Chapter 19: I Didn't Surrender!【New Year's Day Big Chapter, Happy New Year!】

Li Qigang didn't waste words. He dug out Fang Xinghe's manuscripts and dumped them in a pile in front of Han Han.

"Take a look."

The one on top happened to be "Another Day I Really Want to Grow Up."

When he first started flipping through them, Han Han was very cautious, but the more he turned the pages the more relaxed he became, the more he read the more confident he felt.

After finishing, he let out a soft "ha": "That's it?"

The Speeding Youth's face radiated intense confidence, his brows arched high, his posture bold and commanding, leaning back in his chair as the manuscripts rustled in his hands.

"The writing is indeed smooth, but is there anything else special? This kind of campus fluff actually suits his age, but I was already too lazy to write this sort of thing back in sixth grade…"

"Don't rush."

Li Qigang smiled with an ambiguous meaning, gesturing for him to keep reading.

"That was just a casual essay—I didn't even put a third of my mind into it. Look at the others."

"Hah!"

Han Han curled his lip, set "Growing Up" aside, and picked up the next one.

After seeing the title, his casual expression suddenly changed, gaining a few shades of solemnity.

It was the semi-final assigned essay, "Knowing Yet Not Submitting—My Fate Should Be Mine, Not Heaven's—Thoughts on Observing a Bitten Apple."

From the standpoint of literary common sense, someone who can write good essays doesn't necessarily write good novels or prose, but the most basic ability to appreciate is shared, and sensitivity to the words themselves needs no questioning.

So Han Han naturally felt the grand, sweeping grandeur that hit him right from the title.

He instinctively sat up straighter, gathered his focus, and read carefully.

The room fell silent for a moment.

After turning to the last page and reading the final word, Han Han was silent for a long time, then suddenly raised a hand to rub his cheek.

Li Qigang teased with a smile: "How about it? Feel like you've met a soulmate on a mountain stream?"

"Not bad."

Han Han pursed his lips, half-convinced but still unwilling to yield.

"If I'd been given this topic too, I could have written it."

Though he said so, his voice was clearly much lower, and his gaze was hesitant and unfocused.

Could I write that well?

Han Han wasn't sure. He felt in his heart that he probably could, but he had no real confidence, instinctively believing that the elevation in that piece was a bit beyond the scope.

So this really wasn't deliberate bragging, but a kind of fuzzy "I probably could too" perception.

"I also believe you could write it."

Li Qigang echoed, then suddenly shifted his tone: "But 'Peering at People Through a Cup' really isn't as good as 'Knowing Yet Not Submitting'—the scope is far inferior. You still rely too much on instinct when you write."

Han Han irritably ran a hand through his long hair, wanting to argue back, but ultimately said nothing, just let out a heavy breath.

He was a man who cared about face; he didn't want to argue stubbornly without grounds.

"Keep reading."

He muttered softly, set "Knowing Yet Not Submitting" aside, and picked up the next piece—this one was "Fucking Youth, Youth Fucked by a Dog."

Before starting to read, he scooted his chair forward, no longer lounging against the backrest, but lay across the desk, burying his head in the reading.

His shoulder-length hair fell loose, shrouding his entire face, with only his furrowed brow exposed to Li Qigang.

Old Li smiled covertly and leisurely lit a cigarette.

As Han Renjun's old friend, he felt it was his responsibility to guide young Han toward a balanced mindset. As for the method…

Wasn't this it?

Not long after, Han Han finished reading the opening word by word, and suddenly felt a bit uncomfortable, roughly scratching his hair.

'Damn, buddy, you really don't coddle anyone…'

"Youth" speaks only of two words throughout: pleasing.

The opening already places himself as "I, your father," cursing the predecessors of the school-of-pain genre as impotent, and sweeping the entire post-80s generation in one stroke—wildness fully exposed, edge cutting into the skin.

Reading further on, it grew fiercer and fiercer, wilder and wilder.

Until the ending passage, Fang Xinghe's writing was like a bolt of wild thunder from the sky, blasting Han Han dizzy, his five limbs going numb.

There was a phantom pain as if a mud-cart had rolled over his body, making his breath stop short.

"Holy shit!"

Han Shao slapped the table and shot up, dumbstruck: "How dare he write like this?!"

"He just dares." Li Qigang spread his hands. "And he got his rant out, while I sat on pins and needles, and still had to give him a high score."

