Chapter 593: I'm Just a Little Bird
Chapter 593: I'm Just a Little Bird
After the "side incident" between Feng Bu Jue and Night Flame, Oscar casually steered the conversation elsewhere, forcing the program to press on despite the tension.
The basis screen resumed its display of contestant numbers, and each writer stepped forward to present their outline.
Unsurprisingly, the second contestant to speak was Qishui. The director had taken great care to separate him and Night Flame both temporally and spatially, scheduling Qishui second—a thoughtful arrangement indeed.
Qishui’s story remained compelling, expanding into a heartfelt plot centered around jianghu camaraderie—emotionally resonant and well-crafted.
Third to appear was Uncle Da, who presented a rare social-issue narrative subtly critiquing environmental destruction. Such heavy themes rarely captivated audiences, and his verbose summary only deepened the crowd’s drowsiness.
Though his courage in tackling such material was admirable, scoring high seemed unlikely.
Fourth to reveal his outline was Bandit General, offering another martial-arts tale. Unfortunately, as the saying goes, “the fearless may not recognize quality, but comparing goods is dangerous.” His plot bore near-identical parallels to Qishui’s, leaving him at a clear disadvantage.
Fifth was Rose, who shockingly penned a yaoi fanfic—a tragic romance unfolding from dusk to night, culminating in a Yandere-induced lovers’ suicide.
The audience’s reaction split sharply. Oscar, visibly tongue-tied, hastily brushed past her story to move on.
Yamucha appeared second-to-last. When his number flashed onscreen, Feng Bu Jue’s suspicion was confirmed—Night Flame had secured the final, advantageous slot. The two contestants preceding him delivered outlines so weak they posed no threat.
Yet… an unexpected twist occurred.
Perhaps due to his earlier clash with Feng Bu Jue, Night Flame’s emotional volatility sabotaged his performance. Though never a top-tier writer, he’d at least outclassed the bottom-feeders—a status now lost. His subpar storytelling left even his fanbase dissatisfied.
No scores were needed to confirm his failure. Night Flame knew he’d squandered his lead under ideal conditions, a loss that gnawed at him bitterly.
“OK, all seven contestants have finished their presentations. Let’s now enter the scoring phase,” Oscar announced after Night Flame’s submission. “This round’s scoring rules differ from previous episodes.” He paused, letting suspense build. “First, our 700 live audience members still hold only primary votes—no secondary votes. Second, our expert jury will now join the judging, contributing 30% to the final score.”
“So… they’ve prepared this trump card too?” Feng Bu Jue mused. “These professionals have thought of everything. This way, even if Night Flame’s victory sparks controversy, no one can challenge the legitimacy of the vote count.”
Others sensed the shift as well, but only Night Flame fixated on the finals’ outcome. The remaining five writers either lacked ambition or resigned themselves to defeat, leaving them indifferent to the sudden rule change.
“Now, audience members, please cast your crucial votes via the screens before you,” Oscar declared.
As he spoke, the second round of voting began.
The DJ and cameramen sprang into action. The tense, momentum-driven background music and seizure-like camera angles promised to haunt editors in post-production—a headache for Feiran and the editing team.
Three minutes later, Oscar chimed, “Voting concludes in thirty seconds! Please finalize your vote for the writer who impressed you most in this ‘divine stroke’ segment.” He turned serious, addressing the stands. “Unsubmitted votes after this time will count as forfeits.”
In truth, 90% of the audience (excluding those Feng Bu Jue had driven out) had already voted within the first minute. By now, all 600+ attendees had cast their ballots.
“Time’s up!” Oscar dutifully announced thirty seconds later. “But…” He dragged the word, pivoting toward the contestants. “Our expert jury still needs time to deliberate. So… let’s move directly into our Card Q&A Session!”
Without pause, he reached into his suit pocket, producing a card.
Taking a deep breath, he faced the contestants. “Today’s Q&A will differ from usual. Normally, our production team’s three chief editors select three questions from the I’m a Writer message board for our seven writers to answer. Today, I hold only one question.” Another five-second pause. “But after I ask it…”
A metallic clang echoed through the studio. The contestants flinched.
