A fat man who was reborn from the dead? He transforms into a perfect male god in a week.

the next day.

Sunday, 8:50 a.m.

Hong Kong Centre Grand Auditorium.

Three hundred tables were neatly arranged, each with a set of white paper, black pens, and bottled water.

The air was as quiet as a college entrance exam hall.

No, it's even more stressful than the college entrance exam. After all, the college entrance exam is about "determining your fate," while this is about "proving yourself."

Jiang Chen sat in the third row, seat number eight.

Positioned at the front, right in the center, it's the kind of spot where it's hard to stay in the background.

He could feel two gazes behind him, like laser beams piercing the back of his head.

The one on the left, with a fiery yet provocative air, is Tang Hu.

The one on the right, with a cold and scrutinizing expression, is Tao Qianqian.

Jiang Chen didn't turn around.

He looked down at the blank paper on the table, pondering a philosophical question:

Should I deliberately write slower later?

Otherwise, if I write too fast and hand in the paper in half an hour, wouldn't that seem disrespectful to the other contestants?

behind.

Tang Hu stared at the back of Jiang Chen's head, a cold smile creeping onto his lips.

He recalled Jiang Chen's words from yesterday: "If anyone had even a modicum of intelligence, they could write several articles in a matter of minutes."

Installed.

Continue assembling.

Once the on-site topic is announced, let's see how you cry.

Tao Qianqian twirled the water-based pen expressionlessly.

She didn't look at Jiang Chen, but her eyes were always fixed on him out of the corner of her eye.

She read Jiang Chen's essay from the preliminary round five times last night.

The more I read, the less I believe it.

Those allusions, those scientific concepts, that ability to blend quantum mechanics and "Dream of the Red Chamber" into a Michelin three-star broth...

impossible.

It's absolutely impossible for a high school student to have written this.

Today is the day the truth will be revealed.

She couldn't wait any longer.

Nine o'clock sharp.

On the podium, Lao Wang, the editor-in-chief of Mengya, stood up and cleared his throat.

"Dear students, the semi-finals of the 18th New Concept Writing Competition are now beginning."

"The topic for this semi-final round consists of only one word..."

He paused for two seconds.

Three hundred pairs of eyes were fixed on him.

""reverse"."

These two words appeared on the big screen.

Black background with white lettering, like a dull thud slamming into the water.

silence.

three seconds.

Five seconds.

ten seconds.

Then, low inhalations rose and fell.

"Holy crap..." someone muttered under their breath, "What kind of question is this?"

A boy wearing glasses in front of Jiang Chen had his brows furrowed and was holding a pen in his hand, not putting it down for a long time.

On the left, a girl with a ponytail was biting her lip and frantically drafting a draft... She typed three lines, crossed them out, typed three more lines, and crossed them out again.

On the right, a slightly long-haired boy with an artistic vibe stares blankly at the word "reversal," as if his soul has left his body.

Of the 300 people in the audience, at least 250 were just staring blankly.

The remaining fifty didn't look much better.

Because of this proposition...

This is way too damn hard.

"reverse".

It's not "choice," not "growth," not "dream."

It is "reversal".

What does it mean? Time travel? A reversal of fate? The villain's redemption? Or...?

The more I think about it, the wider the scope becomes; the wider the scope, the less I know where to begin writing.

Tang Hu stared at the screen, his brows furrowed.

Seven or eight directions flashed through his mind at the same time, but none of them made him feel "safe".

Writing about time reversal? That's too cliché.

Writing about a reversal of fate? Not original enough.

Writing about reversing history? It requires a lot of historical data to support it; three hours isn't enough.

He glanced at Tao Qianqian out of the corner of his eye.

Tao Qianqian stopped spinning the water-based pen in her hand and stared blankly at the big screen.

She closed her eyes and quickly built a framework in her mind.

Then he opened his eyes, his brows still furrowed.

No.

All the ideas are too ordinary.

The word "reversal" is inherently dramatic and easy to write about brilliantly.

But precisely because it is so easy to stand out, it is also the hardest to stand out.

