Chapter 13: The Chaos Begins
Page 1/3
When Fang Xinghe registered at the reception desk, Li Qigang happened to be in charge there. Originally, Li Qigang had his head down, busy writing something, when he was suddenly jolted awake by the repeated exclamations of the hotel front desk clerks. Raising his head, his retinas were abruptly struck by that divinely handsome face, causing him to gasp sharply as if he had just inhaled a pungent Sichuan pepper.
“Hiss…”
He inexplicably felt as if hot chili oil had been blasted into his nostrils—initially stinging, then a slight sweat broke out on his nose, and finally, his spirit was invigorated.
“Classmate, are you here to participate in the New Concept Essay Competition as well?”
“Yes.”
Fang Xinghe glanced at him carelessly, placing his registration documents on the desk with an air of detachment. At that moment, he had already entered a state of estrangement. I am here to conquer all this; I have no intention of making friends. So... everyone else, stand against the wall!
Li Qigang sensed the aloof, self-absorbed indifference radiating from the young man before him and felt a sudden surge of eager anticipation. He hurriedly examined the registration materials and was instantly overjoyed: “You are Fang Xinghe?”
“Yes, this is my ID card.”
Just as expected, this was how it should be! Li Qigang inwardly sighed with admiration; those few essays matched the young man perfectly. Even if he had seen the person first and then guessed the author of the articles, he would have still attributed the themes of “Youth” and “Sex” to this boy.
What shocked him most was that the handsome teenager, already 175 cm tall, did not look like a mere fourteen years old.
Another member of the registration team, taking a responsible stance, asked, “You’re not yet fourteen, how do you have an ID card?”
“I’m an orphan. The civil affairs department helped me get it.”
Fang Xinghe’s calm, indifferent tone immediately stirred a soft murmur among the front desk girls and curious staff, and the number of fans in the chat panel instantly shot up by four. And they were all solid mid-level fans from the start.
Essays? Who needs essays to like a talented and good-looking poor little boy? Let maternal instincts run wild—that’s enough.
Without turning back, Fang Xinghe lightly tapped the desk, reminding the seemingly guilty staff, “Do I need to sign in? Where is my room?”
Truly capable people never need to play the victim. When your work conquers others, they will come to know you willingly and imagine how miserable and pitiable your days were before they supported you.
“Oh, yes, sign here.” Li Qigang snapped out of his reverie and led Fang Xinghe to the room. “Each contestant has a single room to ensure the best rest. Three meals a day are provided. Remember to come down on time...”
He clearly wanted to chat more, but Fang Xinghe’s cold dismissal cut him off.
“Thank you. If there is nothing else, I’d like to rest now.”
“Oh, of course. Rest well. If you need anything, come find our staff...”
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After Li Qigang went downstairs, he stayed at the reception a while longer but found it impossible to sit still—his excitement was overwhelming. Finally, he hurriedly left and sprinted back to the Sprout Editorial Department.
Bursting through the door, he exclaimed excitedly, “Guess who I just saw?!”
Not all judges were present; some planned to come on the 27th to supervise the contest. Only a few were in the room.
“Who?”
“Guess!”
“To get you this excited...”
Chen Danya's eyes suddenly lit up. “Fang Xinghe came?”
“Yes! It’s him!”
Li Qigang gulped down most of a large cup of tea and sighed deeply. “You would never imagine how handsome the boy is in person!”
The stern deputy editor-in-chief, Lao Zhao, frowned. “This is a writing competition. What use is being handsome?”
“He’s going to be popular!”
Li Qigang’s response came naturally, almost out of reflex: “I can’t guarantee how well he’ll do in the second round, but as soon as his photo goes public, I guarantee girls all over the country will go crazy!”
Lao Zhao grew increasingly displeased, but curious Chen Danya spoke up before him.
“That exaggerated? With his skill, winning awards is easy. If he has other advantages to add, Sprout will really be saved.”
Wang Yali from the Writers’ Publishing House also became thoroughly interested.
