Chapter 19: I Have Not Surrendered! 【A Grand New Year's Chapter, Happy New Year!】

Page 1/3

Li Qigang wasted no words. He flipped through Fang Xinghe’s manuscripts and piled them all in front of Han Han.
“Take a look.”
The very first one on top was titled *Another Day of Longing to Grow Up*.
At first, Han Han read cautiously, but the more he read, the more relaxed he became, gaining confidence with each page.
When he finished, he let out a light chuckle. “Is that all?”
The young prodigy’s face radiated intense confidence, his brows arched high. Sitting upright with a commanding posture, he rattled the manuscript in his hands.
“The writing is indeed smooth, but what’s so special about it? This kind of fresh, youthful school essay fits his age well, but I was already too lazy for this kind of thing back in sixth grade…”
“Don’t rush,” Li Qigang said with a cryptic smile, signaling him to keep reading.
“That was just an essay, barely three percent of his effort was put into it. Look at the others.”
“Ha!”
Han Han scoffed, setting aside *Growing Up* and picking up the next piece.
At the sight of the title, his previously casual expression shifted to one of gravity.
It was the semi-final themed essay: *Knowing but Not Conforming: My Fate Belongs to Me, Not Heaven—Reflections on a Bitten Apple*.
From a literary standpoint, those who can write good essays aren’t necessarily skilled at novels or prose, but the fundamental ability to appreciate literature and sensitivity to language are universal.
Hence, the grand scope conveyed by the title was naturally felt by Han Han.
He instinctively straightened up, focused, and began to read carefully.
The room fell silent.
When he reached the last page and finished the final word, Han Han remained silent for a long time, then suddenly rubbed his cheek.
Li Qigang teased, “Well? Don’t you feel like you’ve found your kindred spirit?”
“Not bad,” Han Han replied, half convinced.
“If I had that prompt, I could write something like this too.”
Though he said it, his voice noticeably dropped, his gaze wavering.
Could I really write that well?
Han Han wasn’t sure. He felt he probably could, but lacked confidence. Intuitively, he thought the piece’s climax was somewhat beyond his reach.
So this wasn’t empty boasting, just a vague sense of “I probably could if pushed.”
“I believe you can write it too,” Li Qigang concurred, then shifted tone, “But *A Person in a Cup* is nowhere near *Knowing but Not Conforming*; the scale is vastly different. You still rely too much on instinct when writing.”
Han Han irritably ran his fingers through his long hair, ready to argue but ultimately stayed silent, exhaling heavily.
He cared about his pride and didn’t want to stubbornly argue without grounds.
“Keep reading.”
Muttering softly, he set aside *Knowing but Not Conforming* and picked up the next: *Damn Youth, Youth Going to Hell*.
Before reading, he moved his chair forward, no longer lounging but leaning over the desk to read intently.
His shoulder-length hair fell over his face, hiding it completely except for his furrowed brows, visible to Li Qigang.
Old Li smiled secretly and leisurely lit a cigarette.
As an old friend of Han Renjun, he felt responsible for guiding young Han’s mindset. The method?
This was it.
Soon, Han Han read the opening word by word, then suddenly felt uneasy, scratching his head hard.
“Damn, this guy really doesn’t spare anyone…”
*Youth* revolved around two words: pleasing oneself.
It began with a self-proclaimed “I,” insulting the painful predecessors as impotent and condemning the entire post-80s generation, full of wild arrogance and sharp edge.
As he read on, the tone grew fiercer, wilder.
Until the final passage, Fang Xinghe’s writing struck like a thunderbolt, leaving Han Han dizzy and numb all over.
It was like being crushed by a dump truck—a phantom pain that made breathing halt.
“Fuck!”
Han Han slammed the table in disbelief. “How dare he write like this?!”
“He just dares,” Li Qigang spread his hands. “And he cursed himself out, while I’m sitting here on pins and needles, still having to give him a high score.”