“…every writer may pose a follow-up question to any other contestant.” As he spoke, cameraman Xiao Wu swept the lens across the contestants’ anxious faces.
Oscar’s forced smile returned. “Of course, this won’t affect your scores. Just keep your answers light-hearted.”
Yet everyone knew this “irrelevant” segment was critical. A well-handled Q&A could boost a contestant’s popularity—crucial for earning points in Round Three.
“Enough preamble,” Oscar paused maliciously, “let’s take an ad break first!”
Stepping aside, he dabbed his sweaty face with a handkerchief before facing the cameras again. “Welcome back to I’m a Writer – Revival Night!”
“Now for our beloved Card Q&A Session,” he chirped. “First question: Dear writers, you create so many powerful names in your novels. If you had a child, what name would you choose for your son? P.S. – Boy.”
After reading the card, he grinned. “A fun question! Qishui, you’re up first.”
“Huh?” Qishui blinked. “Well… my son’s already two. We’ve named him.”
“Oh? May we know the young noble’s name?” Oscar pressed.
“Er…” Qishui hesitated. “I’d rather not share. My wife prefers our family matters stay private.”
“Understandable,” Oscar nodded, exchanging a glance with the director off-stage. “Then let’s adjust: contestants with children may opt out.” He strolled to Yamucha’s spot. “Yamucha, don’t tell me you’ve become a dad already?”
“Of course not!” Yamucha flushed—a surprisingly bashful nineteen-year-old. “But if you suddenly force me to pick a name… it’s not something I’d decide alone.”
“Just make one up,” Oscar chimed in. “It’s like naming a character in a novel anyway. No one’s saying you have to use it for real.”
“Oh… Right…” Yamucha hesitated for a few seconds. “Then how about… Ah Qiang?”
“C’mon! That’s way too lazy!” Oscar fired back, his turn as the resident critic. “Is this supposed to be a legitimate son?!”
Laughter erupted from the spectator stands. The DJ even cued up a cheesy sound effect at the perfect moment.
“Let’s ask Uncle Da instead,” Oscar suggested, heading toward the third contestant’s area.
Before he could get close, Uncle Da preemptively blurted, “My son’s already in middle school! Don’t go giving him weird ideas!”
Oscar froze mid-step, then pulled a face at the camera. The audience roared with laughter again.
“Alright then…” Oscar moved to the fourth contestant’s area. “Rose, as the only female contestant here, I’m sure everyone’s dying to hear your answer.”
Rose didn’t reply immediately. She silently lit another cigarette, tilting her head back slightly to brush her bangs aside.
After a brief silence, she exhaled a plume of smoke and said, “Hmm… Edward Anthony Mason Cullen.”
“Huh… Hahaha…” Oscar’s lips twitched as he forced a grin. “That’s not…?”
“Yep. It’s a vampire name,” Rose cut in. “Got a problem with that?”
“Nope… Not at all…” Oscar thought better than to argue. This girl’s ready to drag me into a Twilight debate! If he pushed further, the security guards would have to step in.
“Let’s hear from the Bandit General next,” Oscar practically bolted to the fifth contestant’s spot. “Bandit General, your characters always have such catchy names. What kind of name are you planning for your future child?”
“My son? Just one character—Fei.”
“Ah… Soaring high like a bird taking flight, a name full of ambition,” Oscar praised quickly. He couldn’t blame the guy—out of the first four contestants, two had passed, and the other two were disasters. There was nothing to work with.
“I guess…” The Bandit General added, “I’ll think about it a while longer. I’ll probably come up with something better.”
“This question is a tough one,” Oscar agreed. “But that’s the point of a resurrection round, right? Throw you off guard with tricky questions! Ha ha…”
His smile vanished as he walked from the fifth to the sixth contestant’s area.
A few steps, a few seconds—just enough for Oscar to focus his Spirit completely.
“Bu Jue… Your answer is…?” Oscar asked nervously.
“Hmm…” Feng Bu Jue hesitated. “While you walked over here, I’ve already thought of several.”
