Chapter 14: Semifinal Composition

A mind long battered by postmodern information overload let Fang Xinghe quickly lock onto the most valuable thesis.

Themes like the beauty of imperfection or environmental destruction were too cliché—easy to write, but lifeless.

The most badass approach would naturally be to extend it into the hidden depths of human nature, or to write a piece of social and political criticism, but considering the audience the finished essay would face, it wasn't wise to write it too deep.

Fang Xinghe spent a little time weighing his choices, and the thesis he finally settled on was—

Human nature is neutral, neither good nor evil.

It is circumstance that decides what kind of person we ultimately become.

Once we clearly realize this, we can, through "cultivation," personally create the "me" we want to become.

Knowing fate yet refusing to submit to it—that is the true way.

……

Such a thesis was clearly both rebellious and positive.

A direct continuation of the thought in "Youth."

The effect it might have on teenagers is probably… baffling yet harmless to the brain?

Understanding it might have a threshold, but not understanding it wouldn't stop them from thinking it looks cool—something along those lines.

Being a top-tier hunk in both looks and thought, raking in fans like crazy, was precisely Fang Xinghe's original intention when he started writing.

Of course, because he didn't understand today's young ecosystem well enough, he didn't have a foolproof grasp on it—he could only give it his all.

Hope the result is the best one…

With the core settled, he began to write.

……

【A teacher once took out a very pretty red apple in front of me, and took a big bite—crack.

The bite mark was ugly.

The apple had originally been perfectly round and whole, and could have been kept for a long time, but half a minute later the exposed flesh began to oxidize, and I could already see its ending: a swift slide into rot.

What is it that infects its wound?

Everything in the air.

Then what is it that infects us?

Everything in civilization.

Philosophers, madmen, and young idiots always want to change the world, but the world never cares—objective existence feels neither joy nor sorrow—only civilization gives them feedback, and only the people who make up civilization, along with the countless conscious acts, emotions, and desires born from people, will carve, shape, and even toy with and destroy the young individuals within it.

This, then, is infection.

This process is sometimes good, sometimes bad, and most of the time neither good nor bad.

What does a good process of infection look like?

Probably being carefully tended to, that pretty skin never breaking, always absorbing nutrients correctly, and effectively filtering out toxins.

I'm not sure, I've never seen it, I'm just guessing.

And what about a bad process of infection?

Just like what's before my eyes now—bitten once, a chunk missing, everything outside pouring straight in, the wound quickly festering, and in the end either rotting all the way to the core, or scarring over into something grotesque.

Many of my peers have already been bitten before they ever got to know me.

So I always feel they didn't develop very well, a little misshapen.

Yet in reality they see me the same way—this wonderful state of "a crow can only see the pig's blackness, not its own," sparked my thinking, and finally let me dig out a cruel truth—

The fundamental reason that decides what kind of "thing" we wild children, who were never carefully looked after, ultimately become, depends entirely on at what stage, because of what nonsense, we were bitten by something.

Some reasons are bitter, others are laughable.

Maybe just because a mother was mocked by a gossip, or a father lost money playing cards, or even because a teacher asked a question for the first time and the child, out of fear, answered a beat too slowly—and then suddenly a vicious, ugly great mouth comes biting down.

There are always some inexplicable reasons that turn us into that punching bag, and until the pain stabs into our minds, the innocent us are still utterly clueless.

Truly sad.

What's even sadder is that the harm goes far beyond being a punching bag—the trauma caused by special circumstances like parents fighting year after year, affairs, divorce, or even accidental death, really does cut to the bone.

I don't want to write this part—go ahead and see yourselves in it.

Anyway, no matter how many reasons there are, the result always converges—

The missing piece can no longer resist external infection, so no matter how good the people we meet later, no matter how well we're cared for and protected, the rotting part keeps spreading deeper.

So we go from the pure essence and harmony of infancy, born close to the Dao, to the bewildered resentment and tangled contradictions of adolescence, and finally to the hypocrisy, numbness, and grubbing of adulthood… all the way down, down, down.

No need to mention what comes after—some people die at this stage, they're just buried many years later.

Who on earth coined the phrase "walking corpse"? What wisdom.

The start of rot, when it happens in childhood, is always the most brutal—childhood deprivation is a kind of pathology, one that takes a whole lifetime to treat, yet no one dares guarantee it can be cured.

When it happens in adolescence it's a little better—the child has some capacity to accept it by then, and might even be triggered into a second form.

Take me, for instance—I fight like a beast, my second form is like a thirty-year-old wolf or a forty-year-old tiger, utterly terrifying.

The harm that happens at this age, I call youthful setback; its severity can be light or heavy, depending on how those things sink their teeth in.

Finally, setbacks in young adulthood—I actually feel that a young fellow in his twenties taking a few more hits isn't necessarily a bad thing; the beatings he dodged in adolescence, let society deliver them, it should still temper a person pretty well.

Just don't temper me—I've had more than my fill of setbacks, and now I just want to watch other people make fools of themselves.

After summing up "at what stage" and "because of what nonsense," the remaining "by what thing" left me very hesitant, unsure how far to curse.