Honestly, Han Han also felt like he was sitting on pins and needles.

How could he sit still after this?

He lifted himself from the chair, strode to the window, and propped both hands on the sill, gazing into the distance.

The chair he had knocked askew scraped out a sharp, wailing screech against the floor.

Li Qigang said nothing, neither criticizing nor paying attention, continuing to smoke contentedly.

Meanwhile, the badly shaken Han Shao took several deep breaths, finally steadied his emotions, turned to lean against the windowsill, and stood there silently reading the last article.

"Sex, Violence, and Lies"

For a full ten minutes after that, the silence in the room was deafening.

After reading the final word, Han Shao hung his head, tugged at his chin, stood there for a long, long time, and only came back to himself after quite a while, his expression bitter and bewildered.

I'm not as good as him.

Four simple words, stuck in his throat rolling back and forth, yet no matter what he couldn't say them out loud.

Shame, guilt, conflict, vexation…

All sorts of unprecedented negative emotions repeatedly battered that chaotic heart.

Li Qigang stood up, walked over, took the manuscript from his hand, neatly stacked it together, then embraced the boy's shoulder for a second time, saying lightly, "Let's go, home."

Han Han stumbled downstairs, stumbled into the car, stumbled back home, and locked himself in the bedroom.

Lying on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, the self-important teenager who felt the heavens were unjust and the earth resentful felt for the first time in his life what it meant to be crushed by talent and overwhelmed by raw power.

He was still proud, but no longer confident.

What the hell kind of monster is this?

By comparison, am I a bit... too soft, too pretentious, too unstable?

Once reflection begins, it does not end easily.

In a daze, Han Han suddenly realized that his current self was also a pretentious child deeply mired in the throes of adolescence.

The groundbreaking words from "Youth" flooded back into his mind; he regretfully slapped himself, pounding the bed while cursing.

"Damn!"

"Such a cheap skin, rushing up to get scolded!"

But regret aside, he forced himself to get up, sat at the desk, and began to imitate that essay, "Youth."

This was not surrender, nor cowardice; it was delight at the hunt and mutual appreciation.

The essay was indeed somewhat interesting; I don't want to learn, nor do I want to study it deeply; I just, just, um... just appreciate it.

Having easily convinced himself, the self-important teenager began to dissect the text, head drooping, no longer able to be arrogant.

Fang Xinghe was not clear that his good big brother had been struck to the point of madness.

He was quite busy over here, busy showing off.

In the eyes of these examinees, Fang Xinghe was extremely excessive; not only did he directly reject the pie falling from the sky, but he was so coolly indifferent.

"Now is probably not a good time to dream about where to attend university; I am only thirteen and have achieved such a trivial little accomplishment."

Yan Ba's face was calm and restrained, not swollen with arrogance, yet that light, casual attitude was more arrogant than arrogance itself.

"Thank you for your kindness, but unfortunately, I have no interest in the Chinese Department, even if it bears the name of Peking University."

Teacher Wu and Chen Sihe exchanged a glance, shaking their heads and smiling bitterly at the same time.

Well, the little madman had just rejected both sides at once; since the special literary recruitment could only go to the Chinese Department, there was no other possibility.

"It's fine, we are not in a hurry."

Old Wu decided to play a delaying tactic, hastily cutting off the topic: "You focus on your studies first; let's see in a few years; the situation is constantly changing!"

Fang Xinghe nodded, politely taking his leave: "Then I will withdraw first, thank you again."

Old Wu and Old Chen watched Fang Xinghe walk toward Chen Danya with longing eyes, hands on hips, sighing in unison: "Sigh..."

I offered my heart to the bright moon, but alas, the bright moon is too cold and looks down on us.

Who can understand the pain within this?

Anyway, Chen Danya could not understand it; she simply asked with proper restraint, "You don't like Peking University?"

Fang Xinghe shook his head: "It is a problem with the major, not the school."

"Oh."

Ms. Chen, half-understanding, did not discuss the matter further, speaking in a consultative tone: "Xiao Fang, our society's reporter would like to conduct an exclusive interview with you; is that convenient?"

"Of course," Fang Xinghe said casually and directly, "although I don't think an interview now has much meaning."

Upon hearing this, the reporter laughed: "I heard Editor Chen praise your maturity long ago; indeed so. I am Wang Tong, a reporter from the Xinmin Evening News; shall we find a place to sit and chat slowly, is that okay?"