“Our initial plan is to ride the wave of the New Concept contest to discover several young writers with both talent and style, bringing fresh energy to the stagnant literary scene. Qigang, what do you think of Fang Xinghe?”
“You’ve seen his essays yourself.”
Li Qigang was confident. “I can’t speak for long-form novels yet, but his essays alone can shake the youth readership market.”
“Hmm, that’s true.”
Wang Yali’s tone shifted. “So when do we go meet him?”
“Don’t bother.” Li Qigang waved it off. “The kid is very rebellious and hyper-aware of self-protection...”
As Li Qigang rambled on, Fang Xinghe gained another five fans.
Wang Yali and Chen Danya couldn’t sit still and insisted on waiting at the hotel, though they didn’t want to disturb him by knocking on his door, so they waited in the restaurant instead.
Thus, when Fang Xinghe came downstairs for dinner, he noticed two women repeatedly glancing his way.
The handsome guy didn’t think much of it; after all, all women secretly looked at him.
The power of 99-point looks was becoming increasingly evident now that he had left his usual grounds at Third High School.
After dinner, back in his room, he quickly reviewed several practice exams.
The second-round test didn’t weigh heavily on his mind—he was sure of at least a first prize. The only difference was how well he could perform. The real trouble was the high school entrance exam.
That’s the confidence of someone truly capable.
...
Over the next two days, he saw several other participants from out of town.
Each one’s expression upon seeing him was roughly the same:
Wow~⊙o⊙
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The demon-like boy’s expression always carried a hint of nonchalance, yet his posture was impeccable, his core always engaged, and every movement natural and unrestrained.
The common adolescent slouch and timid shrinking were never seen in Fang Xinghe.
After martial arts training, his previously somewhat lax demeanor had been transformed, making him not only handsome but imposing.
This directly resulted in him having no friends.
Other contestants often chatted amongst themselves, but the moment they saw him, they became uneasy.
Occasionally, snippets of overheard comments were “He’s so handsome” from girls and “He’s so badass” from boys.
Bro, you know way too much.
Sometimes Fang Xinghe thought: Actually, I’m easy to get along with. Just one spark and it connects.
Yet in the end, he never tried to break the ice—time for studying was already tight; making friends could wait.
Besides, becoming my friend might not be such a lucky thing.
Time flew to the 27th.
135 contestants arrived early at Nanyang Model High School’s old building named Jingxin, scattered across seven exam rooms, waiting for the test prompt.
Fang Xinghe sat in the last row, twirling a pen absentmindedly.
As expected, Han Han was nowhere to be seen.
The “big brother” was probably styling his hair in a Chen Haonan middle part, often shyly bowing his head, occasionally wearing glasses but mostly not.
Young Han was interesting, definitely far more so than director Han Han.
Though disappointed not to see him, Fang Xinghe was also a sight to others, so he wasn’t bored.
Someone ahead furtively glanced back at him, eyes evasive, clearly stealing a look.
No need to hide it, sister. If you want to look, just do it openly.
Fang Xinghe suddenly raised an eyebrow at the lucky girl, startling her so much she jerked her head back, possibly hitting the desk leg with a muffled thud.
The girl, teary-eyed, buried her face on the desk.
Good. Sooner or later, I’ll write you into my book.
The mischievous boy chuckled and signed the top of his exam paper with three large characters: “Fang Xinghe.” Rough, casual, not very neat, but full of style.
Footsteps echoed in the hallway as a lion-headed teacher entered, holding an apple. He showed it to everyone, then suddenly bit into it.
Placing the bitten apple on the podium, the lion-headed teacher smiled warmly and said,
“Students, this is your essay topic. You have three hours to write. Write whatever you want.”
A slight commotion broke out in the classroom; the students were a bit flustered and overwhelmed.
Long-buried memories suddenly assaulted Fang Xinghe. He recalled that the second-round topic for the first New Concept Essay Competition was notoriously cruel. So this was the cruel method.
Because the prompt was so broad, it made choosing a theme harder. Writing something outstanding was indeed challenging.
But no big deal, just so so.
Fang Xinghe smiled and casually outlined seven or eight ideas.