Chapter 50: Of Course, Reading Is the Right Path

As time went on, the shockwave Fang Xinghe had set off was still spreading without pause, like a sudden, violent mountain fire, shaking the very freedom of the public-opinion sphere.

The so-called public-opinion sphere of the turn of the century was broadly composed of three sectors—

One, media entities with television stations at their core, newspapers and periodicals as their backbone, and broadcast stations as their feelers.

Two, a voice-projection system with media professionals at its core, scholars as its backbone, and freelance essay-writing literati as its extension.

Three, an information-exchange field centered on journalism, supplemented by political science, economics, and sociology, conducting open discussion of public affairs such as education, livelihood, law, and culture.

Entities, battlefields, systems, information, terminals—together they built the complete public-opinion sphere.

It was a super-giant net covering the entire society, rarely stirred in its entirety; most information circulated only within its own small circles, transmitted to fixed users.

For example: the workers laboring to combat desertification in the great northwest, and the young girls along the southern coast going crazy over Nicholas Tse—the information they followed in their daily lives would never overlap.

The only exception capable of breaking through "daily attention" was a disaster-level super-event.

The term "breaking out of the circle" describes precisely that special phenomenon of shattering "attention inertia."

And now, Fang Xinghe possessed exactly that unconventional power to break out of the circle.

Layer upon layer of accumulation, quantitative change finally triggered qualitative change, shaking nearly half the public-opinion sphere.

This was a miracle very difficult to replicate.

Sorting out the whole process from a panoramic view: the main battlefield was first born in the field of education. To establish a new atmosphere for language arts, with the tacit cooperation of a group of media outlets, the first wave of heat was generated through "a single composition getting you into Peking University."

At this point, the main audience was Gao San students and their parents.

After that, the influence spread—horizontally reaching the literary world, vertically seeping down to Gao Yi, Gao Er, and university students—and the number of followers swelled three- to five-fold.

Thereafter, driven by certain ill-intentioned people, the topic broke through once again.

From "studying blindly is meaningless," it progressed to "studying hard is not the only way out," and then to "quality over exam-oriented education"; the hidden ideological core was "education must be reformed."

Han Han, as the representative figure, was hoisted upon the crest of the wave, forming a great tide of reflection on the current education system.

By this point, almost all third-tier-and-above cities across China had been covered.

There seems to be no fifth-tier classification right now, so to be more specific: in all county-level cities and above, 70% of junior-high and senior-high school students' parents had passively become followers of this current of thought.

A rough estimate put the coverage at no less than seventy or eighty million people.

Compared to a total population of 1.3 billion, 80 million at first glance doesn't seem like much—but the current urban population is only 440 million; subtract the old, the young, the sick, and the disabled, and isn't that plenty?

Such a grand stage, used to showcase two youngsters—hard to replicate indeed.

In the previous life, Han Han's role was "a villain with redeeming qualities," who fought his way out through blood and fire; though not beloved by the righteous faction, he reaped all the dividends of the angry-young-man crowd.

In this life, Fang Xinghe went one step further, single-handedly creating for himself "a prodigal-son-turned-good, strong-but-tragic villain"—whatever Han Han could eat, he would eat; whatever Han Han couldn't eat, he would also eat. The main theme: eat it all!

And the development of the situation had also whetted the appetite for Fang Xinghe's entrance to a fare-thee-well.

—In a social debate of this magnitude, the affirmative side, holding the view that "schooling is the only way out," was actually gradually losing ground!

Unbelievable, isn't it?

But the facts were indeed so.

In the era of print media, there was both a lack of independent viewpoints and a lack of channels for dissemination.

Among all media entities, television stations basically did not take part in this kind of discussion; only a very few programs had the function of real-time hot-topic tracking.

So the main debaters were usually newspapers and broadcast.

And broadcast stations generally did not break ground independently; their stance followed that of the higher-level media.

Therefore, whoever controlled more newspaper circulation naturally possessed more voice.