Three hundred people, three hundred reversals.

How can you guarantee that you are the "best"?

She subconsciously looked up at Jiang Chen.

Then she froze.

Jiang Chen...

They're already writing?

The pen tip glides rapidly across the white paper, making a fine rustling sound.

Without pausing, without thinking, and without even frowning.

It's like... knowing the proposition all along.

Tao Qianqian's pupils contracted.

Tang Hu noticed it too.

He stared at Jiang Chen's back, the cold smile on his lips slowly turning into mockery.

"Oh."

He lowered his voice and said to Tao Qianqian, "See? You can't even pretend properly."

"A normal person would need at least ten minutes to think about this kind of proposition, but he just started writing as soon as he saw it..."

He paused for a moment, then asked, "What does this mean?"

Tao Qianqian did not respond.

Tang Hu answered himself: "That shows he doesn't care what he writes at all. He's just faking it anyway, writing whatever comes to mind to get the job done, as long as he can complete the task."

He shook his head and looked away: "It's a pity about that essay in the preliminary round that was written by someone else. It was really well written, but he tried too hard and put himself on a pedestal, which led to him making a fool of himself."

Tao Qianqian was silent for two seconds, then lowered her head and continued to work on her essay.

Whether Jiang Chen is truly capable or just bluffing, it has nothing to do with her.

What she needs to do is write a work that can win the grand prize.

All others are distractors.

……

Rewind two minutes.

Upon hearing the topic, Jiang Chen, along with the others present, frowned, feeling that this topic was unusually absurd.

His first thought was: "That's it???"

This proposition is ridiculously simplistic!

Almost without thinking, he had a direction and content he wanted to write about.

Then I lowered my head, picked up my pen, and started writing.

The ink flowed in smooth arcs, creating a neat line of characters that resembled printed text, yet possessed a unique calligraphic style.

The topic of his essay was:

I killed my seventeen-year-old self.

Someone nearby caught a glimpse of the title out of the corner of their eye, their hand trembled, and they almost dropped their pen.

What kind of title is this?

Jiang Chen ignored everyone's gaze.

His mind was at that moment like a high-speed multi-core processor.

200 points of IQ fully unlocked.

The books I've browsed through in the past month at the No. 3 Middle School library unfold in my mind like countless floating windows.

Literature: *One Hundred Years of Solitude*, *To Live*, *Fortress Besieged*, *Border Town*, *Norwegian Wood*, *The Kite Runner*, *Ordinary World*...

History books: *The History of the Ming Dynasty*, *The Fifteenth Year of the Wanli Emperor*, *A Global History*, *The Stars of Humanity*, etc.

Philosophy-related books: *Sophie's World*, *A Brief History of Philosophy at the University of Tokyo*, *A History of Western Philosophy*, etc.

Psychology, sociology, communication studies, logic...

There was even the book he had casually flipped through, "Criminal Psychological Profiling."

Countless pieces of knowledge, like neuronal synapses, are connected, filtered, and reorganized within 0.01 seconds.

Then he continued writing.

"On my eighteenth birthday, I killed my seventeen-year-old self."

"The murder weapon was a 0.5mm black ballpoint pen."

"The crime scene was a window seat on the third floor of the library at Jiangcheng No. 3 Middle School."

There were no eyewitnesses.

"Except for myself."

……

An editor who had just passed by Jiang Chen glanced at the first five lines and shuddered, involuntarily gasping for breath.

This beginning is absolutely terrifying!

It's not that the content is scary.

It's a form.

Is this... the beginning of a mystery/suspense novel?

Write a mystery/suspense story for an essay competition?

This is truly the first time I've ever seen a young woman riding in a bridal sedan chair!

Tang Hu, standing diagonally behind, caught a glimpse of Jiang Chen's opening line out of the corner of his eye. His hand trembled, and he almost drew a black line on the paper.

He forcibly averted his gaze, staring intently at his blank exam paper.

Can not watch.

It cannot be affected.

But the essay title in my mind was firmly embedded in it like a nail.

I killed my seventeen-year-old self...

……