Chapter 59: Han Han, Are You Insane?

High schools across the country are probably all the same: the last two periods of the afternoon are always reserved for self-study.

Fang Xinghe strolled around until he found Class 10 of Grade 10. Glancing past the front door, he walked straight to the back door, and sure enough, he quickly spotted the familiar figure of his good brother in the very last row.

My brother really has it rough.

His former classmates and friends had all advanced to Grade 11, happily continuing to hang out together, while he was held back a year in Grade 10, subjected to the covert, curious glances of a bunch of younger kids...

When Fang Xinghe caught sight of him, he was slumped over his desk, staring blankly at a sheet of scrap paper.

"Hey! Han Han!"

Fang Xinghe called out in a soft voice, waking the good brother from his daze—not entirely awake, he turned his head in a blur, his eyes hazy and unfocused, utterly clueless as to who this person was or why they were shouting.

"Who are you..."

"Come outside and talk."

Fang Xinghe curled his finger and raised the fruit bag in his hand for the third time. "I brought fruit to see you."

"Who the hell are you?"

Muttering under his breath, the good brother pushed back his chair and sauntered over with a swagger.

There was no teacher supervising the class, and the Grade 10 students in the back section all turned their heads, whispering incessantly.

It wasn't because they were discussing Fang Xinghe, but because Han Han's presence always stirred up a commotion.

Very good, the big brother is as eye-catching as ever wherever he goes~~~

When Han Han finally stepped out of the classroom, Fang Xinghe lowered his face mask just a fraction, revealing his complete nose, eyebrows, and smiling eyes.

"I came all this way specifically to see you. Touched or not?"

"What the fuck!"

Han Han let out a curse, nearly jumping out of his skin in fright.

Even with just his eyebrows and eyes visible, how could he possibly fail to recognize him?

Ever since their very first meeting, this jerk had been like a recurring nightmare, popping up out of nowhere every now and then to scare the wits out of him—and now, good grief, he had actually barged right up to his classroom door!

"Wait, what are you doing here?!"

"Let's talk outside."

Fang Xinghe readjusted his mask and walked away from the back door.

"Does your school have any groves, rooftops, smoking corners, or similar convenient spots for disposing of a corpse?"

"Damn it! What are you trying to do?"

The rebellious good kid, who had never actually been in a fight, was startled into high alert, his eyes full of wariness. "I'm warning you, Shanghai is different from where you're from. The consequences of beating someone up here are extremely, extremely serious!"

Look at how self-aware he was.

The word he used was beating, not fighting.

"All right, cut the coward act."

Fang Xinghe mocked his good brother unceremoniously, feeling immensely amused.

"I'm here shooting a commercial, and I'm heading back tomorrow. Since I had some free time, I thought I'd drop by to check on you."

"Check on me?"

Han Han was shaken yet again, clearly feeling a sense of flattered disbelief that made his expression quite awkward.

"Th-Thanks... I never would've imagined someone like you would actually... Uh, I'm not great with words, but anyway, thanks."

Clearly.

The good brother's expressive ability when caught off guard was indeed very mediocre, as it had always been.

Yet he was smart enough to know what the top priority was right now.

"Let's go. I'll take you to the spot where they sneak smokes, otherwise you'll be in deep trouble if someone catches us later."

Fang Xinghe asked with a smile, "Am I that popular at your school?"

Han Han thought for a moment and replied, "Not 'also', but 'more'."

"Oh, well then I really must thank you."

"No need!" Han Han rolled his eyes fiercely, thoroughly irritated. "That has nothing to do with me!"

Fang Xinghe had noticed that the good brother possessed a remarkably agile mind, capable of grasping half-spoken sentences with speed and precision.

That made sense, actually; auto racing demanded exceptionally high cognitive processing. To be able to win dual championships in racing after picking it up halfway through at age eighteen—Han Han's inner talent was undeniable.

This was a good thing; it meant their conversation could be a bit more unrestrained.

The smoking corner for the students of No. 2 High School was hidden behind a patch of garden, sandwiched between several rows of large trees and the campus wall. It was very quiet.

The environment was so pleasant that failing to smoke a cigarette would feel out of place, so Fang Xinghe pulled out a pack of Red Pagoda Mountain, slipped one between his lips, and tilted the pack toward the good brother, signaling him to take one.

Han Han looked hesitant.

"I'm an athletic track student..."

"And I'm a martial arts practitioner."

The look of disdain on Fang Xinghe's face was so mocking that Han Han gritted his teeth and pulled out a cigarette, coughing immediately after taking his first drag from the lit end.

Hahaha, this guy is really a riot.

The mischievous grin on Fang Dog's face vanished instantly, replaced by a sudden gravity.

"How does it feel to be famous?"

"It is what it is. Besides, I'm not that famous."

"Between media attention and public response, which one do you hate more?"

"..." Han Han fell silent for a brief moment. "Response, I suppose. It's too exhausting."

"With that kind of mindset, you'll never write a proper full-length novel."

Fang Xinghe's absolute tone stung Han Han. He whipped his head around to glare at him, while Fang Xinghe merely exhaled a lazy ring of smoke.

The suffocating summer heat hung heavily around the smoke ring, while lazy evening sunlight filtered through its left side, casting a crystalline, tangible glint, yet the right side remained ethereal, as if it would dissipate at any second.

Just as his thoughts were pulled away, trying to determine if that would indeed happen, he suddenly heard a clean, mischievous chuckle: "You need more pressure."

"Are you out of your mind?" Han Han found it incomprehensible.

"I could be, but I don't need to be."

Fang Xinghe shrugged indifferently, driving home the hard truth right in Han Han's face: "You like the spotlight but hate the reaction; the fundamental reason is that your ability isn't enough. You feel guilty, hollow, and lack self-confidence.

