Chapter 592: Laughing at the Red Dust
Chapter 592: Laughing at the Red Dust
"Please look at the big screen", Oscar continued, turning to face the audience as he spoke.
Simultaneously, massive screens on either side of the stage and smaller monitors in front of each contestant displayed the same content: [Zhang San, Li Si, dusk, grassland, victory or defeat].
"As you can see, today's rules have changed slightly", Oscar explained. "In previous episodes, this round required contestants to create an outline based on a narrative passage and present it orally to form a complete story. Today, however, we're providing you with characters, a time, a location, and an event."
As he spoke, the camera panned across the contestants' faces. Except for Feng Bu Jue, every other writer's expression had shifted slightly.
"However, the other rules remain the same", Oscar added. "Right now, the input systems on all seven writers' consoles have switched to freedom mode. Whether you choose to write text, sketch outlines, draft tables, or even doodle, feel free to plan as you wish." He paused. "And as always, you'll have ten minutes."
With those words, he turned toward the contestant area and declared, "Now then... Round Two begins!"
Tick-tock...
Before his final word faded, the studio echoed with a dramatic ticking sound effect—a director's choice to heighten tension. This resurrection round had employed many such techniques to amplify excitement.
"Divine Stroke, the most popular segment of this show, is beloved by our audience", Oscar continued, stalling until advertisement time. "Performance here is crucial—many contestants have been eliminated due to poor results in this round." He strolled toward the spectator stands, making eye contact with the audience to appear more natural. "Tonight, on this Revival Night stage, only one contestant will advance to the finals. This means six of our seven writers will be eliminated." He delivered this obvious fact with gravitas, yet it felt refreshingly intense. "But if you can secure an early lead... it's safe to say one foot is already through the finals' door."
Meanwhile, the big screen's timer had already passed the two-minute mark. Six of the seven contestants had picked up digital pens, furiously working on their consoles. Only Feng Bu Jue remained still, resting his cheeks in his hands, staring at the ceiling at a forty-five-degree angle—whether this was daydreaming or a calculated act no one could tell.
"What's he up to now..." Oscar glanced at Feng Bu Jue through the corner of his eye, a sense of foreboding creeping in. "Is he giving up? Or just trying to stir attention?"
"Wait", Oscar reconsidered after a few seconds. "That's not like him. Knowing his personality... he probably thinks the finals are too much trouble and deliberately wants elimination."
The realization swept Oscar's doubts away. A smile tugged at his lips as he mused, "How ironic... Some fight tooth and nail for this opportunity, while others treat it as an unwanted burden."
...
Ten minutes passed quickly. Oscar briefly stepped offstage for water and touch-ups.
The three minutes he'd spent rambling earlier had filled the gap before advertisement time, so the remaining recording could be handled in post-production.
Meanwhile, the on-site director (unlike the previous episode, this one was personally overseen by Feiran) exchanged brief words with the audience about recording guidelines.
Oscar returned to the stage as the countdown reached thirty seconds.
"All units, prepare", Feiran's voice crackled through Oscar's earpiece.
"Welcome back to I'm a Writer - Revival Night! I'm Oscar." Refreshed after his break, he beamed at the camera. "Thank you for staying with us during the ads. Let's see... how much time remains in this round..."
The main camera zoomed in on the big screen.
"...Twenty-one seconds." Oscar stepped closer to the contestant area. "Aren't you all as nervous as I am? But the real tension lies with our seven writers—let's see how their progress is coming along..."
Then came an abrupt silence.
These few seconds would later be edited by post-production. When the episode aired, this segment would split into multiple frames showing the countdown while rapidly switching between contestants' close-ups, layered with intense background music to create the illusion that "the screen might explode when time runs out!"
For reasons unknown, such techniques never failed to captivate audiences across variety shows.
"Time's up!" Oscar declared as the countdown hit zero. He immediately faced the big screen. "Enough talk—random numbers, please!"
Seven numbers flashed rapidly before settling on "6."
