Chapter 27: An Internet Sensation

The online discussions showed no signs of abating; instead, they grew increasingly intense. “The Death of Red Hare” had set the world ablaze! Netizens everywhere dissected and analyzed the perfect-score essay, with many expressing their awe, while others began to entertain their own ambitions—perhaps they too could achieve something similar one day.

“Incredible! That student must be a prodigy!”

“This is what true classical learning looks like—what have we been studying all these years?”

“My teacher’s already forced us to read it several times, and now we have another passage to memorize…”

“I’m thoroughly impressed, completely convinced!”

“Reading this essay and then looking back at my own writing, I suddenly feel so ashamed.”

Yet, there were also those who questioned the essay’s authenticity. The media, ever hungry for clicks, was not known for its integrity—was what they reported true or false?

Especially given how strict the grading process is for the college entrance exams—a composition not only leaked but with the author’s name revealed? That seemed suspect.

Headline news: “[The First Perfect-Score Composition of the 2018 College Entrance Exam Released—A Masterpiece!] According to relevant media reports, the year’s first top essay hails from the Jiangdong examination center, with the topic ‘Trust.’ Drawing inspiration from ‘Romance of the Three Kingdoms,’ this composition, ‘The Death of Red Hare,’ has garnered unanimous praise from language teachers and netizens alike.”

Beneath this post, many netizens agreed that writing such an essay under exam conditions was no small feat, though some argued that the piece flaunted classical literary skills in a way ill-suited to the author’s age and experience.

“How could an exam paper be leaked? Is the system flawed?”

“This is ridiculous—the results haven’t even been released. It has to be fake.”

“No grading teacher has the right to leak anything related to the exam. I suggest the Jiangdong exam office conduct a thorough investigation!”

“Without rules, nothing holds together. Today it’s a leaked composition; next time, it’ll be the actual exam questions.”

“Whether this was orchestrated by Zhang or leaked by an insider, both threaten the fairness and discipline of the college entrance exam.”

“There are so many so-called perfect-score essays each year—how many are genuinely authentic?”

While everyone had initially been caught up in the shock brought about by “The Death of Red Hare,” attention soon shifted to whether any rules or laws had been broken.

In the editorial office of the Jiangdong Daily, a tense silence reigned. Everyone was on edge. They had only published the news after receiving a tip, aiming to boost their paper’s appeal, but now they might be held accountable for it.

…

“Whether it’s true or not, it has nothing to do with us. Just carry on as usual!”

Jiangdong TV was simply following in the footsteps of its newspaper counterpart—if anyone suffered, it would be the press, while the TV station raked in ratings and online views.

With the leadership’s approval, Jiangdong TV’s reporters proactively sought out a staff member from the Jiangdong Provincial Examination Authority’s publicity department, who wished to remain anonymous, for an interview—and the response was full of substance.

“All exam papers are classified national secrets. The examination authority cannot confirm or deny the content of any essay. Whether before or after grading, the authority will not release any perfect-score compositions or related material.”

That was the official response. In the latter half of the broadcast, however, the focus shifted to an interview with Zhang Chu—purely to stir the pot.

On screen, Zhang Chu was energetically dispensing his own brand of dark humor, his confident demeanor leaving viewers baffled yet intrigued.

Even Chu Lan found herself bewildered by the news report. She turned to Zhang Chu. “Son, was ‘The Death of Red Hare’ really a perfect-score essay? I don’t quite understand.”

“What the staff member meant,” Zhang Bowen mused, tapping his head, “is that it’s up to us to judge the essay’s authenticity. There’s no way the leak could be traced back to us—it has nothing to do with us at all!”

Zhang Chu smiled faintly. He understood perfectly well. “That official was just shirking responsibility, neither confirming nor denying anything. All he said was that the essay wasn’t leaked by the examination authority—if anyone wants to investigate, they shouldn’t look there.”

Just as his father, Zhang Bowen, had said, the leak had nothing whatsoever to do with him. In any case, he’d already gained the reputation points he wanted.

Within the system, Zhang Chu now had over 80,000 reputation points. For such a nationwide sensation, very few people’s attention actually focused on him as a candidate; the real star was the essay itself.

It was as though Zhang Chu knew about “The Death of Red Hare,” but if he didn’t go searching for it, he would never know which student had originally written it on Earth.

Perhaps the essay itself had millions of reputation points, while Zhang Chu himself had only a paltry sum.

But as the news spread, more and more attention shifted from the work to the candidate. Zhang Chu’s name, along with his caustic wit, was taking the internet by storm.

“Someone with full marks in reading comprehension, please analyze this for us—is ‘The Death of Red Hare’ really a perfect-score essay or not?”

“The authorities say they never release such essays, but the candidate himself admits to writing it. Does that mean it was leaked through another channel? Or perhaps it wasn’t a perfect-score essay after all?”

“Whether or not it was awarded full marks, I still think it’s amazing.”

“Hahaha, this guy’s way of speaking is hilarious—after watching, I actually feel energized!”

“Such clever turns of phrase—I’m suddenly convinced he really did write that essay.”

“Who can understand our sorrow? Dragons beget dragons, phoenixes beget phoenixes, the son of a mouse knows how to dig holes—clearly a matter of genetics!”

“Too much motivational writing makes me nauseous, but this student’s words, cutting as they are, have a point.”

“Whether or not it was awarded full marks, it’s definitely a great essay.”

“If it didn’t get a perfect score, then the graders must have been blind!”

“A sharp-tongued genius—I like him! Someone, get me his QQ number!”

Zhang Chu’s interviews, laced with dark humor, won over a large number of netizens. The wave of anti-inspirational sentiment found powerful resonance online. The internet buzzed with excitement as more people were drawn in by Jiangdong TV’s news broadcast.

Zhang Chu, browsing through the comments on his newly registered microblog account—under a pseudonym and without authentication—murmured to himself, “I really hope the results come out soon, so this matter can finally be put to rest.”

Thanks to the news coverage and the heated online discussion, his reputation within the Savior System soared ever faster. But without something concrete to anchor it, fame would inevitably fade. He was determined to seize this opportunity while it lasted.

Once the college entrance exams passed, it would be much harder to capture the attention of the entire nation again.