Chapter 41: Special Interview: I Once Fought Fate

After the commotion died down, everyone got back to their usual business.

The County Education Bureau was the least important; aside from publicly announcing a reward of 5,000 yuan and a certificate so worthless no one would bother looking at it for Fang Xinghe, they spent the rest of the time mooching camera time.

Fang Zong was swelling with pride; a mere 5,000 yuan wasn't even worthy of a sideways glance from him.

Liu Dashan, beaming with health, stood before the cameras and recounted the secret to cultivating Fang Xinghe—

Four big characters: Give him freedom.

"Ah, our No. 3 Middle School, ah, has always shown immense patience toward children with special talents, ah. Now society advocates teaching according to aptitude, ah, and we have done it, and done it very well!"

Who knows where he learned the habit of starting with "ah, ah, ah" the moment he faced a camera? Tokyo?

Since they were essentially family, the reporters merely shot him a few disdainful glances and didn't ask any sharp questions.

Actually, everyone knew: Was that really giving him freedom?

You simply couldn't control him!

The Experimental School principal thanked Fang Xinghe for his trust in the Experimental School, then started bragging too.

"Our Experimental High School, ah..."

The little old man was beaming with health; he was truly indulging in a bit of youthful exuberance in his old age.

The only one with any real business was the propaganda department, meaning they wanted to turn Fang Xinghe into a promotional card for external publicity.

Fang Xinghe immediately countered: "The idea is good, but do you have the resources? Even if you make a film, it would at most play within the county. What's the point of making a huge fuss? It wastes people's energy and money."

Fourteen is great; you can snap back however you want. The propaganda department leader could only smile kindly and answer patiently.

"The special interview won't just air in the county. After review and approval, it can be sent to the provincial TV satellite channel for broadcast. We are a directly administered county of Changchun, so many resources can be shared..."

Sharing was nonsense, but submitting the application for approval was no problem.

Fang Xinghe thought for a moment, then decisively changed his tune: "Of course I am willing to support the county's publicity work. It's just that my past image wasn't very good; I did some wrong things. Mainly, I was afraid of affecting my hometown, so until now I haven't been willing to accept formal interviews..."

A group of county figures immediately applauded, clapping their hands, and vied to praise him.

"Little Fang really has a sense of responsibility!"

"Good child, it's us who haven't taken good care of you!"

"What wrong things? It's perfectly normal for young people to have a few small problems."

The propaganda leader also gave a guarantee.

"Before I came, I specifically looked into your situation. Fighting is indeed not good, but you had your reasons, and to a large extent, you protected weaker classmates. This is chivalry, not an evil act.

The county's top leader made a special directive: We failed to take care of a child who became an orphan at a young age; that was already negligence and dereliction of duty. In the future, facing those malicious media outlets that care only about sales and disregard facts, we must protect our own geniuses and absolutely not let them spread lies and cause trouble!"

Passionate, precise in characterization, and very high level.

Although it couldn't solve the most fundamental problem, at least in attitude, they were determined to fully protect Fang Xinghe.

Fine, that's pretty good; I wasn't counting on you anyway.

So Fang Xinghe "granted permission" for the county station and the Beijing Youth Daily to conduct the special interview together.

The wording wasn't very pleasant, but the fact was indeed so.

When Zhao Chunhua arrived, the county TV reporters were extremely eager, yet Sister Zhao still wore a face full of disgust.

Nowadays, even farmers don't like watching county-level local stations, and the so-called reporters in the county don't even have a single press card; their interviewing skills are far from comparable to national major media.

If Fang Xinghe hadn't insisted, she would never have agreed to share the special interview.

Fortunately, Zhao Chunhua didn't bring a cameraman, so the county station filled the gap. Thus, the interview was upgraded: sound, video, and text, starting from shallow to deep, proving more effective than the initial expectation.

Zhao Chunhua was a very fashionable woman with a bit of arrogance, but her professional level was very high.

She first handed over Wang Yali's gift, a pile of professional books, and then used that as a starting point to open the topic.

"Fang Xinghe, do you like art very much?"

"Yes."

"Then how do you view the relationship between literature and other arts?"

"All arts connect with words at the subconscious level. Words can be a condensed form of imagery or a concrete form of expansion. Art ascends in this contraction and expansion, ultimately returning to our sensory intuition."

"Wow! A bit hard to understand; I need some time to think, but it sounds beautiful at first hearing."

The two sat under the pear tree in the small courtyard. Staff brought over a square table. Zhao Chunhua scribbled notes with her pen, while Fang Xinghe lay half-reclined comfortably in a rocking chair.

Half of his profile, bathed in natural light, was as smooth and lustrous as jade, shining brilliantly; the other half was hidden in the tree shade, calm and peaceful. The cameraman, using extremely basic composition skills, captured a breathtaking scene.

Zhao Chunhua struggled to pull her gaze back and continued asking questions.

