Chapter 50: Post-80s Actresses All Adore Fang Xinghe

Fang Xinghe only found out about this the next day.

Brave Fang and Priggish Lu came to comfort him, bringing a massive watermelon along. Taodang scurried around like a happy little errand boy, lugging bags and proudly boasting to the big boss, "Boss, Tingting actually took the initiative to call me today!"

Fang Xinghe glanced sideways at the two heavy watermelons, the assortment of cucumbers and tomatoes, and the pile of various snacks that Taodang had hauled over with such bitter effort, and instantly felt a twinge of sympathy.

Yet, in the end, he chose encouragement: "Ah, yes, yes, yes. You really are becoming more and more important..."

What else could he do?

The big boss was in absolute despair himself, you know.

Under the age of eighteen, young males simply had to rely on getting themselves hurt to cure their idiotic tendencies; no external forces or third parties could do a thing about it.

Of course, supreme heartthrobs were exempt from this rule; it was always the goofy little darlings who got hurt the worst... ahem.

Not long after, Cash Cow, Little Yanbian, and the rest arrived en masse, bringing along fresh beer, beef, and mutton. They dug out a barbecue grill from the brick-tile house and prepared to roast some skewers.

"Bro," Heizi said, eager to try his hand, "there are reporters staking out the intersection again. Do you want me to go scare them off?"

"No need."

Fang Xinghe lazily shook his head. "That kind of unconventional tactic works only once, never twice. You must never develop a reliance on it."

The teenagers didn't quite understand the depth of it, but they nodded foolishly. "Oh, got it."

The young falcons were indeed a bit naive, but they had the distinct advantage of being obedient. After more than half a year of contact, Fang Xinghe had grown quite fond of them.

"Are there many reporters outside?"

"A lot!"

The teenagers chattered all at once. "One of them even fucking interviewed me!"

"I saw two people heading toward Teacher Fang's house!"

"Haha, Teacher Fang has been walking with a spring in his step lately!"

"Don't you dare talk about my dad like that!"

Fang Yuting had just put on a stern face when she suddenly broke character, letting out a snort of laughter. "He really does love reporters nowadays..."

"Hahahaha..."

Fang Xinghe was a bit puzzled. "The last batch just left, things had only quieted down for two days, why is it starting up again?"

"You don't know?"

Brave Fang and Lu Tingting turned their heads in unison.

"Yesterday, our Jilin Television broadcasted your interview video—a full sixty minutes of it. It completely blew their minds!"

"Oh! So that's how it is... I didn't watch it."

"Actually, none of us saw it either, but there's a rerun today."

"Little Stutterer went around notifying everyone like a giant loudspeaker, so everyone came over to your place to watch television today!"

The two of them fired remarks back and forth without sparing even half a glance for anyone else.

Taodang put on a cheeky smile and chimed in, "Tingting, you should've said earlier that you wanted to watch TV. Come on, sit next to me later, I'll watch with you! If you're tired, you can lean on my shoulder..."

Lu Tingting pressed her lips together and didn't respond. Instead, she lifted her little chin and called out sweetly to Yu Xiaoduo, "Sixth Brother~~~"

Yu Xiaoduo clenched his fists in silence, strode up, and delivered a swift blow.

*Bang!*

Wailing tearfully, Taodang fled the scene, and the world was finally at peace.

Fang Xinghe looked at Lu Tingting and shook his head with an amused smile. This little prig was full of tricks from head to toe...

Before five-thirty, the boys and girls flooded into the main room en masse.

A few squatted in front of the television, several sat on the coffee table behind them, and behind the coffee table stood a curved arc of people, forming three tight rings around the massive eighteen-inch color TV.

Yet, everyone left the dead-center spot directly facing the screen wide open. Fang Xinghe sat boldly like a mountain fortress in the armchair, with the clingy stray dog Brave Fang glued to his left, and Lu Tingting sitting obediently on his right. The formation resembled a bandit chieftain, which was frankly a bit absurd.

The program started shortly, and the chattering little falcons suddenly quieted down.

The moment Fang Xinghe's figure appeared on the screen, the silence was shattered by a collective gasp of "Whoa."

* * *

"Holy shit! Bro, you are seriously fucking handsome!"

Indeed, Fang Xinghe felt that way himself.

The handsome Fang on the screen sat lazily in a recliner, his back pressed firmly against it, relaxed yet far from listless, his body language carrying a distinct air of nonchalance.

He wore a white, semi-translucent short-sleeved shirt that reflected the outdoor light vividly, yet his face did not look dark at all; instead, it emitted a translucent, jade-like radiance. Paired with that indolent ease, he suddenly projected an otherworldly aura of detachment.

Down to the details, his left forearm rested on the armrest, while the five fingers of his right hand lightly touched the side table. His fingers were slender and his knuckles well-proportioned, his nails trimmed immaculately—every single detail was perfection.

