The next day, the Future Morning Post was published on schedule. After the printing machines worked overtime through the night, they finally managed to produce twice the usual number of copies.

Even the newspaper vendors who came to pick up their stock were puzzled. "Has the Future Morning Post got so much money that they don't know how to spend it? Newspapers have a shelf life. If these don't sell today, they'll never sell."

The printing factory workers, who knew the inside story, quietly told them today's headline news.

The vendor gasped. "Blue Planet actually submitted an article here?"

By now, Blue Planet was no longer the newcomer it had once been. Its numerous novelists were famous across the galaxy, and few creatures dared openly mock Blue Planet's literary standards anymore.

To some extent, Blue Planet itself was a prestigious brand. Some writers from other galaxies even took pride in quickly following Blue Planet's literary trends.

Hearing this, the vendor immediately became confident about today's sales and requested even more newspapers. The factory workers loaded the shipment at top speed.

Every morning, the vendors came up with catchy slogans to advertise the papers. The first half of today's slogan had already been decided:

"Futurism joins hands with Blue Planet, storm clouds gather before Memorial Day!"

The second half would depend on the day's front-page article. The vendor glanced at the cover. The largest headline read:

"The Common Flaw of Literature Is Realism," by Canghai, from Blue Planet.

"One paper, please." An office-bound cube-shaped native bought a copy and was immediately captivated by the front-page article.

The Peninsula Criticism Literature Memorial Day was about to begin, and the rival newspapers had already prepared themselves for battle.

The opening editorials in the days leading up to it were especially important. They had to build momentum while also establishing ideological ground. Readers across the Peninsula had already begun placing bets on which camp would ultimately triumph.

"The Future Morning Post is so thick today. Looks like they'll have a strong showing this year." The cube weighed the paper in its hands. "But the lead article was written by an alien? Canghai? A Blue Planet author? Then I really have to read it carefully."

The title, "The Common Flaw of Literature Is Realism," was provocative and practically inviting controversy. Yet the argument inside proceeded methodically and confidently, making it an exhilarating read.

[

"I happened to have some free time, so I thought I'd write this article. First, to organize my thoughts from years of studying literature. Second, because I've heard certain rumors. Some people insist that historical writing must always be realistic. Coincidentally, I write historical fiction myself, and almost all the details are made up."

"Did I ever open Qin Shi Huang's* tomb? Of course not. I've only taken photos with the Terracotta Army. Did I personally witness all those ancient folk legends? Of course not. I simply slapped my forehead and started making things up. If readers enjoy it, then I enjoy writing it."

"If we're going to be completely serious, Xia, Shang, and Zhou* society was based on slavery and possessed extremely weak productive forces. How could it possibly compare with modern interstellar civilization? If an alien really traveled back in time, the first thing they'd bring would probably be infectious diseases, not a disguise born from fear."

"Even that probably isn't realistic enough for certain people."

"In my opinion, true realism should submit entirely to science. We should first invent a time machine, then travel to the relevant historical era without interfering with history. Preferably hide under someone's bed while eavesdropping. Then write: 'Today, so-and-so stuck their nose where it didn't belong.'"

]

Canghai then offered another example. In Blue Planet's own literary history, there had once been a major debate over whether science fiction should emphasize science or imagination. Eventually, the science faction won the discourse.

Science fiction writers were criticized for lacking "respect for truth" and "violating the laws governing the development of intelligent life." The genre declined dramatically and survived only by disguising itself as children's literature.

The article concluded:

[

"If everything must imitate the past, and everything must pursue objective truth, then readers' imaginations will inevitably be constrained. Worse still, writers' creative passion will be extinguished. Every era deserves its own literature. The past should simply be allowed to remain in the past."

]

"Hahahahaha!" Supporters of Futurism burst into laughter.

"This Canghai fellow is hilarious! His wording is brilliant. Demanding that every historical work strictly follow archaeological evidence really is just sticking your nose into other people's business. Do they seriously expect people to time-travel into history?"

"His example isn't perfect, though. If you ask whether science fiction belongs more to science or literature, many readers might hesitate. But if you broaden the question and ask whether novels belong to science or literature, almost everyone would agree that they're literary creations."

