Chapter Forty-Two: The Creative Design Competition

Hu Lei was a graduate student in the Department of Architectural Structures at Gongji University. As a model student, many assumed his life revolved solely around the dormitory, the library, and his advisor’s studio. Yet that was not the whole truth—model students are human too. They need life, they crave affection, and they are not lacking in emotional intelligence. Like most students, they also run short of money.

Hu Lei had remained single throughout his four years of university. In his second year of graduate school, he met a younger student in his department. Though he had never been particularly interested in romance, he fell for her at first sight. However, inexperienced in matters of the heart, Hu Lei didn’t dare confess his feelings directly, nor even pursue her boldly. All he could do was show her extra care in their advisor’s studio.

But a few days ago, after Bai Xiaojing—the young woman—received a call from home while in the studio, she seemed completely out of sorts. Now, every day at lunch, she would get only a simple vegetarian dish instead of her usual balanced meal, and eat alone in a corner.

Hu Lei had been quietly watching over her. Not lacking in intelligence, he soon deduced that something must have happened in Bai Xiaojing’s family and that they were in urgent need of money.

Graduate students working for their advisor—the “boss”—could earn a modest wage, but the sum was never large: two thousand yuan at best, just over a thousand at worst, barely enough to cover daily expenses. Hu Lei usually didn’t pay much attention to saving money, so when he wanted to help Bai Xiaojing, he found himself at a loss.

Should he ask his family for money? He couldn’t bring himself to do that.

Feeling troubled, he decided to relax a bit online. Seated at his desk in the dormitory, Hu Lei opened up his favorite forum, “Home of the Architects.”

This forum was renowned for its wealth of resources and active experts. Members often shared modeling tips and design experiences—it was practically a must-visit for architecture students.

But today, as soon as he logged in, Hu Lei sensed something was amiss. Although the forum had many registered users, its highly professional nature meant that off-topic or “water” posts were far fewer than elsewhere. If someone wanted to chat idly, they would go to other sites. Usually, each board had about a thousand posts a day.

But today, nearly every section had over three thousand posts; the design discussion board had six thousand.

What on earth was going on? Had he entered the wrong forum? Hu Lei wondered.

He clicked on the design discussion board.

Every topic was dominated by a single subject. All the “architect bugs,” as forum users called themselves, were discussing the “Rational Creative Design Contest—The Manor in the Trees.”

What was this about? Hu Lei was completely baffled.

After scrolling through several chatty threads, he finally discovered the topmost, pinned post.

No wonder he missed it—unless you were new, who ever looked at the brightly colored announcements at the top, which were usually just forum rules and regulations?

But now, the first post was titled with extraordinary flair: “Rational Creative Design Contest—The Manor in the Trees, Prize: 2 Million!”

Of course, all the grandeur was concentrated in those last words: “Prize: 2 Million!”

Money! So much money! Two million!

Hu Lei’s heart leapt. With two million, any problem could be solved.

But with such a high reward and so many experts on the forum, competition was bound to be fierce. No wonder it was a contest.

Damn it, just go for it! If you don’t even try, what kind of man are you?

And so, two hours after Wu You posted the announcement, Hu Lei became the first to truly set about designing.

He opened Wu You’s post. The more he read, the more his brows furrowed. The contest organizer’s requirements and intentions were clear, but the design was entirely a work of imagination.

Creating an imaginary structure that defied reality was already challenging, but the real difficulty lay in the three-dimensional model the organizer demanded.

After all, the towering tree described in the post existed only in the organizer’s mind. Although there were twenty seemingly detailed reference drawings attached, imagination is imagination—there were bound to be discrepancies between the images.

If he had to compensate for the organizer’s errors himself, it would not only make modeling much harder but also more time-consuming. And the most crucial point—the judging criteria were entirely at the mercy of the contest organizer. Even if you corrected the flaws, what if your work wasn’t recognized?

Perhaps this was why no one had publicly declared their intent to enter. Still, Hu Lei was sure that plenty of experts were trying their hand at it in private.

He couldn’t give up—he would have to try first.

Hu Lei took some instant noodles, sausages, and two cans of Red Bull from his cabinet, preparing for an all-nighter.

Of his three roommates, two were already asleep. The third was grinning lecherously at his phone, clearly engrossed in a novel.

Seeing Hu Lei preparing noodles and hot water, that roommate muttered, “Give me a taste when you’re done.”

Hu Lei shot him the finger and threw himself completely into the design.

The first step was to construct the tree itself—the foundation of everything.

He started by using the floor plans and interior diagrams provided to set up the basic framework.

“Huh, the data is pretty accurate—the floor and elevation plans actually match up. Looks like the contest organizer is an expert too.”

Next, he meticulously compared each detail drawing, modeling them one by one.

Hu Lei worked with painstaking care and focus, determined not to miss any abstract errors in the twenty drawings, so he could fix them as needed.

But—there were no errors, not a single one.

Every view, from the whole to the tiniest detail, matched up perfectly in scale and position, aligning seamlessly.

There was nothing that needed correcting.

Unable to contain himself, Hu Lei exclaimed, “To have sketched these plans purely from imagination—what a genius the author must be!”

“You’re insane, yelling in the middle of the night,” grumbled a roommate, turning over in his sleep.

“Hu Lei, are you making the noodles or not? I’m hungry,” the novel-reading roommate said, still glued to his phone but reminding Hu Lei of his “duty.”

…

At 6:30 in the morning, Hu Lei, his eyes bloodshot, was still staring at the model taking shape on his screen.

Fueled by determination, he had worked efficiently.

The model on the computer was only a rough draft of the trunk and main branches—no detailed features, leaf veins, or smaller branches had been added yet, and it hadn’t been rendered.

But even in this early form, Hu Lei felt the ancient, majestic aura emanating from it.

His heart was filled with awe and admiration for the contest organizer’s brilliance.

If such a tree truly existed, it would surely be a marvel that rivaled the wonders of creation itself.