On the quantitative level, official media were of course far stronger, but in terms of entertainment value, inflammatory power, and sharpness they lagged far behind the capital-media, which were dominated by Nanfang Zazhi.

Of the tens of millions in sales of official newspapers, 80% were concentrated within government organs and the system.

Yet the capital-media's various publications, with combined sales of over ten million, were spread across the folk society of all developed regions, deeply loved and trusted by intellectuals, the first-rich, and the angry-young-man petty-bourgeoisie.

Having channels of voice was not enough; one also needed people skilled at using them.

Editors, reporters, literati, scholars, well-known social commentators… added together they were equivalent to the later-era Big Vs, but with more public credibility, because ordinary people at this time were extremely superstitious of authority.

Whichever way they leaned, the masses naturally followed blindly.

In 1999, which side did China's skilled voices generally lean toward? Better left unsaid.

In short, against this backdrop, the Gongzhi Sect's situation was excellent across the board.

Using a few special cases like Han Han as their arrowhead, they launched their habitual wolf-pack harassment tactics—nipping left, nipping right, squeezing through every crack, and where there was no crack, prying one open by force—giving the affirmative side a splitting headache.

Continuing like this, accumulating small victories into a great one, sooner or later they could, as in the previous life, set off a wave of anti-intellectualism.

As a result, just when they were at their most triumphant…

Fang Xinghe suddenly descended from the heavens.

Wielding the dazzling prestige of provincial first place in the middle-school entrance exam, using the three pieces in Beijing Youth Daily as his spearhead and the two pieces in Xinmin Evening News as continuation, and stacking on top of them "Small-Town Test-Taker" and "The Added Value of Reading," he raised the banner of counterattack with thunderous grandeur.

This was a pulverization without the slightest mercy.

The shockwave whipped up flames, sweeping away all the idiotic clowns in an overwhelming, crushing charge.

Studying is useless?

Fang Xinghe: "I'm the provincial first place in the middle-school entrance exam, and I think studying is extremely useful."

You object?

Sorry—what was your score on the middle-school entrance exam?

His results lent his words a natural authority; compared to Han Han, a one-sided talent with no real achievements to his name, Fang Xinghe was clearly far more convincing to readers.

The fact of his prodigal-son return was also beyond dispute—from schoolyard big brother to first prize in the New Concept Composition Contest, and after going back, another gorgeous transformation…

The top carry of '99, record-checkable.

Never mind what comes later—right now, am I not the unity of knowledge and action?

Although the clowns refused to concede defeat and tried to suppress him with overwhelming volume, the audience's stance could not remain unaffected—and this was precisely the meaning of Fang Xinghe's counterattack.

He had never intended to defeat any single member of the Gongzhi Sect—there was no need. As long as readers saw his articles and were thereby prompted to think, that was enough.

Anyway, I've made my attitude clear—you can listen or not, believe it or not.

In fact, many people believe it.

In his essays "Doing Problems," "Added Value," and "Fate," he displayed not only intellectual authority but also a culturally profound force.

In times of peace, powerful words have far greater impact than swords and guns.

For example, in "The Added Value of Reading," he wrote: "On some day, when you finally wake from your numb, dazed dream and shed tears without warning, it won't be because life is good or bad—it's because you suddenly begin to pity yourself for all the unnecessary suffering you've endured over these years."

Those who don't understand are baffled; those who do break down instantly.

Wang Yutang, a fan of his looks, was among the former; the little girl asked blankly: "Lots of people in class say Fang Xinghe's new article isn't good, Xiaotong—is it really that bad? Why can't I understand it?"

Mao Xiaotong spoke confidently, but inside she felt deeply insecure.

"What do they know?! This writing has so much rhythm!"

But what kind of rhythm exactly?

She couldn't explain it—the "Added Value" essay was way beyond the level of elementary or even middle school students.

This bullet might fly a very, very long distance, and only many, many years later would it strike her forehead again.

But right now, she had no idea how deadly this shot was.

