Chapter 48: Of Course, Studying Is the Right Path

As time passed, the shockwaves caused by Fang Xinghe continued to spread relentlessly, like a sudden, raging wildfire shaking the very foundations of the realm of public opinion.

At the turn of the century, the so-called public opinion landscape was broadly composed of three segments—

First, the media entities centered around television stations, with newspapers as the backbone and radio stations as the outreach arms.

Second, the vocal system consisting of media professionals at its core, scholars as the mainstay, and freelance writers as the extensions.

Third, an interactive information field centered on journalism, supplemented by political science, economics, and sociology, openly discussing public affairs such as education, livelihood, law, and culture.

Entities, battlegrounds, systems, information, and terminals together constructed a complete public opinion sphere.

This was a colossal network covering the entire society, rarely fully activated all at once. Most information circulated only within small circles, reaching fixed audiences.

For example: workers laboring in desert reclamation in the harsh northwest and young girls on the southern coast infatuated with Xie Tingfeng would never overlap in their daily interests.

Only catastrophic, large-scale events could break this "daily attention" mold.

The term "breaking the circle" precisely describes this phenomenon of shattering habitual focus.

And now, Fang Xinghe possessed that extraordinary power to break the circle.

Repeatedly accumulating, quantitative changes finally triggered a qualitative leap, shaking nearly half of the public opinion sphere.

This was a miracle hard to replicate.

From a panoramic perspective, the main battlefield initially emerged in education. To establish a new ethos in Chinese language learning, a tacit understanding among many media outlets birthed the first wave of fervor through the story of “an essay admitted to Peking University.”

At this stage, the primary audience was senior high school students and their parents.

Subsequently, the influence expanded horizontally to the literary world and vertically penetrated grades ten, eleven, and university levels, swelling the audience by three to five times.

Then, due to some ill-intentioned provocateurs, the topic pierced even deeper.

From "rote learning is meaningless" to "studying hard is not the only path," and then to "quality surpasses exam scores," the hidden ideological core was “education must be reformed.”

Han Han, as a representative figure, was exalted at the forefront, sparking a wave of reflection on the existing education system.

By this point, nearly all third-tier and above cities in China were covered.

Since there seems to be no clear classification beyond the fifth tier, to be more precise: over 70% of parents with children in junior and senior high schools in all county-level cities and above were passively drawn into this ideological current.

A rough estimate places the coverage scale at seventy to eighty million people.

Compared to a total population of 1.3 billion, 80 million may seem modest, but the urban population itself was only 440 million at the time. Subtracting the elderly, infants, and sick, the figure was far from insignificant.

Such a grand stage, used to showcase two young talents, was an event nearly impossible to duplicate.

In his previous life, Han Han played the role of a “villain with a glimmer of brilliance,” struggling to carve a bloody path. Though disliked by the establishment, he reaped the benefits of youthful anger.

In this life, Fang Xinghe went even further, creating a “beautiful yet tragic reformed villain” from scratch—taking everything Han Han enjoyed and more, aiming to conquer all!

Furthermore, the unfolding situation whetted appetites for Fang Xinghe’s entrance.

—In such a level of societal debate, the pro-establishment side, which held the view that “schooling is the only way out,” surprisingly began to lose ground!

Unbelievable, isn’t it?

But the fact remained.

In the era of print media, independent viewpoints were scarce, and dissemination channels even scarcer.

Among all media entities, television stations barely engaged in such debates, with only a handful of programs capable of real-time hot topic tracking.

Thus, the main battlegrounds were newspapers and radio.

Radio stations rarely initiated independent topics and followed the lead of higher-level media.

So, whoever controlled the largest newspaper circulation naturally wielded greater voice.

In terms of quantity, state media was certainly stronger, but in terms of appeal, incitement, and sharpness, it lagged far behind the commercial media dominated by the “hard-to-defend” faction.

State-run newspapers sold tens of millions of copies, 80% concentrated within government and institutional circles.

Meanwhile, commercial media, with a circulation of several million, was widely distributed throughout developed regions, deeply loved and trusted by intellectuals, the wealthy, and disenchanted young middle-class.

Having the channels to speak, one still needed those skilled in voicing opinions.

Editors, journalists, literati, scholars, renowned social commentators—all combined were akin to the future “influencers,” but with greater credibility, as ordinary people then were exceedingly deferential to authority.

Where they leaned, the public naturally followed blindly.

Who did the domestic intellectuals mostly side with in 1999? It’s unnecessary to even mention.

In short, against this backdrop, the intellectual faction was flourishing.

They used Han Han and a few others as their spearhead, launching their usual wolf-pack harassment tactics—left and right, squeezing through every gap, or breaking open even the tiniest cracks—leaving the establishment side overwhelmed.

If this continued, accumulating small victories into a grand win, they would eventually, as in the previous life, ignite a wave of anti-intellectualism.

Just when they were at their peak…

Fang Xinghe suddenly burst onto the scene.

