Chapter 51: Chapter Fifty-One: I Have Something to Say

The classmates looked at each other, but no one stood up.

Wang Yan was too much of a troublemaker to tolerate such behavior; he immediately raised his hand: “Director, I have something to say.”

“Speak.”

“Director, I don’t know who did it, but I just saw Chen Xun, Qiao Ran, and Zhao Ye slip out secretly.”

At these words, all eyes in the class turned to Wang Yan at the back.

Director Ma scrutinized the trio with a piercing gaze.

In truth, every student knew who was responsible, but no one spoke up—because anyone who did would be ostracized from the class; even those who agreed would stand by and condemn them verbally.

Honestly, Wang Yan’s actions were deeply unpopular among the students.

But Wang Yan didn’t care what they thought—or what retaliation the trio might bring. Besides, some among them surely shared his views and supported him.

He turned to the trio with a taunt: “Then stop sitting there. Are you men? If it was you, admit it openly—don’t drag innocent classmates into this and waste everyone’s time.”

“If you don’t want to study, don’t ruin it for others.”

What’s the big deal about stirring people up?

As expected, with Wang Yan leading the charge, other high-performing students in the class began chiming in.

Pressure bore down on the trio; unlike the other two, Zhao Ye’s legs were shaking—he felt the call of paternal wrath.

Director Ma made no move to stop them, just glared silently.

Casting a disdainful look at Zhao Ye, Chen Xun and Qiao Ran exchanged a glance, then raised their heads like warriors and declared: “I did it. It has nothing to do with them.”

He could deny it outright, but how would his classmates see him? How would his brothers see him?

Where would his face go? Where would his dignity go? Where would his pride go?

As Qiang Ge said: Isn’t it youth if you’re not bold and brash?

In Wang Yan’s view, it was just indulgence. Too proud? Fine—let them step on your face like shoe insoles twice.

Qiao Ran wouldn’t let Chen Xun take the blame alone: “Director, I did it.”

That fool Zhao Ye chimed in too: “It’s none of their business—it’s all me.”

“You don’t need to pass the blame around—I’m telling you, none of you are getting away. All of you, get out and stand.” He pointed to the door.

Shooting a venomous glare at Wang Yan, the trio walked out, outwardly defiant but inwardly trembling.

They had no idea how to face the school’s punishment—or their parents’ wrath.

Watching them leave, Director Ma said: “Alright, get back to your self-study.”

Then he went out to deal with the trio.

The classmates glanced at Wang Yan—some with complex expressions, others with outright hatred.

Wang Yan ignored them, sitting calmly and flipping through his book.

Fang Qian cast a worried look at Wang Yan, then turned away without speaking.

Lin Jiamao slammed her desk in righteous anger: “How could you do this? How could you betray them?”

“They just wanted to watch the game—petitioning, cutting the power, never caring what the rest of us thought. Do you think what they did was right?”

Lin Jiamao said nothing. Wang Yan didn’t care—he looked at the other students, drawn in by the spectacle, and asked: “Do you think what they did was right?”

After a long silence, a girl with thick glasses spoke softly: “I think it’s wrong.”

Wang Yan knew her—she ranked among the top students and was the class study committee member, the teacher’s favorite helper.

With the study committee member speaking, others felt free to follow.

“I think it’s wrong too.”

“They never thought about us.”

Aside from those of similar disposition, most held deep resentment toward them. Some with grudges even began dredging up old grievances.

Wang Yan watched Lin Jiamao, wanting to defend her friends but unable to find words, and shrugged.

“Enough.”

He slapped the desk and said: “Everyone, quiet down. Get back to self-study.”

The moment he spoke, the class fell silent—only the rustling of turning pages and the scratch of pens remained.

Wang Yan smiled faintly. They’re all just kids.

Through two incidents, combined with his own leadership and undeniable aura, Wang Yan had gained authority and influence in the class—through the approval of some, the conformity of others, and the silent fury of the rest.

Of course, there were plenty whispering behind his back—but as long as no one openly challenged him, that was enough.

Lin Jiamao stared at the scene, unsure what to do. Even many of her close friends didn’t rise to support her. Knowing she was no match, she huffed, shot Wang Yan a resentful glance, and sat back down in frustration.

She kept silently wishing Wang Yan well, yet worried for her friends’ safety—this was no small matter; they might actually be beaten to death.

The next day, Wang Yan woke early to run and practice boxing.

After breakfast, he put on the school uniform altered to fit him by the old woman from the welfare home, grabbed his backpack, and strolled casually to school.