"At least he looked cool and handsome in the interview, right?"

"Mm-hmm!"

One was desperately saving face, the other fully accepted it—but the conversation had become dull, no longer lively as before.

Mao Xiaotong returned home in low spirits, as usual cutting out Fang Xinghe's photo and pasting it beside her bed, then cutting out the interview text and the full text of "Added Value" to store together in her photo album.

Before slipping them in, she wrote these words on the blank space—

"I don't understand it either, but Fang Xinghe, I'll always believe you're the best! It must be that I'm not smart enough, so I must try harder, Xiaotong—become smarter and stronger!"

At night, Mao Huiling rubbed her lower back, dragging her exhausted body home from the shop, and rushed straight to her daughter's small bedroom.

Xiaotong was fast asleep, tangled in the blanket, her brow slightly furrowed.

Mao Huiling smiled tenderly, glanced at the desk, noticed the photo album had been moved, then quietly picked it up along with the diary and slipped out.

She knew it was wrong to sneak a peek at her daughter's secrets, but this family was too unusual, Xiaotong too unusual—she had to stay constantly alert, quietly monitoring her daughter's inner world.

Mao Xiaotong deeply admired Fang Xinghe; she had long known this, but had never figured out how to talk about it with her.

Mother and daughter rarely talked—not because they'd shut each other out, but because neither was good at expressing themselves, nor dared to.

Mao Huiling could only silently guard her, showing support through actions.

Opening the album, she quickly found the latest entry.

Flipping through, it was indeed Fang Xinghe's interview.

She felt nothing about Wang Tong's description, glanced briefly, and moved on.

"Solitary Tyrant" was clearly not a good term.

But when she read "Added Value," her lifelong small-business instincts instantly grasped and immersed her in it.

The discussion of added value was shockingly fresh and profoundly reasonable for the general public of this era.

Though merely a fable-like short story, its philosophical depth was immense.

"Adding value to a cold-noodle business—how does his mind work?"

She sighed in admiration and kept reading.

Until she reached those two cold, generalized analyses—Mao Huiling's nose suddenly tingled with tears.

"If only, at that fork in life, you'd bravely taken a few more steps forward, you could have avoided this half-life of endless autumn rain—and basked again in the midday sun you once scorned as a child."

On the surface, it's about reading—but every middle-aged person who's ever been drenched in rain feels it in their bones.

It seems warm, but in essence, it's a cold, sharp scalpel, precisely slicing open the bloody wounds of weary middle age, with not a shred of pity or sympathy.

"A numb, dazed dream."

"Unnecessary suffering."

"The midday sun you once scorned as a child."

How precise. How cold. How cruel!

Back then, she had the chance but didn't study hard; back then, she had a choice but followed that man; back then, she scorned so many things—and now she longed for them all…

In an instant, Mao Huiling wept without warning, just as Fang Xinghe had described.

Indeed, this wasn't because life was good or bad—it was sudden, overwhelming pity.

Pity for herself—for all the unnecessary pain she'd endured.

Fang Xinghe was simply too good at writing—he seemed to be painting with words, having already captured this moment in advance.

Mao Huiling was overcome with grief, suddenly raised her hands to cover her face, and went from sniffles to sobs in just five seconds.

The next morning, when Mao Xiaotong woke up, she saw her mother's eyes were red and swollen.

"Mom?" she asked anxiously, timidly: "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

Mao Huiling smiled brightly, then gently touched her daughter's cheek and laid it all out plainly.

"Mom read Fang Xinghe's new article yesterday—it's so well written, I was moved to tears. Baby, your taste is amazing—how is he so incredible?"

Mao Xiaotong, caught off guard, panicked at first—but her mother's understanding and tenderness calmed her, and only then did the realization strike her: pure joy flooded her eyes.

"Mom, you like Fang Xinghe too?"

"Of course!" Mao Huiling nodded vigorously. "His words are so powerful—I can feel it too."