Riding the glorious momentum of securing first place in the provincial high school entrance exam, he wielded three pieces from the Beijing Youth Daily as his spearhead, two from the Xinmin Evening News as continuation, plus “The Small-Town Test-Taker” and “The Added Value of Reading,” raising the banner of counterattack with great fanfare.

This was a merciless crushing blow.

The shockwave ignited flames, sweeping away all the senseless clowns like a hurricane.

“Reading is useless?”

Fang Xinghe: “I topped the provincial exam. I think reading is extremely useful.”

Opposed?

“Sorry, what was your exam score?”

His academic achievements gave his words an inherent authority. Compared to Han Han, a gifted but still unproven talent, Fang Xinghe clearly persuaded readers more.

The fact that the prodigal son had truly reformed was undeniable—from campus bully to New Concept Writing Contest first prize winner, then a magnificent comeback after returning home…

His 1999 achievements were documented and verifiable.

Forget what happens later; wasn’t he embodying unity of knowledge and action right now?

Though the clowns refused to concede, trying to drown him out with overwhelming volume, the audience’s stance could not help but be influenced. This was precisely the significance of Fang Xinghe’s counterattack.

He never intended to defeat any intellectual; there was no need. As long as readers saw his articles and thought, that was enough.

His attitude was clear: believe it or not, listen or not.

In fact, many believed.

In “Test-Taking,” “Added Value,” and “Fate,” Fang Xinghe displayed not only intellectual authority but also a culturally thought-provoking power.

In peaceful times, powerful words wield more impact than weapons.

For instance, in “The Added Value of Reading,” he wrote: “When one day you suddenly awaken completely from a numb and listless dream, tears flowing without warning, it’s not because life is good or bad, but because you finally begin to feel pity for yourself, having suffered so many unnecessary hardships over the years.”

Those who didn’t understand read it confusedly; those who did instantly broke down.

Yan Yu-Tang, a fan obsessed with appearances, was the former type. The little girl asked blankly, “Many in class say Fang Xinghe’s new articles aren’t good. Tongtong, is that true? Why don’t I understand them?”

Mao Xiao-Tong put on a tough front but felt deeply insecure.

“What do they know?! These words are so rich in charm!”

But what charm was there?

She couldn’t explain. “Added Value” was seriously beyond the scope of elementary or even middle school students.

This bullet might fly a long, long way and only hit her directly many years later.

For now, she was completely unaware of how fierce this shot was.

“At least he’s handsome and cool during interviews, right?”

“Mm-hmm!”

One stubbornly defended, the other fully accepted, but the conversation eventually became dull, lacking the usual enthusiasm.

Mao Xiao-Tong returned home gloomily, habitually cutting out Fang Xinghe’s photos to stick by her bedside, then clipping the interview text and the full “Added Value” article to keep in her scrapbook.

Before inserting them, she wrote a line in the blank space—

“I don’t really understand it either, but Fang Xinghe, I will always believe you’re the best! Maybe I’m not smart enough, so I have to work harder, get smarter and stronger soon!”

That night, Mao Hui-Ling rubbed her lower back, dragging her weary body home from the shop. Her first stop was the small bedroom to check on her daughter.

Xiao-Tong was asleep, restlessly clutching the blanket, brows slightly furrowed.

Mao Hui-Ling smiled tenderly, glanced at the desk, noticed the scrapbook had been touched again, then tiptoed to quietly take the scrapbook and diary out the door.

She knew well it was wrong to sneak a peek at her daughter’s secrets, but this family was too unusual, and Xiao-Tong too special. She had to stay vigilant, quietly monitoring her daughter’s thoughts.

Mao Xiao-Tong idolized Fang Xinghe and had known it for a long time but never figured out how to talk about it.

Mother and daughter rarely chatted—not because they closed their hearts, but because both were poor at expression and afraid to open up.

Mao Hui-Ling could only silently protect and show support through actions.

Opening the scrapbook, she quickly found the latest updates.

Sure enough, it was Fang Xinghe’s interview.

She felt little about Wang Tong’s description, glanced casually—it was nothing more than a careless label. “Tyrant” was clearly no compliment.

But when she reached “Added Value,” her business-minded mind immediately grasped and immersed herself in it.

The discussion of added value was refreshingly novel and sensible to the mass audience of the era.

Though just a fable-like story, its philosophy was profound.

“How did the cold-faced businessman come up with the idea of adding value?”

Murmuring with admiration, she read on.

Until she saw those two cold, generalized analyses, Mao Hui-Ling’s nose suddenly twitched.

“Turns out, just by bravely taking a few more steps forward at life’s crossroads, one can avoid the endless autumn rain of half a lifetime and bask under the noonday sun once scorned in youth.”

Though ostensibly about reading, every middle-aged person who had weathered hardships could relate deeply.

It seemed warm but was essentially a cold, sharp scalpel, precisely cutting open the raw wounds of weary middle age with no pity or sympathy.

