Chapter 5: Big Brother Fang Xinghe

What most needed to be sorted out right now was clearly the situation with the New Concept competition.

In his previous life, Fang Xinghe had never paid the thing any special attention; he only figured out what was going on after reading the full analysis homeroom teacher Old Fang had prepared for Fang Yuting.

The backstory was that starting from the end of 1997, domestic public opinion suddenly turned a great deal of attention toward middle-school Chinese-language education, and the argument quickly grew deafening.

The nearly-bankrupt magazine *Sprout* jumped on the bandwagon and put together a series of articles.

The title was "What Is to Be Done About Education."

As everyone argued back and forth, a consensus emerged: public opinion held that middle-school Chinese-language education was facing a huge crisis and was far from meeting the needs of the times.

Fang Xinghe didn't know the current situation, so he offered no judgment.

But clearly, the education world took it seriously.

So *Sprout* took the lead and, joining with seven key universities including Peking University and Fudan, organized the first New Concept Composition Competition.

The competition hired first-rate domestic writers, editors, and humanities scholars to serve as judges.

The concept was "Facing the new century, cultivating new talent."

Apart from keeping the word count under 5,000 and requiring contestants to be under thirty, there were no other restrictions—write whatever you wanted.

On the publicity side, because things were too rushed, the moves were modest.

Only newspapers, the *Sprout* monthly, and the education committees of some regions passed the information along.

But the hasty publicity didn't mean society didn't take it seriously: the news was published on November 13, and within a few days more than fifty newspapers and magazines had followed up.

Then look at the judges' list—so many famous big-name writers coming to score essays for a middle-school competition, it was simply absurd.

Fang Xinghe immediately thought of a more easily understood analogy.

This lineup was basically the equivalent of running a high-school version of *Idol Producer* in 2025, with the Beijing Film Academy, the Central Academy of Drama, and Communication University of China as organizers, judges including top-tier stars, film emperors and empresses, and senior executives of major film and television companies, multiple media outlets following up with publicity, and every young girl waiting for the show to air…

It really was over the top.

It was just that Nong'an was too small a city, and in the era of print media its response to new information was very slow, which was why it seemed especially calm.

Look at how much material Old Fang had collected for Fang Yuting—the smart ones were already sprinting ahead.

Thinking about it, he felt pretty lucky: if Fang Yuting hadn't been entering the competition, and if that busybody hadn't shot his mouth off, Fang Xinghe might not have heard any news until the competition was over.

What is this?

This is called Heaven's mandate is with me.

Fang Xinghe, delighted, kept reading.

The news specifically mentioned: winners of the semifinals would receive special attention from the co-hosting universities.

The information Old Fang had received was that if a current-year student's semifinal performance was especially good, they might even get a guaranteed university admission.

It seemed the root cause of the New Concept competition's explosive popularity in its first few editions lay right here.

Fang Xinghe now understood: the initial buzz hadn't been brought by Han Han at all—rather, the New Concept competition's heat had made Han Han, and afterward Han Han, with his unique legendary quality, had fed back into the New Concept competition.

In the end both blazed hot, each completing the other.

So this was exactly the battlefield and stage Fang Xinghe needed most.

Taking a look at the registration rules and format, the competition was divided into three groups, A, B, and C: Group A was for current-year Gao San students, Group B for in-school students below Gao San, and Group C for members of society under thirty.

"Then I'll register for Group B."

Looking at the dates again, the submission deadline was February 25; flipping to the calendar, that day was the tenth day of the first lunar month. The semifinal date wasn't mentioned—contestants were only asked to leave a mailing address and phone number.

Clearly, the first competition wasn't very mature; Fang Xinghe guessed the number of participants wouldn't be too large.

This was bad news.

He wasn't afraid of competition—the more people, the greater the influence, the more worth being happy about.

But things had already reached this point and couldn't be changed, so he'd just do his own job well.

Confirming once more that no information had been missed, Fang Xinghe settled his mind and began grinding his three swords.

Before the swords left the grindstone, their ringing cry traveled three thousand li.

Once sheathed, their sword-light chilled nineteen continents through.

……

Fang Xinghe remained in seclusion for a full eight days.

The swords weren't hard to grind.

Writing toward the end, he even had to pull back a little, being careful not to pack in too much internet flavor and to cut down on the cutting-edge content.

He had to consider the overall acceptance level of current society and teenagers, after all.

It was rather relearning the first-year-of-middle-school knowledge that cost a great deal of mental effort.

Little Fang had never been stupid; he'd only given up studying because of family reasons, and Big Fang was even smarter—a stupid person couldn't run an internet troll army, just sorting friend from foe was enough to wear a normal person out.