"Forget what the critics say. When writers write, the first person they should satisfy is themselves!"

Many Peninsula readers were also part-time novelists themselves and immediately began discussing the essay enthusiastically. Most writers already leaned toward Futurism, and they found Canghai's words deeply resonant. Many bought extra copies.

"Blue Planet truly lives up to its reputation. It always stands on the correct side, the side that accords with objective reality. Today's paper is absolutely worth collecting. I'm buying another one!"

"What novels has Canghai written? I want to understand him better. I'd love to meet him in person."

Before long, sales of the newspaper had become so explosive that the editorial office erupted into celebration. They even shed a single crocodile tear for their mortal enemies.

The Future Morning Post also maintained an online edition specifically for extraterrestrial readers. Alien readers flocked to it, eager to see what Blue Planet's famous writers had to say.

"The Common Flaw of Literature Is Realism" quickly spread throughout the galaxy. One person shared it with ten. Ten shared it with a hundred. Soon, Blue Planet's own forums exploded with discussion, and many of the replies were baffled.

The Fangquan Peninsula still enjoyed considerable fame throughout the universe, and most people already understood the basic positions of Futurism and Revivalism.

"What a surprise... I remember Canghai being extremely knowledgeable about history. I can't believe he supports Futurism. Futurism advocates creating entirely new literature instead of retelling the past. Isn't that completely opposite to Canghai's own works?"

"Not surprising. He and Xunming became close immediately, and everyone knows what kind of writer Xunming is. Although Canghai's writing is steeped in historical influence, at heart, he's always been rebellious. I've heard tomb robbing is illegal on Blue Planet, yet he wrote multiple novels about it. Doesn't that say enough?"

"Stop using Xunming as a unit of measurement!"

"You really can understand a novelist better by reading their theoretical essays. I thought Canghai was cheerful and carefree, but it turns out he's terminally rebellious. I thought he was a little ray of sunshine. Instead, he studied history while standing on the anti-history side of the debate."

For many readers, this essay completely overturned their previous image of Canghai. If his name hadn't been attached, many would have assumed that Xunming wrote it.

"You people have a strong filter for Canghai. Living beings are full of contradictions."

"No contradiction at all. Those are all parts of who Canghai is. In one of his earlier essay collections, there's a whole chapter describing Xunming visiting him while he was hospitalized. Here's an excerpt."

[

After I was admitted to the hospital, Xunming visited often. On the very first day, he performed the incredible feat of peeling an entire apple in one unbroken strip. When he finished his masterpiece and looked up, our eyes met, and we laughed until we nearly fell over.

The stale veil of illness hanging in the room vanished instantly. There were no longer patients there, only us.

Ever since Xunming learned that I majored in ancient history, he never stopped teasing me with his half-baked historical knowledge. If I praised him as a literary genius, he'd ask whether all the world's literature was worth only that much. If I said I'd helped someone on the street, he'd ask whether I was trying to become Jing Ke or Nie Zheng.* If I mentioned so-and-so had brought me a basket of my favorite fruit yesterday, he'd say that if he'd known they were coming, he wouldn't have bothered coming himself. That they should take turns visiting so my hospital room would look livelier.

]

"I can tell. Xunming is a total professional contrarian*."

"Only a contrarian would see another contrarian. That's obviously genuine friendship."

The reader who quoted the passage added: "Canghai really is a little ray of sunshine. He really does understand history, and he's also incredibly rebellious. Even when he was coughing up blood from illness, he still wanted to go fly kites with Xunming. And Xunming actually helped him climb over the hospital wall to sneak out."

"Wow..."

"Thanks for posting that excerpt. I never dared to read Canghai's essay collection because I thought it'd be too heartbreaking. Now I finally understand why Canghai and Xunming are such close friends. If I had a friend like that, it'd be hard not to be happy."

Some readers reflected carefully and felt that Xunming seemed more like Canghai's true best friend than anyone else. Then a shocking realization struck them.

Wait... Did all of us misidentified who Canghai's closest friend really was?