"The Mengya Magazine received many letters from your readers. According to their feedback, many readers mentioned your orphan status and felt heartache over it. Regarding this point, is there anything you want to say to everyone?"

"No need to feel sorry for me." Fang Xinghe, without a moment's thought, immediately gave a rejection-style response, "I am doing very well."

But actually, how is it possible to ask fans not to feel sorry for their idol?

The stronger the idol appears, the more fans love to imagine and fantasize. There's no way around it.

So Fang Xinghe didn't need to act at all; he just needed to show his true personality openly, and leave the rest to the fans.

"You are very open-minded, but there is a sense of anger in your essays. Do you harbor resentment?"

"Resent what?"

"For example, your father?"

"I don't hate him."

"Really? But he is very irresponsible."

"I removed him from my memory very long ago."

"Incredible. Honestly, I can't quite understand..."

Zhao Chunhua shook her head repeatedly, incredulous, and even changed angles to press further: "Then have you thought that as your fame grows, he might very well return to your life?"

"I have thought about it. I'd be delighted."

"Huh?! Then how do you plan to handle it?"

"Work hard to make money, the more the better. When he hears the news and comes looking for me, I'll break his legs, drag him to my mother's grave to kneel, then smash a million yuan in his face and tell him: 'The debt of giving me life is now settled between us.'"

"Sss..."

Zhao Chunhua sucked in a sharp breath. Having executed frontline reporting tasks for years, she had truly never encountered a client like this.

"Then..." she swallowed, "what if he sues you? What if he goes around ruining your reputation? Or what if he keeps pestering you for more money?"

Fang Xinghe curled his lips slightly, revealing a profound expectation tinged with subtle pleasure.

"Then I'll break his other leg."

"..."

Zhao Chunhua was speechless for quite a while.

It was clear she hadn't expected it and found it hard to accept.

When she finally came to her senses and returned to the previous question, she said, "But you just said you don't resent him."

"Hatred is an emotion; I have no emotions toward him. Breaking his legs is something I must do for my mother. I guarantee I will do it very calmly."

"Completely for no benefit to yourself?"

"Yes."

"Even though you suffered so much because of it? Do you know, most readers believe the reason you became this way is because you were hurt too severely and painfully before?"

Fang Xinghe let out a silent, helpless laugh.

"Just as I wrote in my essay, this is fate. At that time, I lacked the ability to resist, so fate shaped me into my current self.

Is becoming my current self a bad thing?

No, it is neither good nor bad; it is simply not something that can be summarized by good or bad.

A person becomes who they are at this moment due to circumstances, whether good or bad. If they live very successfully, they thank those good pasts; if they live very poorly, they blame those bad experiences. Is this correct?"

Zhao Chunhua instinctively replied, "Of course not. We should fairly thank those pasts, whether good or bad; it is everything combined that gave birth to who we are now. Emphasizing only the good or only the bad is too one-sided."

A beautiful answer; she was a suitable straight man.

But Fang Xinghe shook his head: "No, I neither thank nor blame; I simply let them quietly settle into my memories. I do not live in the past; I only look to the future."

"Wow!"

Zhao Chunhua exclaimed again, then immediately covered her mouth in embarrassment.

She was very out of character, yet in the current environment, it was not strange.

"Many people have emphasized to me that you are particularly mature, but you are even more mature than I imagined. I don't understand, how did you do it? I mean, facing fate with such calmness?"

"When facing it, I was not calm."

Fang Xinghe smiled slightly, correcting the other person's wording.

The cameraman hadn't felt the brilliance of the previous words, but now he felt the brilliance of the image.

He thought: Fang Xinghe is so damn handsome when he smiles.

But the handsome youth was extremely stingy; he smiled once and stopped, quickly returning to his calm state.

"At the moment something happens, no one can avoid generating even a shred of emotion; I am no exception. However, I will not let myself immerse in emotions.

Scholars especially like to use emotions to define fate, labeling it good, bad, tragic, or painful. Is there any meaning in that?

No.

Emotions only affect decisions; they bring no benefits.

I view fate in only two ways: the irresistible and the resistible.

When facing the irresistible, accept it as objective reality; when facing what can still be struggled against, then work hard to smash it to pieces.

If you succeed, it's an absolute thrill, and life is sublimated from that moment on.

If you truly cannot smash it, then accept a new objective fact and let it settle in your life; at least you will have a clear conscience."

"A very great idea! For example? Can you give an example?"

Zhao Chunhua's cheeks flushed slightly with excitement; this topic was too surprising.

She felt this way, and presumably, future readers would feel the same.

Fang Xinghe raised his eyelids slightly and looked at her.

It was a very subtle movement, but for some reason, Zhao Chunhua saw a subtle smile in his eyes.

It was a composure that said, "I knew you were going to ask this question," a composure completely inconsistent with his age.

Immediately, the youth narrowed his eyes slightly; his spirit instantly changed, like a leopard poised to spring, full of the desire to attack.

Zhao Chunhua suddenly realized that Fang Xinghe was about to say something extraordinary.

