Academia Noturna

“And the winner of the 30th Best Screenwriter Award is…”

As the words faded, cheers erupted in front of Zhang Tan. A middle-aged man with a small braid jumped to his feet, punched the air twice, and shot Zhang Tan a taunting glance over his shoulder.

Zhang Tan’s lips moved silently, cursing under his breath. His right hand instinctively reached for the pocket of his suit, where a small slip of paper lay—the acceptance speech he’d spent an hour preparing last night, never imagining he wouldn't need it in the end.

They say “third time’s the charm,” but Zhang Tan, a hot favorite for the Golden Rooster Awards, had now accompanied the ceremony for three consecutive years without ever taking the prize.

He had thought this time would be different, but reality struck again. Applause and murmurs of surprise mingled around him, proving he wasn’t the only one caught off guard.

Zhang Tan skipped the evening reception, drinking himself into oblivion at a bar, ending up sprawled on the roadside… Waking the next day, he felt as if dozens of needles pierced his skull, pain surging in waves. He clutched his head, knocking it hard.

As his eyes opened, noise flooded his ears. Above him spun a blue ceiling fan, whirring loudly.

Turning his head, he saw a group of young men and women eating breakfast. He, himself, lay stretched across a row of dining tables.

He quickly sat up, surrounded by people who ate and sized him up, whispering in hushed tones.

“Where am I?”

He remembered drinking at the bar last night, then stepping out