It was early self-study time; Wang Yan arrived neither early nor late, slipping quietly in through the back door and taking his seat.

Lin Jiamao had arrived early and had been silently wishing Wang Yan ill all morning—since her three friends hadn’t shown up, it was clear they were in deep trouble. Seeing Wang Yan enter, she glared at him and turned away, ignoring him.

Wang Yan didn’t care—he’d get his comeuppance someday.

Fang Qian up front kept glancing at Wang Yan, checking on him constantly.

As Fang Qian turned to look, Wang Yan suddenly raised his head—startling her into quickly turning back.

It was amusing—Wang Yan himself had once been like that: secretly infatuated with a girl in class, always sneaking glances. When she sensed someone watching and turned, he’d instinctively look away.

It had nothing to do with fear—it was simply the shy awkwardness of young boys and girls.

But Fang Qian wasn’t secretly in love with Wang Yan; she was probably just curious, wanting to understand him better.

And most stories begin with curiosity.

Time passed quickly—the day’s lessons began.

Open the books, study hard—this was the path to Huaqing and Beijing University.

After the second class, the long break.

“The First Set of National Middle School Radio Gymnastics is now beginning...” (Bro, I don’t even know which set it is—just the general idea.)

“Ready. One, two, three, four.”

“Two, two, three, four.”

After the gymnastics, the school leaders stood in a row on the podium.

Director Ma stepped forward and tested the mic: “Hello, hello.”

“Students, you all know what happened during last night’s self-study.”

“You’re here to study, not to cut the power and cause trouble for the school. This behavior is extremely reprehensible.”

“We hereby issue a public reprimand to Chen Xun, Qiao Ran, and Zhao Ye, record a major demerit, and order them to return home for one week of reflection. Next week at this time, they will give their self-criticism here. All students should take this as a warning.”

As soon as he finished, the class erupted into murmurs.

Director Ma quickly silenced them: “Quiet, everyone, quiet.”

“Now, let the principal speak. Everyone, applaud.”

“Clap... clap... clap...”

The students began clapping; Wang Yan clapped half-heartedly along.

Then the principal launched into a long-winded, tedious speech.

Even company bosses do this—two sentences could say it all, but they drag it out for ages.

They call it “the art of speaking,” claiming you must grasp the deeper meaning.

After all these years, Wang Yan finally understood what it was really about.

But honestly—he was sleepy.

After what felt like forever, it finally ended. Each class was orderly dismissed.

The students reacted differently.

Those who hated school nodded inwardly and muttered “Cool.”

Those who enjoyed the drama nodded inwardly and muttered “Cool.”

Those with objections wisely stayed silent, because everyone around them was saying “Cool.”

Wang Yan had nothing to say—he’d said “Cool” himself before.

In the afternoon PE class, Wang Yan had nothing better to do, so he went to the basketball court to play. Mostly to show off, to chase some youth.

He’d once been decent at basketball—but terrible. Now? His physique spoke for itself: tomahawk dunks, spinning layups, over-the-head slams—he could do them all.

Agile, quick-reacting, explosive, with excellent control. His long-range shots might lack accuracy, but his two-point drives were flawless.

The school team players and regulars who’d seen him before greeted him warmly as he arrived.

Some newcomers asked those beside them: “Who’s he? Why’s he so cool?”

“He’s...”

It was the deep bond built over the past month—even though Wang Yan didn’t play often. But when he showed just a couple of moves and guided them, they were conquered.

They didn’t know why, but they just felt Wang Yan was great—they loved talking to him, playing with him.

“You’re here.” Su Kai, the team captain, tossed him the ball.

Wang Yan nodded, caught the ball, stepped behind the three-point line, and launched a brick. Then he sprinted forward, leapt high with both feet, grabbed the rebound, and slammed it down. He didn’t dare hang on the rim—he feared his strength might break it.

“Whoa, fucking awesome.”

“Wang Yan, awesome.”

The students beside him, though they’d seen it many times before, were still wildly excited. There was nothing to be done—they were envious and jealous.

A few girls cooling off nearby pointed and whispered about Wang Yan as he played.

To be fair, Wang Yan now had a small group of female fans, all of whom had stumbled upon him playing basketball.

Watching Wang Yan, Su Kai said, “You’re seriously awesome. So damn cool.”

“You’re almost there too—I saw you were nearly there just a couple days ago. Just push a little harder,” Wang Yan encouraged Su Kai.

But whenever he looked at Su Kai, he kept thinking of Love Apartment—he couldn’t shake it.

“Don’t comfort me—I know my level. But what about what Coach Zhang said the other day? Haven’t you considered it?”