Because ninety-nine percent of the things that can bite a chunk out of us are parents, relatives, and teachers.

Getting bitten by a stray dog on the road won't leave internal injuries.

Just grab a few bros and beat it to death, then happily eat a couple of meals of dog meat, and you'll understand—when this thing behaves it's a pet, when it doesn't it's just food.

But the people close to us are different, especially parents—when they quarrel, play favorites, are ignorant, are violent, what can a child do?

Nothing, right?】

At first, I could not understand it at all, but later I finally found the answer in Daoist texts.

Human fortune is not something we can control.

The family we are born into, the environment in which we grow up, the education we receive, and the gaps gnawed into us—before the age of eighteen, we can decide nothing.

This is what is called fate.

Daoism speaks of fate, and Chinese people believe in fate, yet Daoism is never passive about it, nor are the sages of the Chinese nation.

Ge Hong was the first to shout in "Baopuzi": "My fate lies in me, not in heaven," a thunderclap to deaf ears.

Before Qing dynasty writer Wen Kang promoted "obey heaven and know fate," the ancestors always believed in "defying heaven to change fate," tracing back from Zhuge Liang setting up the Seven Stars Lamp to extend life all the way to Da Yu controlling the floods; these are all examples of "the world is often unsatisfactory, yet I shall gamble my life against it."

There are also specific methods.

Laozi told us in the "Tao Te Ching": "Know the male, keep the female, be the stream of the world. Be the stream of the world, and constant virtue will not depart, returning to the state of an infant."

Being bitten is no matter; slowly learn and cultivate, understand the ways of the world and know good from evil without drifting with the tide, guard your spirit, and repair yourself bit by bit, eventually returning to the infant's state of returning to the root and truth, a realm nearly akin to the Dao.

I consider this a very pragmatic approach to solving the problem.

When you discover you have been bitten, do not panic first; carefully see where you were bitten, how large the wound is, then ponder exactly why, and then make a vow to yourself—never again will I let this situation happen.

Next, begin the struggle.

Strive to grow strong, grow wildly, and when you become strong enough, whoever opens their mouth at you, knock out all their rotten teeth.

Sufficient power can solve all problems, and power can be shallow money, or profound insight, or booming reputation, or even an extremely robust physique.

In short, anything is fine, as long as you are not scared and stop moving forward.

The day we stand still and give up resistance, the "I" that was so hard-pressed to be born from the womb and develop until now truly dies; the name is already recorded in the King of Hell's ledger, with the verdict being two large characters: Trash.

If I were that apple, anyone wanting to bite me must be prepared to spend the rest of their life drinking porridge.

Arrogant?

Arrogance is what a young man is.

Of course, the situation that is more likely to happen is actually this—when you are strong enough, you need not even use power; wherever your gaze reaches, all are smiling faces.

I have deeply felt this as well.

Before the first semester of the second year of junior high, I often fought, because if I didn't use my hands, someone would always kick up their nose and get cheeky, trying to find a sense of existence on your wild dad me, until I did one big thing, and the campus immediately fell into a quiet and peaceful state; occasionally going out for a spin, everyone bowed and scraped, which was extremely boring.

So I turned from evil to good, put down the knife, picked up the pen, and wrote these nonsensical, sour essays.

At this moment, I suddenly feel a bit irritable, and cannot help but question myself: I, Fang Xinghe, a proper mini big brother who swept through the junior high department, why must I sit in this broken place and rack my brains with my clumsy language to explain these big principles that essentially have nothing to do with me?

After thinking carefully, the answer is about to emerge—

Oh, I am doing this for fame; with fame, I can earn big money, and with money, I can grow freely, and then do anything I like.

Then there is no problem.

To become strong, I can accept many temporary unhappinesses and persist until I have completely succeeded.

Just like a fierce tiger lying in a barren hill, hiding its claws and fangs and enduring.

A very good poem, right?

I also like the last two lines very much, but the original text is inconvenient to write out, so let me summarize the general meaning for you.

—One day, when I become awesome, I will repay revenge for grudges and settle scores for resentments; I must turn all you beasts that go "crack crack" biting me into crushed dust, and then scatter your ashes for you!

A bit narrow-minded, but this is the me I want to become.

I do not recommend imitation, but you may take it as a reference.

Writing to this point, the most sincere emotion in my heart suddenly begins to surge, gradually becoming clear.

I am not a good child, but a wild child cursed and feared by many, yet I am not bad either; I am simply struggling, fighting against some malice I do not even know where it comes from.

Now I am very well, living laboriously but vividly.

May you be the same: not tamed, not tainted, not submitting to fate, and actively becoming the you that you most want to be.

If there are more such people, none of us will be lonely anymore.

Just as Mr. Lu Xun said, be the torch; do not wait for others to illuminate you, but emit your own little light; perhaps it is not very brilliant, but among the scarred and battered of our own kind, it still shines brilliantly.

Thus, this is probably the prosperous age that belongs to us, isn't it?

Look, now I am also a philosopher, a madman, or a young idiot attempting to change the world; thinking carefully, there is actually nothing particularly bad about it.

Then let it be so.

I hope to see that day soon.】