"Of course it's fixed", Feng Bu Jue mused. "Naturally, those who present last have the advantage—more thinking time. The first presenter gets the worst deal; by the time scoring comes, the audience's impression of their story will be diluted by the later ones." His eyes flicked toward Feiran. "Director Fei, you're as clever as ever. I bet the last presenter will be Night Flame. If it were me, I'd separate Qishui and Night Flame by at least two positions. If Qishui presents second-to-last, directly contrasting with Night Flame, things could get complicated..."
These thoughts flashed through Feng Bu Jue's mind in three seconds.
Meanwhile, Oscar approached him. "Bu Jue, remember your last appearance? You took second place in this round. Though you were eliminated in the end, your parodic storytelling left a deep impression." Guided by staff instructions through his earpiece, he briefly recapped Feng Bu Jue's past performance. "Tonight... what surprise will you bring us?"
"Surprise, definitely..." Feng Bu Jue replied deadpan. "Delight? Haha..."
"Then..." Oscar hesitated slightly between "start", his pause unintentional as he noticed Feng Bu Jue's console screen—utterly empty.
"Once upon a time, there were two men", Feng Bu Jue clasped his hands under his nose in classic "Commander Ikari" pose. "One was Zhang San. The other was Li Si."
Silence fell over the studio...
Everyone—audience members, fans of other writers included—leaned forward, eager to hear Feng Bu Jue's Divine Stroke performance. No one could predict what nonsense he'd produce.
His story unfolded: "One dusk, Zhang San challenged Li Si to a race on the grasslands..."
"Huh?" Oscar blinked. "A race?"
"The race took place on the grassland", Feng Bu Jue continued. "Li Si had a limp, nicknamed Iron-Cane Li, relying on a cane to walk. Zhang San, however, was an athletic giant, 2.16 meters tall with legs like columns, earning him the nickname 'Chamberlain.'"
"Is that just a nickname?" Oscar wanted to quip but held his tongue.
"The two lined up. Arrogant Zhang San let Li Si call the start. Li Si shouted, 'On your marks... go!'"
"What the hell is 'go' doing there!" Oscar inwardly screamed.
"Before Li Si finished speaking, he darted forward", Feng Bu Jue continued. "Zhang San smirked at this underhanded cheating and calmly took off after him."
“Finding someone with a limp to race isn't exactly an upright man, right?”
“Within just a few seconds, Zhang San overtook Li Si and created a gap of a hundred meters. He kept running at this pace for a while… When he looked back, the limping Li Si had already become a tiny black speck on the grassland,” said Feng Bu Jue. “Zhang San thought to himself: The finish line is just five meters ahead—I’ve already won. Might as well take a quick nap.”
“Are you out of your mind?! Why don’t you run those five meters too?!”
“Zhang San lay on the grassland, blowing in the gentle evening breeze, not a while… but actually closed his eyes and fell asleep,” Feng Bu Jue continued. “Meanwhile, Li Si kept chasing, limping and stumbling… By the time he reached Zhang San’s side, he was utterly exhausted.”
“Hmph… If I were him… the moment I saw Zhang San standing up, I’d use my cane to turn him into a cripple too…” Oscar’s inner monologue never ceased.
“Zhang San was still sleeping… Although Li Si wanted to rest a while, he knew Zhang San ran faster than him. Only by pushing forward could he win,” Feng Bu Jue’s voice turned solemn. “After an intense internal struggle, Li Si gritted his teeth and pressed on.”
“It’s just five meters! What’s there to struggle about?! Couldn’t he have just shuffled forward a few steps during the struggle?!”
“Finally, Li Si crossed the finish line,” Feng Bu Jue concluded. “Zhang San woke from his nap, looked behind him… Huh? Why is Li Si gone?! In a tone usually reserved for teaching kindergarteners, he continued dramatically, Oh no! Li Si has already passed the finish line! Zhang San realized this and panicked, but by now, it was too late. Li Si had already won. He shook his head, sighing, Ah… Truly thought-provoking…”
“The director… let’s call security,” Oscar turned aside, switching his microphone to backstage mode. “We need security guards on standby,” he whispered. “In case the audience starts throwing things or charging the stage, the security guard brothers can hold them off…”
“Isn’t that overkill?” Feiran replied. “He’s already finished his story. Kicking him out now would be pointless…”
“No, I mean standby,” Oscar insisted. “Just in case.”
