame and Bandit General both submitted at six minutes and forty seconds. Uncle Dàdì, due to using the console's handwriting function, ran out of time and continued writing until the final countdown second.
Oscar read their submissions aloud. Bandit General's writing was mediocre—nothing special, nothing wrong. Uncle Dàdì's section, though abruptly ended, showed his maturity and experience. Despite not finishing, his writing quality alone was enough to resonate with the audience.
The worst performance, however, belonged to Night Flame. From the first minute, Feng Bu Jue's sudden antics had unsettled him. Night Flame had originally planned to write a first-person string of parallel sentences to evoke emotion, but his own mood kept slipping. The more anxious he became, the more mistakes he made, ultimately producing a completely incoherent piece—neither genuine emotion nor technical brilliance. Fortunately, his on-site fanbase worked hard to rally support after the reveal, managing to slightly improve the audience's impression of his writing.
“Alright, we’ve now reviewed all seven contestants’ performances in this round’s Write with Style challenge…” Oscar finished his inspection of each contestant and strode back to the center of the stage, “The tense moment… is here again…”
A camera suspended above the studio swept across the contestant area, capturing a wide-angle shot.
Oscar continued, “To our seven hundred studio audience members—friends, family, and fans—tonight, once more, the fate of these contestants rests in your hands…” He paused dramatically, “Tonight, we’re canceling the rules for primary votes and secondary votes. In your hands, you’ll hold only one primary vote. You may support… just one writer.” His expression turned grave, “You’ll have two minutes to vote. Cast your crucial vote wisely… Now… Vote begins!”
The next second, suspenseful background music blared. Xiao Wu, carrying a close-up camera, rushed forward to capture tight shots of each of the seven contestants.
“To those of you tuning in via TV, website, or radio—welcome to I’m a Writer: Revival Night!” Oscar declared after a brief silence, delivering the line as rehearsed.
This abrupt transition followed the director’s instructions. Clearly, post-production would insert an advertisement and pre-recorded promotional spiel here.
“The first round’s voting is still underway. But who’s pulled ahead, who’s taken the lead in this first round…?” Oscar posed the rhetorical question, stretching the tension with filler phrases for over a minute.
“Time’s up!” Finally, Oscar completed the task with flair, exhaling deeply, “Alright… Tonight, I’ll start announcing from… the seventh-place finisher.”
Cameras at every station sprang into action, capturing the spectator stands, contestant area, and host from multiple angles.
“The writer who earned… I’m a Writer: Revival Night… the seventh-place spot in this first round… is…” As always, Oscar drew out each word, milking the suspense.
The live DJ layered in a tense, rhythmic sound effect, heightening the drama.
“…Bu Jue.” Oscar announced Feng Bu Jue’s pen name, his voice dipping slightly in tone and volume.
A wave of boos erupted from the audience, mixed with scattered jeers.
Oscar turned to face the camera, locking eyes with Feng Bu Jue, “Bu Jue, anything you’d like to say?”
Feng Bu Jue scoffed coldly, “I don’t know why I did poorly. I don’t care how many votes I got. I did what I did.”
“You’re being awfully arrogant…” Oscar mentally grumbled, “Not even a hint of remorse or shame after being exposed for plagiarism… Wait… These lines sound like lyrics too!”
“Pfft!” At that moment, Night Flame’s fanbase in the audience unleashed a unified, open chorus of boos. Supporters and neutral viewers of Feng Bu Jue remained silent.
“Haha… Bu Jue’s still got that flair,” Oscar forced a stiff smile, quickly shifting gears, “Then… next, I’ll reveal…”
To redirect attention, he cut the suspense short, announcing, “The fourth-place finisher…”
His words stunned the audience. Traditionally, only the top, second, and seventh placements were revealed after Write with Style.
“As I’ve emphasized—it’s a night of changed rules,” Oscar smirked mysteriously, “Tonight’s results will be third place, fourth place… and last place.” He paused a beat, “The four writers ranked first through sixth… will remain a secret… for now.”
“Hmm… Seems like a tactic to build suspense…” Feng Bu Jue instantly analyzed, “But it’s really just convenient for some backroom manipulations…”
“Tonight’s first-round fourth-place writer is…” Oscar’s voice rose with flair, “Reform Spring Breezes Earth… Our beloved Uncle Da Di!”
Polite applause rippled through the audience.
Oscar hurried to the contestant area labeled 4, smiling warmly, “Uncle Da Di, I’ve gotta say—your performance had me bowing in admiration! I’ve never seen anyone make the top four in Write with Style with an unfinished piece before!”
“Hehe… All thanks to the audience’s support, of course,” Uncle Da Di adjusted his black-rimmed glasses, his tone genial.
“Your humility’s admirable too,” Oscar chuckled.
Turning back to the camera, he added, “Alright, let’s reveal the next contestant… the third-place finisher in round one…” He stared down the lens, adopting a I-won’t-tell-you-until-you-scream expression, holding it for ten full seconds before declaring, “Qishui!”
The crowd erupted in cheers. Yet, when you tallied Qishui’s and Da Di’s supporters together, they still couldn’t match Night Flame’s fanbase in volume.
An unfortunate reality—their fanbases skewed older, mostly male fans in their thirties and up. Though their online vote counts were strong, the live audience had been deliberately stacked against them by the organizers.
“Speak of the devil,” Oscar approached Qishui, “Just mentioning contestants who left pieces unfinished in Write with Style…”
“Haha… I finished this time,” Qishui chuckled, catching the reference.
“Exactly! Finishing guarantees a top-three spot,” Oscar nodded.
“Don’t exaggerate—too kind,” Qishui waved him off.
“I mean it!” Oscar turned to the audience, “Now let me share a statistic…” He returned to center stage, “Over the past twenty I’m a Writer seasons, Qishui participated in sixteen…”
He paused for effect. The crowd, understanding, erupted in cheers and applause.
“He holds a record no one else has matched…” Oscar raised his arm toward Qishui, “In Write with Style, whenever he finishes his piece—he lands in the top three.”
The audience clapped again, but Oscar wasn’t done, “And…” he raised his voice, “In the Divine Stroke round of Round Two, Qishui has earned the number one ranking more times than any other contestant!”
The final words unleashed the loudest cheers of the night so far. Other contestants joined the applause—some genuinely, others with forced smiles.
“Alright, enough praise—don’t forget the main event,” Feiran’s voice crackled through his earpiece.
Oscar understood immediately. The director’s warning: Don’t overhype Qishui. The real star we’re pushing is Night Flame.
Truthfully, Oscar had his own preferences. Though he hadn’t read many novels, he’d met enough people to distinguish gentlemen from scoundrels, the talented from the charlatans.
Personally, he wanted Qishui in the finals. But for the production team’s sake… compromise was necessary.
“Alright then, with that, I’m sure our audience is on the edge of their seats!” Oscar smoothly segued, “Let’s dive into the next round… Divine Stroke!”
“Hmm… The trickiest round’s here…” Feng Bu Jue narrowed his eyes, murmuring to himself, “Last time’s rambling cost me dearly… Gotta think of a strategy this time…”
(End of Chapter)
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