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To be honest, Han Han also felt like he was sitting on pins and needles.
How could he remain calm?
He stood up, strode to the window, and rested his hands on the sill, gazing into the distance.
The chair he pushed back screeched sharply against the floor.
Li Qigang remained silent, neither criticizing nor paying much attention, continuing to smoke leisurely.
After a long breath, the shaken young man finally composed himself, leaned against the windowsill, and quietly began reading the last piece.
*Sex, Violence, and Lies*
For a full ten minutes after, the silence in the room was deafening.
When he finished the last word, Han Han lowered his head, tugged at his chin, and stood there for a very long time before coming back to himself, his expression bitter and dazed.
I’m not as good as him.
Four simple words stuck in his throat, circling endlessly but never spoken.
Shame, insecurity, conflict, regret…
A flood of unprecedented negative emotions battered his chaotic heart.
Li Qigang got up, took the manuscripts from his hands, neatly arranged them again, then put his arm around the boy’s shoulders and softly said, “Let’s go home.”
Han Han went downstairs in a daze, got in the car dazed, and returned home like a ghost, locking himself in his room.
Lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling, the defiant, rebellious teenager felt for the first time what it meant to be overwhelmed by talent and raw power.
He was still proud, but no longer confident enough.
What the hell kind of monster is this?
Compared to him, am I a little… too weak, too pretentious, too fickle?
Once introspection begins, it doesn’t end easily.
In a daze, Han Han suddenly realized that he himself was also just a contrived child trapped in the pains of adolescence.
The groundbreaking words from *Youth* surged back into his mind, and frustrated, he slapped himself, grumbling while pounding the bed.
“Damn!”
“You really asked for it!”
Despite regrets, he forced himself to get up, sat at his desk, and began to imitate *Youth*.
This was not surrender or cowardice, but a joyful recognition of a kindred spirit.
The writing was indeed compelling. He wasn’t trying to learn or study it deeply; he was simply, well… appreciating it.
Easily convincing himself, the once cocky teen started to dissect the text, now meek and humble, no longer arrogant.
…
Fang Xinghe had no idea that his admired big brother was driven nearly mad by the blow.
He himself was busy pretending to be cool.
To the other candidates, Fang Xinghe was outrageous, not only rejecting a golden opportunity falling from the sky but doing so with such casual coolness.
“Now is probably not the right time to dream about which university to attend. I’m only thirteen, and I’ve achieved such a modest accomplishment.”
Yan Ba wore a calm and restrained expression, far from arrogant, but his light, carefree attitude was even more brazen than arrogance.
“Thank you for your kindness, but I’m really not interested in the Chinese department, even if it carries the prestigious name of Peking University.”
Teachers Wu and Chen exchanged a glance, shaking their heads and smiling wryly.
Great, the young rebel just dismissed both schools outright, since literary special admissions only go to the Chinese department—no other options.
“No worries, we’re not in a hurry.”
Old Wu decided to postpone the discussion, quickly changing the subject, “Just focus on your studies, and we’ll revisit this in a few years. Circumstances keep changing!”
Fang Xinghe nodded politely and said his goodbyes, “Then I’ll take my leave. Thanks again.”
Wu and Chen watched him walk toward Chen Danya, hands on hips, sighing in unison, “Sigh…”
I offered my heart to the bright moon, but the moon was too aloof to notice me.
Who can understand this pain?
Chen Danya couldn’t; she only asked politely, “Don’t you like Peking University?”
Fang Xinghe shook his head, “It’s the major, not the school.”
“Oh.”
Half understanding, Chen didn’t pursue the topic, instead suggesting, “Xiao Fang, our agency’s reporter wants to interview you. Is that convenient?”
“Of course,” said Fang Xinghe casually. “Though I don’t see much point in an interview right now.”

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The reporter laughed, “I’ve heard Editor-in-Chief Chen praise your maturity, and it’s true. I’m Wang Tong from Xinmin Evening News. Shall we find a place to sit down and chat?”