Hand-fetishes weren't trendy yet, but the cameraman's inexplicable close-ups of his hands genuinely captured a striking, eye-catching appeal.

Brave Fang's eyes shone brightly as she clutched onto him with sticky affection, asking with a cheeky grin, "Dog... Xinghe, where's that white shirt you wore that day?"

"What for?"

She urged him impatiently, "Go put it on right now, let your sisters get a good thrill first!"

"Holy shit, Sister Fang, you're too awesome!"

"Aah aah aah, yes yes yes!"

The young female falcons hooted like roosters. Fang Xinghe leisurely picked up a feather duster, gave it a couple of dry swings to test the weight, and then offered a gentle smile. "How would you like to be thrilled?"

"Oh mother!"

Startled out of her wits, Brave Fang let out a screech and bolted, only daring to act bold again once she was safely hiding by the door.

"Sisters, this dog of a man is putting on too much of an act. If all else fails, shall we tackle him and have our way with him?"

* * *

"Oh my, I think that works!"

"Yes, yes, yes! I'll go first!"

"..."

Fang Xinghe instantly felt a row of black lines cross his forehead and quickly called Taodang to his side, finally managing to curb their restless impulses.

Now, he finally understood where those suddenly surging ten-plus million points of starlight had come from.

They were all contributed by these overtly, covertly, and priggishly flirtatious little dream-girls.

Just how many dream-girls were there in his total fan demographic?

He had no idea.

Anyway, counting the thirteen falcons plus Brave Fang, there were five girls in total, and every single one of them was a dream-girl, plotting after that piece of dog meat every single day.

Damn it, thank goodness he had his left and right guardians, along with extra bodyguards and the living disaster of a battle god, otherwise, relying on himself alone, he probably wouldn't have been able to keep these crazy lasses in check...

Wiping away his sweat, Fang Xinghe put on a stern face and warned them to watch the interview properly. Under the deterrence of Taodang, it worked to some extent.

Then they finally watched the television in peace—though peace was impossible, as a flock of ducks kept gasping, "Boss, you look seriously fucking handsome during this interview!"

It wasn't the kind of good-looking derived merely from facial features, but rather a "cool factor" on the level of sheer aura.

Fang Xinghe hadn't deliberately put on airs, nor could his posture be called proper or decorous; his overall vibe gave the impression that he didn't take the interview seriously at all.

Relaxed without being flippant, hiding a sharp edge beneath his indolence, his formidable self-confidence inspired a resolute tone, and his unhurried, well-organized answers always managed to break through every barrier...

The teenagers couldn't articulate it clearly, so they could only forcefully summarize it as—handsome.

In truth, it was an overarching radiation field that synthesized temperament, image, core stability, height of thought, and comprehensive control.

To radiate anything outward, one had to possess substance to begin with.

Therefore, the core was the most important, followed by thinking, and only lastly came temperament and image.

Control ran through it all, determining the direction and intensity of the radiation.

There were many stars in the domestic entertainment industry with great temperament and imagery, but the moment they faced an interview, they radiated total anti-sexual energy.

When the core was unstable, a person floated like duckweed; their crying wasn't crying, their smiling wasn't smiling, and they constantly wore a strained, fake face.

Poor thinking meant they couldn't hit the nail on the head; their expressions missed the mark, and their content remained shallow and devoid of depth.

Without comprehensive control, you could forget about having any kind of celebrity radiance altogether.

Take Kris and that batch of top-tier idols; not a single one of them made the cut. They were either greasy or overly pretentious, some stupid and some unhinged, turning impromptu interviews without a script to memorize into resembling intellectual disabilities.

Look at Xiao Zhan's interview performances by contrast, and the gap in class was immediately apparent.

As for Fang Xinghe, he was on an even higher level—lacking the establishment clout of President Xiao, yet possessing ten times more substance, ten times more bravado, and ten times more spirited vigor than him.

Layered atop knowledge that transcended the era, these unlettered youngsters could do nothing more than exclaim a resounding holy shit.

* * *

The teenagers watched with utmost excitement.

The teenage girls were even more excited.

Thirteen-year-old Yang Mi, who had just graduated from Xuanwu Experimental Primary School, stood in the middle of the living room, screeching, jumping, and hopping around.

When her father, Yang Xiaolin, pushed open the door after work, he heard his wife shouting loudly from the kitchen, "Old Yang, go shut off her television! She's been screaming for nearly half an hour, it's giving me a headache!"

Yang Xiaolin didn't dare do that. With a chuckle, he walked over to take a look and recognized the person immediately.

"Yo! Isn't this Fang Xinghe? Sweetheart, you're supposed to be the biggest fan of H.O.T., what's going on? Did you betray revolutionary ideals?"

Yang Mi froze in place, her eyeballs darting wildly as she struggled for half a day to come up with an excuse.