“Really?” Oscar relaxed. “If you can, please share them all.”
“Alright,” Feng Bu Jue agreed. “Easy ones like Shinichi, Takumi, Gohan, Ryoma, Gon… You get the idea.”
This guy’s completely lost it, isn’t he? Oscar thought. He’s even pulling aggro during the name card round! He’s stealing his son’s name from somewhere else! At least pick something like ‘Yong’ or ‘Ping’ to sound sincere!
“Pfft—” The audience stands erupted into jeers, louder than a storm. No one had ever seen this happen during a Q&A before.
“Ah, sorry…” Feng Bu Jue suddenly cut himself off.
For a moment, the whole room thought he’d say, “Just kidding!” and give a proper name.
Wrong.
“… Sorry, my cell phone buzzed. Looks like a text. Let me check,” Feng Bu Jue said, pulling out his phone from his back pocket. He tapped the screen twice before reading the message.
Three seconds later, he muttered, “Tch…,” then flashed a subtle, almost mischievous smile before tucking the phone away.
No one knew that the text was from Li Ruoyu: That’s so stupid!
“Haha… Sorry,” Feng Bu Jue said flatly. “Forgot to silence it. Cut this part, okay?”
………
Due to the audience’s outrage, Feiran paused the recording after Night Flame’s answer and announced a fifteen-minute break.
During the break, Night Flame was summoned by Director Fei for a private discussion about backroom manipulation.
Director Fei was no fool. He knew leaving Night Flame near the contestants’ area would only lead to conflict with Feng Bu Jue. Since Night Flame wasn’t exactly popular anyway, better to keep him away.
Meanwhile, the remaining six contestants gathered around Feng Bu Jue.
“Bu Jue, I think I get what you’re doing,” Bandit General said from his seat. “I thought you were just arrogant, but this level of audacity… Are you trying to stir things up so badly that even Night Flame gets dragged down with you?”
“Heh…” Feng Bu Jue smirked without answering.
“Bu Jue’s not like that,” Qishui interjected. “He must have his reasons.”
“Hmm…” Rose exhaled smoke, her tone dripping with superiority. “Actually, I think this show’s pretty boring too. But my fanbase begged me to come. I had no choice.” She took another drag. “Pity… My fans aren’t like yours. Even if I did everything you just did, they wouldn’t leave.”
“If you’re really itching to lose fans, I’ve got a simple three-step method,” Feng Bu Jue turned to her, raising three fingers. “Step one: open your social media. Step two: take off your makeup. Step three: post a photo.” He dropped his hand and shrugged. “I call it the Three-Step Unfollow Combo.”
“Hmph… You wanna bet I won’t kill you off in my next book?” Rose glared, her voice sharp with irritation.
Uncle Da chuckled, “Bu Jue, don’t be so harsh with the girls. They’ll dislike you.” He paused. “By the way, you’re what, twenty-four or twenty-five? Girlfriend?”
“Got one!” Feng Bu Jue cut him off quickly. He’d heard enough from his landlord Auntie Liu on this topic.
“Feng Bu Jue! Can I get an autograph?” Yamucha suddenly appeared with paper and pen. “I’m your fan!”
“Sure,” Feng Bu Jue smiled, accepting the items. “Just a signature?”
“Yeah… If you could add a few words, that’d be great,” Yamucha replied.
Feng Bu Jue thought a moment, then looked up. “You’re… not even twenty, right?”
“Nineteen,” Yamucha nodded.
“Planning to write full-time?”
“Yep.” Yamucha’s youthful face grew serious. “I’ll keep writing forever, following the examples of seniors like you!”
Feng Bu Jue remained calm, then started writing.
“You’ll face many hardships, temptations, and choices,” he wrote as he spoke. “When you’re lost, remember why you started—this original purpose.” He finished with a flourish.
Yamucha took the paper. Alongside the signature was a surprise—a lyric:
*When you’ve tasted life’s cold indifference,
When you’ve chosen to burn for your ideals,
Self-reflection, being alive—
Which matters more, pressure or life’s dignity?*
(End of Chapter)
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