“Relax… handle it,” Feiran said. “Try to smooth things over…”
“Smooth over this!” Oscar snapped via comms, shocking the director. “Even the toddlers in the audience recognized this was The Tortoise and the Hare, right?!”
“Stay calm… keep calm…” Feiran urged. “Pick some nice words. If all else fails, crack a few jokes to change the topic…”
Oscar, adjusting his earpiece, whispered for over three minutes—footage that would later be cut. Finally, he composed himself and switched back to the hosting channel. “Haha…” His smile was painfully fake. “Bu Jue… your story… overall… still has some educational significance, right?”
The spectator stands erupted in instant boos. This time, the entire audience jeered at Feng Bu Jue. Even his staunchest fanbase members stormed out, while the rest—now ex-fans—discarded their banners and joined the anti-Bu Jue faction.
“Hmph… Of course it’s The Tortoise and the Hare adaptation,” Feng Bu Jue grinned shamelessly. “Wasn’t that obvious?”
“You’re way out of line!” Suddenly, Night Flame, seated in the contestant area #7, stood up. “Don’t dare stain this sacred stage with your attitude!”
Unprecedented! In I’m a Writer’s entire recording history, two contestants clashing live on stage? Oscar prided himself on controlling every situation—timing every line, every cue. But this? Unexpected chaos.
“Crew, keep rolling!” Feiran’s voice crackled excitedly through the staff headsets. “Let’s enjoy the show…”
“Regardless of your motives, don’t dare defile this sacred stage,” Night Flame glared.
“Sacred?” Feng Bu Jue turned, his smile dripping with irony. “Is it really?”
Suddenly, Feng Bu Jue stood. Off-camera, security guard brothers broke into cold sweat: “Here we go… better get ready…”
Feng Bu Jue approached Night Flame’s contestant area, leaning on the table, face-to-face, staring him down.
Night Flame froze. He’d planned to gain sympathy by attacking Feng Bu Jue—the “second-place online vote-getter”—with a classic hit-while-they’re-down strategy. But Feng Bu Jue’s sudden advance? Not in the script.
Night Flame, 30-something, dressed sharply in a tailored suit, struggled to hide his soft edges. Feng Bu Jue, though lean, had sculpted his physique through disciplined training—height advantage, razor-sharp silhouette. Not someone to mess with physically.
“Come on… if you punch him, even security won’t save you. You’ll get sued!” Oscar thought frantically.
“If this stage is truly sacred…” Feng Bu Jue stared. “Why are you here?”
“How dare you!” Night Flame exploded. He caught the hidden jab—his “#1 online vote” title was bought. Like novelists inflating sales, he’d paid to rig votes. Sponsorships pressured TV execs—his “Resurrection round” spot was pure manipulation.
Feng Bu Jue’s ironic “sacred” jab? A dagger to his insecurities.
“Just kidding,” Feng Bu Jue suddenly smiled. “Don’t like it? I’ll say something else.” He returned to his seat.
The audience sat stunned.
Oscar seized the moment: “Haha… Bu Jue’s always joking!” He forced laughter to dissolve the horror atmosphere, then pivoted: “Actually, your story had some merits—plenty of talking points!”
“Where?!” Feng Bu Jue self-sabotaged. “I said it’s just a Tortoise and the Hare remix. Any merit is just high-level plagiarism.”
“Er…” Oscar gave up. “Honestly, Bu Jue—what was today’s performance about?”
“You’ll understand when this episode wraps,” Feng Bu Jue leaned back, relaxed. “For now, just assume I had an off day.”
“Hmph… like you’d be impressive on your best day…” Night Flame sneered.
Feng Bu Jue didn’t even glance at him. Smiling, he murmured: “Call me arrogant, but I’ve lived my life without compromising—my pride is mine alone.”
(End of Chapter)
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