Her bedroom walls were plastered edge-to-edge with H.O.T. posters, and she even posed like Ahn Sung-hee in photos with them—peak second-year teenage syndrome.

Strictly speaking, she was a pure and fanatical "white rice" at the moment, a die-hard through and through.

"I... I'm just looking, so what?"

She decided to put up a defiant defense. However, out of the corner of her eye, she caught a close-up of Fang Xinghe's face cutting across the screen, and she instantly forgot what she was going to say next, staring blankly at that face as her throat bobbed with a gulp.

"Oh well, well!" Her father was highly amused and walked over to watch it with her. "Then I'd better take a good look. Just how much charm does this kid have?"

Before he could even examine the details clearly, he was so startled by a close-up of that rare pair of eyes that he let out a sharp gasp.

"Hiss... Is this kid of mixed blood? Why are his eyes so pretty? Grayish-blue?"

"Hazel-gray!"

Yang Mi's rebuttal blurted out instantly, followed by an immediate stream of rambling.

"Where do you see blue? Isn't that a gray base, layered with amber-colored fine lines transitioning shade by shade from light to dark? When the light hits it, it just takes on a metallic sheen..."

Yang Xiaolin looked at her in astonishment. Little Mi's voice grew lower and lower until she finally trailed off.

Oh no!

She seemed to have exposed herself a bit. What now?

Panicking for about half a second, she decided to just throw caution to the wind.

"Hmph! What's wrong with looking at a literary idol? Since he's so handsome, isn't he meant for people to look at?"

See that? This girl was decisive from a young age—decisive in her affection for pretty boys~~~

Her father laughed heartily and continued to tease her, "Then what about your H.O.T.?"

"What about them?" Yang Mi's conscience was guilty, but her mouth remained stubborn as she cobbled together an argument. "One is a writer, and the others are singing-and-dancing idols. Even if I like both at the same time, it doesn't conflict!"

There certainly was no conflict right now, but later on... sooner or later, there would come a day when she'd find herself in a bind.

* * *

In the Huangpu District of Shanghai, sixteen-year-old vocational school slackers Tang Yan gently pushed open her home door, feeling a massive wave of relief upon discovering that her father hadn't returned home yet.

In three steps, she rushed to the television set, switched it on hurriedly, and tuned it to Jilin Satellite TV before finding the time to pour herself a glass of water, chugging it down in one frantic gulp.

It was now 5:20 PM. According to the preview, ten minutes from now would be Fang Xinghe's exclusive interview.

Tangtang pressed hard against her chest, trying to regulate her breathing quickly, but found herself unable to do so.

She stared fixedly at the television, yet every few moments she couldn't help turning her head to glance at the front door, acting just like a thief.

There was a reason for this—her father was too strict.

Unlike Mao Xiaotong's situation, her family was actually very happy. With Shanghai household registration, a father who was an administrative official, and a mother who was a white-collar worker at a foreign enterprise, their financial conditions were fine, and they cared for her deeply.

However, parental love did not conflict with strict demands; when combined, they only created a higher-pressure environment.

At age four, she was required to learn the piano. When she couldn't read the sheet music, her father learned it himself and taught her key by key.

The moment she lost focus, a long knitting needle would strike her arm.

It wasn't very painful, but that kind of strict control had accompanied her through all sixteen years of her life.

It persisted to this day: no puppy love, no drops in grades, no going out at night, no this, no that...

She feared it, and she rejected it, but she never dared to rebel or defy it.

Until she saw that essay *Knowing Without Obeying* because her deskmate and best friend liked Fang Xinghe, the wild fire in her heart was finally ignited.

I want to... forget it, I'm too cowardly.

She still lacked the courage to defy her father, but alongside her deskmate, she had become a proud member of the Fang Fan club.

The Commercial Vocational School had two flight attendant classes. Currently, under the vigorous promotional efforts of her best friend, one-third of them had converted into Fang fans, while the other two-thirds of the girls, devoid of taste, stubbornly clung to likes for Li Epeng, Lu Yi, Nicholas Tse, H.O.T., Shu Qi, and the Four Heavenly Kings.

This was a startling proportion, considering that few girls dreaming of becoming flight attendants were likely to be sensitive to literature.

Then again, given Fang Xinghe's face, one didn't need to be sensitive to literature to be happy, right?

Amid the long wait, the program finally began.

Fang Xinghe, clad in a white shirt, vividly and concretely defined what kind of boy constituted the ultimate answer on a school campus.

Just like that.

Wearing a white shirt, sitting lazily under the shade of a tree, half his face catching the light as it flashed in the hearts of young maidens.

That gender-neutral, jade-like beauty was entirely unique; there were no peers to match it, and sitting there, he was solitude itself.

His sturdy forearms possessed clear muscle lines. When he raised his hand to prop up his cheek, two tendons on the back of his hand twitched slightly, as if snapping against a young girl's forehead with a *bang*, causing a violent tremor in her cranial