Yes, Brother Fang was preparing to unleash a torrent of abuse.

He had been waiting for this day for far too long.

However, he did not plan to rant blindly, nor did he even plan to start from an educational perspective to talk about studying, grades, or his first place in the high school entrance exam.

What's the use of laying out grades and preaching the principles of studying?

True marketing masters never follow the other party's rhythm, because trolls don't follow logic, water army bots don't follow martial ethics, and public intellectuals have no shame.

If you rant within their framework, you will never solve any problem.

So, Fang Xinghe didn't even plan to directly curse anyone.

Bringing up the names of those scumbag public intellectuals and trash scholars in the first interview of his life would be giving them far too much face—mongrels, do you deserve it?

They don't deserve it; mentioning even a single character would damage his own dignity.

President Fang was preparing to open a new battlefield, combining his own experiences to launch a high-level, saturation-style covering strike.

Amidst Zhao Chunhua's nervous anticipation and under the cameraman's close-up lens, the youth sneered and gave an absolutely brilliant answer that was highly groundbreaking and subversive.

"Examples? Many.

For instance, the current wave of layoffs; this is a fate that ordinary people simply cannot resist."

What should a normal person do?

Don't rush to argue who's right or wrong—putting a final lid on the coffin is history's job;

Don't think about turning things back—once something has happened, you can't return to the moment before it did;

Don't expect anyone to rescue you—no one else's sympathy can carry you through your whole life;

Don't wallow in anger—staying calm helps you think better;

Don't stand still in place—look forward, and walk forward.

These are all very plain truths, yet the opinion industry has gravely failed in its duty on this matter. A portion of media people—god knows what's in their heads—have unleashed a blanket of criticism at the policy, gone all-out targeting **, and output nothing but emotion, with zero reasoning whatsoever.

I especially hate their bullshit, because it drags already-angry citizens into wallowing in negativity, even turning them into people who blame the heavens and everyone else.

At a moment like this, what's the point of recklessly exaggerating misery, going on wild rants, and peddling anxiety?

It only delays laid-off workers' self-rescue, steering them toward passivity.

Yet what they truly need is to cast off all that excess negativity as fast as possible, accept reality, and start saving themselves right away.

Get moving—set up a stall, carry bricks, drive a motor-taxi, head south to work a factory line, even team up to go abroad for work. Anything is fine; just don't stand there shivering, and get into action now.

Effort may not restore your original quality of life—that really is hard—but once you act, you won't slide all the way into despair.

Those media people curse back and forth every day, because they get paid for it, and if they curse well enough, they can even get famous.

Us ordinary people can't do that. We have to be positive and pragmatic. The moment we follow our emotions, we're dipping our own fresh blood into a steamed bun to feed those scumbags who stand around talking without their backs aching.

How fragile is a person in an absolute dead end?

Press one last straw down on them, and they collapse on the spot.

Pull one straw off them, and they pull through—their future a boundless sky.

Some media people nowadays only do the straw-pressing job, because it makes them look independent and clear-headed, moral, and possessed of conscience.

Yet real conscience would be to hurry and remind them: Wake up! Stop wallowing. Survive first. Once you've eaten your fill, scold slowly later—and when that time comes, I'll scold right alongside you!

Back then, when I realized I had no one left to rely on and was about to be unable to keep going, I immediately found a classmate who was often bullied and told him: We've got to fight back. If you don't dare throw a punch, I will. From now on I'll cover you, and you treat me to meals.

After becoming an orphan, how did I survive?

There was government relief, there was help from school, but most of it was meal after meal, penny by penny, that I personally punched out with my fists.

Most importantly, I crushed every dog that dared to mock me, test me, manipulate me, or bare its teeth at me. I used blood to turn myself back into a wolf—eating meat in great bites, and feeding them shit.

And how did it turn out?

Now I'm alive and full of vigor, while those yapping things have whimpered and fled back to the dog kennel where they most belong.

So I'm not one of those people who stand around talking without their backs aching. I've fought my own fate. 」

Holy shit!

At this moment Zhao Chunhua really wanted to let loose a curse—she was so excited that the tip of her pen, flying across the page, nearly sparked off sparks.

It was supposed to be just a routine deep-dive on a topic—who would have thought such a level of answer could be dug up?

Sharp, insightful, logically clear, positive, wild and unbridled, bursting with hooks, yet at its core so plain and simple.

Damn, he's only 14!

Have I, with my 30-plus years, lived them all on a dog's back?

Zhao Chunhua, half-doubting herself, kept contributing Star Values for Fang Xinghe—and looking at the jumping numbers, it had already reached the level of a core fan.

Fair enough—who wouldn't like a handsome, wild, yet profoundly thoughtful young man?

Zhao Chunhua even secretly resolved: From now on, whoever badmouths Fang Xinghe again, this lady will curse them till they're drenched in dog blood!

So how exactly is a die-hard fan born?

She had vividly demonstrated the process; now only the final step remained.