Now that two smart people had fused together, with a positive mindset and surging fighting spirit, after getting through the initial difficulties, his reviewing gradually entered a good groove.

So it wasn't that he didn't want to continue his seclusion; it was that Teacher Fang had come knocking.

"Xinghe, the school, taking your actual situation into account, has ended the temporary suspension punishment—when will you go back to school?"

Fang Xinghe thought for a moment: "Then tomorrow."

And so, on December 1, 1998, the older young comrade Fang Xinghe slung on his little schoolbag and returned to middle school.

Before entering the campus, he already sensed something was off.

What was the deal with that arrogant fat guy in the military coat at the gate?

Fang Xinghe watched with his own eyes as he grabbed a student, let loose a torrent of spraying, even got physical, and handled the kid like a little chick.

The dean of students?

Checking uniforms or checking hair?

Actually daring to use his hands…

Forget it, none of my business—I'm a good student.

Fang Xinghe smoothed back his long hair, which was almost down to his shoulders, and silently walked toward the school gate.

In his heart he thought: If you ask me, I'll just say I'm getting it cut tomorrow — anyway, bro really doesn't love keeping this dumbass Chen Haonan-style long hair.

But the moment his eyes met the dean's, the other man visibly paused, then silently turned his head away...

Holy crap, I have special privileges!

Fang Xinghe passed through the school gate keeping his face as cold as possible — absolutely no smiling now, that would be too disrespectful.

Didn't smile, sure, but it did feel damn good — wonder if anyone gets it.

Following his memory to find the classroom, he pushed open the door and had just stepped in when a bunch of little brats suddenly started whooping and hollering.

"Brother Fang! I've missed you to death!"

"Boss, you've gotten more handsome!"

"Come on, brothers, let's give our big brother some noise!"

Bang bang bang bang — a bunch of lunatics started slapping their desks.

Fang Xinghe thought this was already cringey enough, but then something even more absurd came after.

"The eagle of the grasslands, our wolf king, has finally returned to his hunting ground! Applause, cheers — give me... the whole thing!"

Oh god, my toes are about to cramp up!

Fang Xinghe looked calm on the surface, but inside he was panicking like hell.

Where's the teacher? The class monitor? Is there anyone who can rein this in?

No one could rein it in, and in the end he had to shoulder it all himself.

Raising a hand to press down, he controlled the scene: "Alright, alright, stop, don't disturb the other students' studying. Also, I'm going to start working hard myself — official announcement: I've messed around enough, from now on I'm turning over a new leaf, becoming a new person."

The classroom instantly went dead quiet, everyone staring at each other — using their little eyes to stare at Fang Xinghe's big eyes.

Fang Xinghe smiled and walked to his seat.

Mm, as expected, a pretty marginal spot — dead center of the very last row.

On all four sides sat Liu Fu, Yu Xiaoduo, Dang Tao, Li Qi, and a little girl with a poofy perm.

Digging a little deeper into his memory, Fang Huai was shocked to discover that these last two rows held a total of 8 people, all freaking members of the Thirteen Eagles the little brats kept talking about.

Like — what the hell are you guys even after?

Fang Xinghe couldn't quite understand the mental state and psychological traits of kids these days, but seeing their enthusiastic faces still put him in a good mood.

Taking advantage of the teacher not being here yet, Fang Xinghe emphasized it to them once more.

"I'm really decided to study hard and get into a key high school. If you trust me, then work hard with me — we'll meet up again at the key school."

One sentence silenced them all.

Fang Xinghe wasn't trying to cut ties with the past — he wanted to charge toward a brilliant future. Those who couldn't understand, or who understood but couldn't keep up, were destined to drift further apart.

The guys exchanged glances for a while, then nervously asked: "So, uh, are we still collecting the tribute money from now on?"

"Of course! Otherwise, when they get bullied, how are we supposed to step in and back them up?"

His mouth answered before his brain could catch up, and only after replying did Fang Xinghe freeze.

The atmosphere around them eased up again, the buddies going back to their joking and laughing — maybe in their eyes, nothing had changed at all.

But for Fang Xinghe, it wasn't like that.

He still didn't understand the living conditions and perceptions of the social environment among adolescent boys and girls in an ordinary junior high in a small northern county town at the end of 1998, but some kind of experiential force was surging and colliding within his future-life logic, rising like a tidal wave.

He suddenly knew what his first full-length novel in life should be about.

Just write me.

Just write this wild kid who lived in the 1990s, the schoolyard boss Fang Xinghe.