Chapter 14: The Semifinal Essay

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The postmodern bombardment of information sharpened Fang Xinghe’s mind, allowing him to quickly pinpoint the most valuable theme. The ideas of imperfect beauty or environmental destruction were too common—easy to write but uninspiring. The most impressive approach, of course, would be to delve into the subtle depths of human nature or to compose a critique of society and politics. Yet, considering the audience he would face upon completion, it was unwise to make it too profound.

After some deliberation, Fang Xinghe settled on this core idea:

Human nature is inherently neutral—neither good nor evil.
It is our circumstances that ultimately shape who we become.
Once we grasp this clearly, we can “cultivate” ourselves, actively creating the “self” we wish to be.
To know one’s fate but not blindly follow it—that is the true path.

Such a theme is evidently rebellious yet hopeful, a continuation of the spirit found in the essay “Youth.” Its effect on young readers would probably be… a kind of naive coolness that doesn’t tax their minds. It may have a threshold of understanding, but even without full comprehension, they can still feel its swagger.

To be a top-tier, handsome figure both in appearance and thought, attracting fans effortlessly—that was Fang Xinghe’s original intent in writing. Of course, being unfamiliar with the current youth culture, he could not be entirely confident; he could only do his best. Hopefully, the outcome would be the best possible.

With the core idea set, he began to write.

…

“There was a teacher who took out a beautiful red apple in front of me and took a crisp bite. The bite mark was ugly. The apple, once perfectly round and whole, which could have lasted a long time, began to oxidize at the exposed edge after just half a minute. I could already see its fate: rapid decay.

What is infecting the wound?
Everything in the air.
Then, what infects us?
Everything in civilization.

Philosophers, madmen, and naïve youths always want to change the world, but the world is indifferent—neither pleased nor saddened by their efforts. It is only civilization that responds to them, and only the individuals within civilization—through consciousness, behavior, emotions, and desires—shape, manipulate, and sometimes torment the fragile individuals within it.

This is infection.

Sometimes this process is good, sometimes bad, but mostly neither.

What does a good infection look like?
It is roughly being carefully nurtured—the beautiful skin never broken, continuously absorbing nourishment correctly, and effectively filtering out toxins.

I’m not sure; I’ve never seen it. I’m just guessing.

And the bad infection?
Like this apple, bitten and broken, allowing everything outside to rush in. The wound quickly festers and either rots deeply or scars grotesquely.

Many of my peers I often meet were bitten even before they knew me.

So I always feel their development is somewhat distorted, oddly shaped.

Yet in reality, they see me the same way. This strange situation—like crows only seeing the blackness of pigs but not their own—sparked my thoughts and finally led me to uncover a cruel truth—"

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"The fundamental reason we wild children, untended and uncared for, end up becoming ‘whatever we are’ depends on when, why, and by what we were bitten.

Some reasons are sorrowful; others are laughable.

Perhaps because a mother was mocked by a gossiping woman, or a father lost money gambling, or a teacher hesitated nervously during the first question, and suddenly a grotesque mouth bites down.

Some inexplicable cause turns us into scapegoats, and until the pain pierces our minds, we remain clueless and innocent.

Truly tragic.

More tragic still are wounds beyond mere scapegoating—the trauma caused by parents’ long-term fighting, affairs, divorce, or untimely death, wounds that cut to the bone.

I don’t want to write about that part; you can fill in the blanks yourselves.

No matter the reasons, the result converges—the missing piece can no longer resist external infection, so no matter how good the people who care for us later, the rot spreads inward all the same.

So we descend—from the pure and perfect essence in the womb, naturally close to the Way, to the confused and resentful adolescence, tangled in contradictions, and finally to adulthood’s hypocrisy, numbness, and petty struggles—a steady decline.

Beyond that, some don’t even make it; they die at this stage but are only buried years later.

Who invented the phrase “walking corpse”? Truly wise.

The worst infections start in childhood. Childhood loss is a disease requiring a lifetime to heal, and no one can promise a cure.

Injuries during adolescence are somewhat better; children have some capacity to cope and may even awaken a second form.

For example, me—I fought fiercely, my second form like a thirty-wolf or forty-tiger, terrifying.

I call injuries at this age “youthful setbacks,” ranging from mild to severe depending on how the bite occurred.

Lastly, setbacks in young adulthood—I think a young man in his twenties facing trials isn’t necessarily bad; the beatings missed in youth get made up for by society, which can be a good toughening.

Just don’t toughen me—I’ve had more than enough setbacks and now only want to watch others’ misfortunes.

Having settled “when” and “why,” I hesitated over the “what” that bit us—I wasn’t sure how harsh to be.