“Nah, I still have studies to finish.”

Saying that, Wang Yan called out to the students nearby: “Come on, let’s play a full-court game.”

In no time, everyone arranged themselves.

A group of young guys began playing basketball with loud energy.

Wang Yan didn’t hog the ball—he passed more often. Besides, they were all grown men; a few flashy moves to get the feel of the game was enough. The rest was just for fun. Basketball was about teamwork—if he just charged in for dunks every time, what was the point? He could just grab a ball and dunk alone if that’s all he wanted.

After a full class of energetic play, the exercise level was so light Wang Yan didn’t even break a sweat.

What Wang Yan didn’t see was Fang Yin watching him silently from the left side of the court. Lin Jiamo was peeking at him from behind a large tree on the right.

Lin Jiamo had stumbled upon him by accident. For the past month, Wang Yan had played basketball so rarely that she’d never run into him with Chen Xun and the others.

Once, while passing by by chance, she’d seen him leap for a spectacular dunk—she’d been stunned.

“Who knew this brown-noser and nuisance could play basketball? And he’s so cool when he plays?” Her heart thudded wildly, nearly leaping out to cheer.

But then she remembered how annoying Wang Yan was, and felt conflicted—she hesitated, sneaking glances from behind the tree.

Wang Yan didn’t know—and even if he did, he wouldn’t care.

Though he’d started school later than them, overall, their mindsets weren’t that different.

You could only say the kids back then were… really pure?

That evening, after school, Wang Yan packed his things and strolled out slowly.

Outside, he spotted Fang Yin’s back as she rode her bicycle—behind her trailed several boys.

Wang Yan frowned and called out: “Fang Yin.”

Hearing her name, Fang Yin stopped and turned—just as she opened her mouth to speak, she saw the boys following her and froze, head bowed in fear.

Wang Yan walked over before either could speak: “What are you guys doing following her?”

“Kid, I’d advise you to mind your own business.”

Ignoring the two delinquents, Wang Yan told Fang Yin: “Go ahead, leave.”

“You dare?” one skinny boy threatened sharply.

Wang Yan had no patience for nonsense—he tripped the boy with his foot, yanked his arm back, and the kid flew through the air with a “Whoa!” Wang Yan subtly cushioned his fall with his heel to avoid a head injury.

The other boy, seeing his buddy go down, yelled “F—!” without thinking, swinging his fist at Wang Yan.

Wang Yan caught the incoming fist with one hand, grabbed the boy’s collar with the other, and kicked his shin—then slammed him onto his fallen companion as the first boy cried out in pain.

Before Fang Yin could react, both boys were already on the ground.

“I suggest you two keep your mouths shut,” Wang Yan said, stepping on them. “Broken teeth look awful.”

Hearing this, the two boys, who’d been groaning and threatening, wisely clamped their mouths shut.

“Alright, you can go.”

“But you—”

“It’s fine. Go home,” Wang Yan said firmly.

Fang Yin, hearing his decisive tone, walked away slowly, glancing back every few steps.

The commotion had drawn a crowd—everyone nearby was curious.

Wang Yan scanned the crowd, said nothing, and tapped his foot on the two boys: “Get up.”

The two rose obediently and turned to run.

Wang Yan grabbed both by the shoulders: “Run again, and I’ll make it real.”

Feeling the pain in their backsides and shins, they wisely chuckled nervously: “Big Brother, what do you want us to do? Just say it.”

Wang Yan nodded: “Who sent you? Take me to him.”

The two hesitated, mouths opening to protest—they still believed in that code.

Wang Yan grunted, squeezing their shoulders tighter.

“Ow… Big Brother, Big Brother, it hurts, hurts—easy, easy! We’ll take you, we’ll take you!”

“Lead the way,” Wang Yan released them.

“Got it, Big Brother, this way!” One rubbed his shoulder, the other his butt, leading the way.

The crowd, seeing the show was over, dispersed with sighs—but everyone was asking who the guy was that took down two guys in one go.

Among them were students from Wang Yan’s class. Hearing the questions, they bragged smugly: “That’s from Class One, Grade Two—Wang Yan.”

They added proudly: “He’s my classmate.”

There was no helping it—this informant, this teacher’s pet, they’d seen him shove Zhao Ye and Qiao Ran to the ground before—but they never imagined he’d go this hard. Those two obvious thugs, taken down in seconds?

This would spread across all three grades by tomorrow—kids this age loved this stuff.

Even the ones who spent all day buried in books, swimming in the sea of knowledge, would pretend indifference while straining to listen.

Youth is full of passion—everyone is like that.