"Then let's go to my room."

Fang Xinghe turned to lead the way, with Chen Danya and Wang Tong following behind, chatting quietly.

"Actually, interviewing now really isn't of much use; perhaps you could hold off on the draft and wait for 'Mengya'?"

"Let's chat first; even as a draft, I must grasp more material than others, after all, I am your own person that Sister Chen has high hopes for!"

Chen Danya was very satisfied, smiling: "If necessary in June, I will apply for you again; what is yours is yours, no one can snatch it."

Fang Xinghe suddenly interjected: "What will happen in June?"

"You are so sharp!"

Chen Danya laughed and scolded, then explained: "Chen Jiayong has received a guaranteed admission promise from Peking University; next we wait for the admission notice. Once the matter is truly settled, relevant reports will follow immediately, probably around mid-to-late June."

Fang Xinghe immediately realized that the academic and media circles had truly made comprehensive preparations to use the New Concept to drive a new trend in language education.

He sighed from the bottom of his heart: "With the help of a good wind, I am sent to the blue clouds; this is the pulse of the era."

Thank you again to all the teachers for the energy and effort you have devoted to middle school language education, allowing me to see that the literary world today still has backbone, still cries out, and still acts.

It is very inappropriate for me to say this, but I truly feel a bit more respect for the teachers from the bottom of my heart."

Wang Tong's eyes instantly lit up: "This statement has great breadth and high vision!"

Chen Danya was not satisfied, pouting: "Just a bit?"

Fang Xinghe insisted with a smile: "Three parts is already a lot; five parts can only be given to Sister Chen; as for me, my heart is high."

"A big head on a small body!"

Chen Danya burst out laughing, clearly extremely happy.

But she did not speak of herself at all, saying only: "The teachers knowing your views will surely be very gratified; after you truly enter the literary world, you can chat with them more; everyone has read your articles and has a strong impression of you."

Fang Xinghe followed up with a joke: "You didn't mention good impression or bad impression; I think it must be mostly bad impressions."

"Hahaha! You child!"

Chen Danya really could not help laughing, then sighed: "You dyed your hair this red, and still expect those old conservatives to like you much?"

Wang Tong smiled and softened the tone: "Not really? I think except for a few people, when teachers mention Xiao Fang, it is mostly praise."

"The writing is good!"

Chen Danya, once she started praising, couldn't stop, her eyebrows dancing and her face alight.

"The essay competition is a contest of talent. Xiao Fang's writing is so brilliant that anyone who reads it feels delighted. The president of Fudan University wanted to secure him the moment he saw the article, but later, seeing his age was truly too young, he let it go..."

Wang Tong immediately committed this sentence to memory, even thinking he could use it as the title for his interview piece.

What a perfect explosive hook?

Afterwards, a doubt suddenly arose in his mind: How good were those few articles to have earned such unceasing praise from so many people?

With his heart itching, he couldn't help but ask, "Do you still have the drafts of those few articles? I'd like to see them."

Fang Xinghe shook his head: "No. The drafts for the preliminary round are at home, and the manuscript for the final round is not allowed to be taken out."

Chen Danya immediately refused on his behalf completely: "It must remain confidential before the book is published. Little Wang, wait until the anthology comes out to read it; you will feel even more moved when you read it quietly then."

"Then that's all we can do."

Wang Tong felt quite regretful, but he had no choice, so he continued the interview.

"Xiao Fang, continuing our previous topic, let's talk about your views on the New Concept Competition?"

Fang Xinghe pondered for a moment, then slowly spoke.

"The motivation was excellent, the process was excellent, the result may not have been excellent, but it was ultimately an influential, meaningful, and pioneering attempt. As one of its beneficiaries, I will forever cherish this competition experience."

"Wow, the way you speak is really..."

Wang Tong couldn't help but exclaim aloud, then got stuck there, not knowing how to phrase his description.

In the end, he could only squeeze out a particularly pale sentence: "You are the young person with the highest level of thought I have ever seen."

"Right?"

Chen Danya was extremely proud, looking as if Fang Xinghe were her son or son-in-law.

"Don't let Xiao Fang's appearance as a bad boy fool you; actually, he has a lot of substance in his mind!"

The entire interview revolved around this point, ultimately confirming it, and finally resulting in a manuscript that Wang Tong couldn't wait to publish.

But it wasn't ready yet; he still had to endure a bit longer and wait for that storm.