"That's amazing! My desk partner DouDou loves Fang Xinghe too, but she's shallow and can't feel his talent—we don't have much to talk about…"

Today was the day Mao Xiaotong spoke the most—her urge to confide finally opened, bursting into a flood of incoherent but endless enthusiasm.

Today was also the happiest day of Mao Xiaotong's life.

Loving the same idol as the mother who raised her, feeling the same love across all barriers—the surprise came too suddenly, too dreamlike.

And Mao Huiling not only listened intently, but also used her unprofessional, not quite fitting, yet utterly sincere words to discuss Fang Xinghe's writings and inner world with her daughter, seeking resonance amidst their differences...

To her, this feeling was both novel and blissful.

And similar things were happening everywhere.

Mao Huiling was merely a tiny ripple in this massive wave; amplified to a coverage scale nearing a hundred million, she was truly insignificant.

Just how many middle-aged people, hearts full of regret, had their defenses broken by "Added Value"?

It would be hard to count accurately.

But the feedback reality gave Fang Xinghe nearly made his mouth twist into a grin—ever since the day his work hit the papers, his total fan count had been skyrocketing by an exaggerated one million per day.

Every day, one million!

What a niche number?!

"I am a lone ruler"—five words sweeping through the young fans.

"Half a life of rain, a sunny youth"—shining into the hearts of the disheartened middle-aged.

Although the vast majority of the increase consisted of valueless, shallow middle-aged fans who would drop off soon enough, as long as the base was large enough, it would inevitably breed exceptions.

As these exceptions accumulated, one day they would unleash tremendous power.

This was the necessary accumulation for a qualitative leap, and the path taken, where every step counted, before ascending to the peak of madness.

Fang Xinghe didn't want to pop the champagne halfway through, yet the Starlight Panel reminded him every second: You won again; this step was taken with both stability and flair.

Within a couple of days, Wang Tong and Zhao Chunhua both called to inform him of the latest developments.

"We've received many calls from readers; compliments on your voice have increased significantly, mostly from parents who previously scolded you. Congratulations!"

"The new interview was a huge success! Fang Xinghe, if you go out now, you'll need to wear a mask like Xiao Yanzi!"

Comparing him to Xiao Yanzi was indeed nonsense, but the heat was scorching, that was no lie.

And the greatest gain was that the reputation of the name "Fang Xinghe" among parents had reversed dramatically.

Thanks to the good big brother; with his full support, the new top scholar's past transgressions and current rebelliousness had all turned into minor flaws on a flawless jade.

In Huaxia, being good at studying could offset many, many flaws; add "righteous heart with a tsundere mouth," "pitiful background but self-reliant," and "immense talent with substance," and you had truly stacked the positive buffs to the max.

Moreover, they were all the strongest buffs in the current meta.

If one were to describe the Fang fans' current mood using phrases from a later era, it would roughly be this style—

"Fam, who gets it? My mom and I are fans of the same idol!"

"He deserves everything!"

"It's really hard not to empathize; just thinking of the suffering Fang Xinghe endured makes me burst into tears!"

"Sisters, protect the best Xinghe for the light in our hearts!"

They had no organization, no super-topic, no groups, and no channels to speak through, yet their firm will to defend Fang Xinghe could still generate immense acoustic pressure.

When that acoustic pressure accumulated to a certain degree, it naturally synchronized, merging into a single voice—

Whatever Fang Xinghe says is right; studying is naturally the proper path!

And the victim...

As soon as Fang Xinghe's good big brother woke up, the sky collapsed again.

The moment Yan Lieshan arrived at his office, the ground cracked.

Song Zude tossed the newspaper aside, turned back into his room, grabbed his bag with a bird tucked under his arm, packed two sets of change of clothes, and sprinted madly toward the station.

Damn it, this broken place can't be endured for even a minute; back to my hometown!

I don't believe you can chase me down and hit me!

Thanks to my sixth overlord, liangxxx; heard they gave me their first overlordship, touched TT