“Let’s go to my room.”
Fang Xinghe led the way, with Chen Danya and Wang Tong trailing behind, chatting quietly.
“Honestly, the interview isn’t very useful now. Maybe you could hold off on publishing, wait for the budding stage?”
“Let’s talk first. Even if it’s just a draft, I need to have more material than others. After all, you, Sister Chen, see me as one of your own!”
Chen Danya smiled approvingly. “If necessary in June, I’ll help you apply. What’s yours is yours; no one will snatch it away.”
Fang Xinghe suddenly asked, “What will happen in June?”
“You’re sharp!”
Chen Danya teased before explaining, “Chen Jiayong has already received a guaranteed admission from Peking University. Now we’re just waiting for the acceptance letter. Once it’s official, the related reports will follow, probably around mid to late June.”
Fang Xinghe immediately realized the academic and media worlds were ready to launch a new wave in Chinese literature with the New Concept competition.
He sincerely remarked, “A favorable wind has given me a lift; this is the pulse of the times.
I thank all the teachers for their dedication to high school Chinese, showing me that the literary world still has backbone, still cries out, still acts.
It’s improper for me to say this, but I truly respect the teachers more than ever.”
Wang Tong’s eyes lit up instantly, “Such magnanimity and vision in your words!”
But Chen Danya wasn’t satisfied, teasing, “Only a little?”
Fang Xinghe smiled and insisted, “Three points is already a lot; five points belong to Sister Chen. I’m just ambitious.”
“You’re a clever little devil!”
Chen Danya burst out laughing, clearly delighted.
But she said nothing about herself, only, “The teachers knowing your views will surely be pleased. When you truly enter the literary world, you can talk with them more. Everyone has read your work and is impressed.”
Fang Xinghe joked, “You didn’t say whether the impression was good or bad. I guess mostly bad.”
“Hahaha! You kid!”
Chen Danya couldn’t help but laugh, then sighed, “With that shock of red hair, how could those old-school types like you?”
Wang Tong smiled reassuringly, “Not really. Besides a few, most teachers praise Xiao Fang.”
“His writing is excellent!”
Chen Danya couldn’t stop praising, animated and radiant.
“In writing contests, it’s all about talent. Xiao Fang’s pieces are so outstanding that everyone is delighted. The Fudan University president wanted to accept him immediately after seeing his work but gave up because of his young age…”
Wang Tong immediately noted this, considering it a great headline.
What a scoop!
Then, curiosity struck: how good were those articles to earn such praise?
Unable to resist, she asked, “Do you still have drafts of those pieces? I’d like to see them.”
Fang Xinghe shook his head, “No, the preliminary drafts are at home, and the semi-final manuscripts weren’t allowed out.”
Chen Danya promptly declined, “They must be kept confidential until published. Xiao Wang, wait for the anthology to come out; reading them quietly then will be more moving.”
“That’s the only way.”
Wang Tong was disappointed but had no choice, so she continued the interview.
“Xiao Fang, back to the previous topic, what do you think of the New Concept Competition?”
Fang Xinghe pondered briefly, then slowly replied,
“The motivation is good, the process is good, the outcome may not be perfect, but it’s an influential, meaningful, and pioneering attempt. As one of the beneficiaries, I will always cherish this competition experience.”
“Wow, you really…”
Wang Tong exclaimed involuntarily, then paused, unsure how to describe it.
Finally, she could only muster a rather weak compliment: “You’re the most thoughtful young person I’ve ever seen.”
“Is that so?”
Chen Danya beamed proudly, as if Fang Xinghe were her own child or son-in-law.
“Don’t be fooled by his bad boy look; he’s really got a lot going on upstairs!”
The entire interview revolved around this point, which was confirmed in the end, producing a manuscript Wang Tong was eager to publish.
But it wasn’t time yet. She had to wait for the storm to come.