“Numb, listless dream.”

“Unnecessary suffering.”

“Noonday sun once scorned in youth.”

So precise, so ruthless, so brutal!

Once she had chances but didn’t study well; once she had choices but followed that man; once she scorned many things yet now yearned for them desperately…

In an instant, Mao Hui-Ling, as Fang Xinghe depicted, shed tears without warning.

Indeed, it wasn’t because life was good or bad, but sudden pity.

Pity for herself, who had suffered so many needless grievances.

Fang Xinghe wrote so vividly, as if painting this scene in advance.

Overcome by sorrow, she suddenly covered her face, turning from sobs to whimpers in just five seconds.

The next morning, when Mao Xiao-Tong woke, she found her mother’s eyes red and swollen.

“Mom?” she asked anxiously and timidly. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

Mao Hui-Ling smiled brightly, then gently stroked her daughter’s cheek, openly confessing.

“Mom read Fang Xinghe’s new article yesterday. It was so good, I was deeply moved and cried a little. Baby, you have great taste. How is he so amazing?”

Caught off guard, Mao Xiao-Tong panicked but soon calmed, comforted by her mother’s understanding and tenderness, then broke into a joyous smile.

“Mom, you like Fang Xinghe too?”

“Of course!” Mao Hui-Ling nodded firmly. “His words are so powerful. Mom definitely feels that.”

“That’s great! My deskmate Dou Dou and I love Fang Xinghe, but she’s a bit shallow and can’t appreciate his talent. We barely have anything to talk about…”

Today was Mao Xiao-Tong’s most talkative day; her desire to share finally unleashed, flowing in a torrent of enthusiastic but sometimes incoherent words.

Today was also her happiest day.

Sharing an idol with her beloved mother, overcoming all barriers to feel the same kind of love—that surprise was too sudden, too dreamlike.

Mao Hui-Ling listened attentively and, though not very professional or precise, used sincere words to discuss Fang Xinghe’s writing and inner thoughts with her daughter, seeking resonance amid differences…

This feeling was new and joyful for her.

Similar scenes were unfolding everywhere.

Mao Hui-Ling was but a tiny ripple amid this vast tide, negligible within the nearly hundred million coverage scale.

How many regretful middle-aged people were broken by “Added Value”?

No one could tally.

Yet reality’s feedback almost made Fang Xinghe grin crookedly—since his articles began appearing in newspapers, his fanbase exploded by an outrageous one million new followers daily.

One million every day!

What a small, niche number!

“I am the tyrant,” these five words swept the young fans.

“Half a lifetime of rain, a youth of sunshine,” warmed the hearts of disheartened middle-agers.

Though most of the growth was shallow, transient middle-aged fans who would soon drop off, a large enough base always bred exceptions.

As exceptions accumulated, one day enormous power would erupt.

This was the necessary accumulation for qualitative change, every step counted on the road before absolute breakthrough.

Fang Xinghe didn’t want to pop champagne halfway, but the starlight panel reminded him every second—You won again, steady and flashy.

...

Within days, Wang Tong and Zhao Chunhua each called to report the latest.

“We’ve received many calls from readers praising your voice becoming more prominent, many from parents who previously criticized you. Congratulations!”

“The new interview was a huge success! Fang Xinghe, you now need to wear a mask like Xiao Yan-Zi when you go out!”

Compared to Xiao Yan-Zi, that was nonsense, but the heat was undeniable.

The greatest gain was Fang Xinghe’s name undergoing a massive reputation reversal among student parents.

Thanks to his big brother’s wholehearted help, the rebellious and outlandish past of the new top scorer was now seen as mere minor blemishes.

In China, excelling academically could offset many flaws; add “righteous and proudly arrogant,” “pitiful background but self-improving,” and “brilliant and substantive,” and he was fully buffed on the positive side.

Moreover, these were the strongest buffs in the current version.

If described in future slang, Fang’s fans’ mood would roughly be—

“Who understands? My mom and I fangirl the same idol!”

“He deserves everything!”

“It’s impossible not to empathize. Thinking about Fang Xinghe’s suffering makes me cry!”

“Sisters, guard the best Xinghe for the light in our hearts!”

They had no organization, no super-topic, no group, no voice channels, yet their unwavering determination to defend Fang Xinghe still generated powerful pressure.

When that pressure accumulated to a certain point, it naturally synchronized, converging into one voice—

Whatever Fang Xinghe says is right; studying is definitely the right path!

Meanwhile, the victims…

Fang Xinghe’s big brother woke up to the sky falling again.

Yan Lieshan arrived at his office to find the ground splitting.

Song Zude threw down a newspaper, turned, grabbed his bag and bird, packed two sets of clothes, and dashed desperately toward the station.

Damn it, this lousy place is unbearable for even a minute. Going home!

I don’t believe you can follow me and beat me here!

*************

Thanks to my sixth sponsor, liangxxx, I heard this is the first time you pledged to me—deeply touched TT