More straightforward readers immediately started new discussion threads. "Wait a second. Is nobody thinking about Qiongtian? Canghai and Xunming hit it off immediately... but what about Qiongtian? He spent so long writing A Hundred Years Together for Canghai. He also left countless hints throughout Born Again with the Spring Wind. Qiongtian has devoted himself to researching ancient Blue Planet history. He and Canghai were childhood friends. Shouldn't they have endless topics to talk about?"

Canghai had openly declared support for Futurism. Then what about Qiongtian? Wasn't Blue Planet supposed to operate on a best-friend pairing system? Could best friends change?

And in Canghai's essay, who exactly was the so-and-so busybody? Some random stranger he overheard? Or someone who had genuinely said those words directly to him?

Qiongtian rarely wrote novels. Lately, he had mostly published academic papers and was probably the hardest-working person in Blue Planet's entire literary office. Readers could easily imagine his personality: quietly diligent, obsessed with details, awkward at social interactions, unable to grasp subtext, yet immensely knowledgeable. Basically the quintessential bookworm.

By all logic, Qiongtian should have leaned more toward Revivalism.

Writers could reconcile over many things, but differences in ideals and beliefs were often impossible to overcome. The more readers thought about it, the more worried they became.

Their interest wasn't merely gossip. They drew emotional nourishment from the friendships among Blue Planet's writers.

Blue Planet's profound bonds stood in stark contrast to the emotionally distant universe around them. Many readers even begun believing in fate again because of Blue Planet.

But now... the two writers they watched reconcile before everyone's eyes might not have the future they imagined. A hollow feeling settled into their hearts...

So this was the unpredictability of life.

One reader poured cold water on everyone's emotions. "They reconciled. Isn't that enough?"

The others, already emotional, fought back tears, but the same reader continued mercilessly:

"That's how adulthood works. Making peace doesn't mean restoring the past*. It just means letting go.

Do these social cues really need to be explained? Returning to being casual acquaintances is enough. Anything more would only be rude."

The wounded readers felt their hearts ache.

"Ah... I can't bear reading this... I thought... I thought everything would end happily."

"I was the rude one... Sob..."

"My emotions are a mess. So after the HE comes, everyone's going their separate ways? I'm only an audience member... The one who can't move on is me."

Someone tried desperately to reassure everyone. "Wait! Maybe Qiongtian supports Futurism too?"

But deep down, every reader knew that the chances of that were practically zero.

...

At the offices of the Ancient and Modern Evening Post...

"Is Revivalism... really beyond saving?" The elderly editor-in-chief floated anxiously through the office. Spread before him was today's Future Morning Post.

"Blue Planet... Why did it have to be Blue Planet?"

He was well informed about developments in the wider literary world. Many old friends traveled through the galaxy and regularly sent reports back to the editorial office. The Fangquan Peninsula was not an isolated literary island.

"Blue Planet has such a long history. I always thought its writers would become our strongest allies. Especially their historical materials; they could have helped us with so much research. Who could have imagined... that a Blue Planet novelist who writes historical fiction would become one of Futurism's earliest supporters? Could it be... could it be that we were wrong?"

A young editor tried to comfort him. "Editor-in-Chief, perhaps our senior scholars can still write articles to oppose Blue Planet. We're only temporarily behind."

"Do you think I can't tell the difference between temporary and permanent?" the editor-in-chief replied. "But waiting to die has never been my style. Bring me my optical computer. I'll write an article myself!"

The office became lively once more. Yet a heavy gloom still lingered over everyone's hearts.

Then suddenly, one editor checked the inbox. Its expression froze, and its body reflexively burst into brilliant rainbow colors like a piece of candy.

"It's Blue Planet! Blue Planet!" it cried excitedly.

Before anyone else could react, it hurriedly opened the message, afraid it might be some kind of prank. The email read:

[

Greetings. Your publication is one of the leading representatives of Revivalist literature, and I have followed it with great interest. I work professionally in archaeology and have accumulated some thoughts regarding Revivalist literary theory. After organizing these ideas into an essay, I wished to participate in the discussion and have therefore submitted it for your consideration. The article is attached below. I respectfully await your feedback and guidance.

Sincerely yours, Jung.

]