Because 99% of those biting us are parents, relatives, or teachers.

A wild dog on the street biting you leaves no internal scars.

If you gather a few buddies to kill it and enjoy a couple of dog meat meals, you’ll understand—when obedient, it’s a pet; when not, just food.

But close ones are different, especially parents—when they quarrel, show favoritism, ignorance, or anger, what can a child do?

Nothing, right?

At first, I couldn’t understand, but then I found the answer in Taoist classics.

Our fate is beyond our control.

The family we’re born into, the environment we grow up in, the education we receive, and the wounds we sustain—all are decided before eighteen. We cannot control any of it.

This is fate.

Taoism speaks of fate, and the Chinese believe in it too, but Taoism never treats it pessimistically, nor did ancient sages.

In “Baopuzi,” Ge Hong first declared, ‘My fate lies with me, not Heaven,’ a striking wake-up call.

Before the Qing dynasty’s Wenkang promoted ‘obeying Heaven and knowing fate,’ our ancestors believed in ‘defying Heaven to change fate,’ from Zhuge Liang setting the Seven Stars Life Lamp to Yu the Great controlling the floods—examples of ‘though the world is often unfair, I fight fate.’

There are practical methods.

Laozi taught in the Dao De Jing:

‘Know the masculine, keep to the feminine, be the valley of the world.
Being the valley of the world, enduring virtue never leaves, returning to the state of a newborn.’

Being bitten isn’t fatal—slowly learn to cultivate, understand the world and good and evil but don’t follow blindly, guard your spirit, gradually heal and mend yourself, ultimately returning to the innocence of a newborn, approaching the Dao.

I believe this is a very pragmatic way to solve the problem.

When you realize you’ve been bitten, don’t panic. Look carefully at the wound—where and how big—then ponder why it happened, and vow to yourself never to let it happen again."

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"Then, begin to resist.

Strive to grow stronger, grow wildly, and once you are strong enough, anyone who dares open their mouth at you will have their rotten teeth knocked out.

Sufficient strength solves all problems, whether superficial wealth, profound wisdom, soaring reputation, or supreme physical health.

Anything is fine, just don’t be scared into stopping.

The day we freeze in place and give up resistance is the day the ‘self’ that was so hard to be born and nurtured truly dies. The ledger of the underworld will have our name, with a scrawled note: ‘worthless.’

If I were that apple, anyone who wanted to bite me would have to prepare for a lifetime of porridge.

Crazy?

Madness is the essence of youth.

Of course, a more likely scenario is this—when you are strong enough, you don’t need to use force. Everywhere you look, there are only smiles.

I know this well.

Before the first semester of eighth grade, I fought often. If I didn’t fight, someone always pushed me around, trying to assert themselves through me. Then I did something big, and the campus immediately became peaceful. Occasionally when I walked around, everyone nodded and bowed—so boring.

That’s why I reformed, put down the knife, took up the pen, and wrote these nonsensical, sour essays.

At this moment, I suddenly feel restless and can’t help but ask myself: I, Fang Xinghe, a mini boss who swept through the middle school, why am I sitting here in this broken place, wracking my brains to tell these essentially irrelevant truths in my clumsy language?

Thinking carefully, the answer is clear—

Oh, I want to become famous. Being famous brings money. With money, I can grow freely and do whatever I like.

Then it’s all good.

To become strong, I can accept many temporary hardships and persist until complete success.

Like a fierce tiger lying in the wild hills, lurking patiently.

A fine poem, isn’t it?

I also like the last two lines, but the original isn’t suitable to share here. Let me summarize:

—One day, when I become formidable, I will repay all debts and grudges, crushing to bits all those beasts who bit me recklessly, and scatter their ashes!

A bit petty, but that’s the self I want to become.

Not recommended to imitate but can be referenced.

Writing this, the truest feelings suddenly surge, becoming clear.

I am not a good child, but a wild child cursed and feared by many. Yet I am not evil—I am resisting, fighting against some malice I don’t even know the source of.

Now I am well, living vividly though with effort.

May you be the same—untamed, uninfected, unyielding to fate, actively becoming the “you” you most want to be.

If more of us do this, none of us will be alone.

Just like Mr. Lu Xun’s torch—no need to wait for others to shine, just emit a little light of your own. Maybe not very brilliant, but in this scarred crowd, it still glows brightly.

Thus, perhaps that is our era of prosperity.

…

See, now I too am a philosopher, madman, or foolish youth trying to change the world. Thinking carefully, there’s nothing particularly wrong with that.

So be it.

I look forward to that day soon.”