A little pressure right now is enough to exhaust you, which shows how mediocre your stress tolerance really is.

Yet your potential goes far beyond this.

So it can't just be 'exhausted'—that's not enough. You need to be tired to the point of a breakdown, tired to the point of an explosion, tired to the point where you want to tear the whole world apart, compressed to your absolute limit like a spring, and then, with a manic, do-or-die momentum, unleash every accumulated thought and feeling all at once. Only then will you possibly produce a genuinely exceptional work that surpasses the ordinary..."

Han Han's face flickered between red and pale—a mix of exasperation, grievance, humiliation, and deep contemplation.

Finally, he asked the most low-level yet entirely correct question.

"Whether I can write a good work or not—what business is that of yours?"

"We are classmates from the same cohort—not in age, but in the ancient sense of passing the imperial examination together."

Fang Xinghe spoke unhurriedly, peeling back his utilitarian motives for him to see.

"The greatest imperial examination in history, do you know about it?

The examination in the second year of Jiayou in the Northern Song Dynasty produced one military hero, three literary giants, and nine prime ministers all from a single list.

You and I both emerged from the inaugural New Concept Writing Competition. Amid the media frenzy, this competition has already acquired a special significance, becoming a symbolic beacon.

Of course, we aren't worthy of being compared to history's greatest examination list. However, the more talent that emerges from this competition, the greater the achievements we attain in the future, and the larger our collective influence, the more dividends each of us will be able to reap.

That's why I'm not afraid of you being formidable; in fact, I hope you become as formidable as possible. Liu Jiajun, Chen Jiayong, Ding Yan... the more unhinged, the better.

Unfortunately, talent is a very abstract thing.

Having it doesn't mean it can be ignited.

And having it ignited doesn't mean it will burn brilliantly.

You are someone with strong 'spring-like' properties, so I deliberately came to heap some pressure on you. Otherwise, if you publish your new book after mine and turn out a piece of utter garbage, I'm going to find it terribly dull."

Damn it!

Han Han felt for the umpteenth time just how arrogant this jerk surnamed Fang truly was.

He was practically spelling out: "I'm afraid you guys will hold me back!"

Yet upon second thought, Han Han realized it was indeed the truth. Right now, Fang Xinghe was standing completely alone at the very forefront, while everyone else remained utterly silent.

He unconsciously defended himself: "It's not that I don't want to make a sound; I just don't have anything worth saying right now. You guys are making all that noise—what does that have to do with me?"

Fang Xinghe looked at him with a beaming smile: "Yet you swore on Eastday.com that you were going to take me down."

"Damn it! I didn't! Those weren't my exact words!"

The sixteen-year-old flushed a deep red, while the fourteen-year-old puffed on his cigarette and watched him throw a fit.

"Bloody idiotic reporters—not only did they trick me into talking, but they distorted it beyond recognition! All I said was that I wasn't afraid of anyone..."

"Good! That's the exact spirit!"

Fang Xinghe immediately cut him off, not letting him continue his explanation.

"Keep that attitude. When I do my next interview, I'll definitely help clear your name."

"Huh?!"

Han Han froze, thrown completely off balance by Fang Xinghe's alternating tactics of prodding and soothing.

Could it be that I got it all wrong?

Was this supreme show-off actually a good guy with a harsh tongue and a soft heart?

Han Han's posture deflated. Feeling somewhat guilty, annoyed, and a bit shy, he stammered, "Then... how do you plan to clear my name?"

Fang Xinghe replied leisurely: "I'll tell them that it wasn't you picking a fight unilaterally, but that the two of us had actually agreed long ago to clash over a full-length novel, and the loser in sales has to call the winner 'Daddy'..."

"Crap!"

The temporarily chubby face of Han Han changed color drastically, his scalp tingling with rage.

"Who the hell is going to compare dicks with you in a competition!"

"So lacking in confidence?"

"I..."

Han Han was nearly choked to death. His pride prevented him from admitting it, but the reality was... who dared to compare sales figures with Fang Xinghe?

This jerk had female fans scattered across the entire country. In their No. 2 High School alone, half the girls spent every day daydreaming about his new book; it was practically a guaranteed bestseller.

Li Qigang was exceptionally optimistic about his new book, constantly daydreaming: If we at *Mengya* secure the publication rights, the initial print run will be at least 50,000 copies.

Han Han knew all of this, which left him with no comeback whatsoever.

"I—I'm not competing with you, I'm just doing my own thing!"

Hahaha, he chickened out, he actually chickened out~~~

It was rare to see the good brother back down, and Fang Xinghe found it immensely entertaining—his trip here had truly not been in vain.

Yet his goal wasn't just to bully people. Having had his fun, it was time to talk business.

"No more joking around. We can skip the wager, but a rivalry benefits both of us."

Fang Xinghe's expression turned serious, an air of intellectual calmness washing over him.

"You're not having an easy time of it lately either. I heard from Teacher Li that Uncle Han was so angry he even raised a hand against you?

In their generation's eyes, being held back a grade isn't just humiliating; it means a bleak and gloomy future for the child.

If you refuse to accept this and want to prove yourself, you have to produce results.

But you lack confidence; stubborn words can't resolve the confusion in your heart, leaving you to take things one step at a time.

I genuinely wanted to pile the pressure on you, but I also sincerely hope you succeed. As long as we band together, we can stimulate each other—and fleece... squeeze out every last bit of the allowance money that teenage girls spend on H.O.T posters, Nicholas Tse cassettes, and Takeshi Kaneshiro stickers."

Han Han looked at him with utter contempt: "Did you just almost let the word 'fleece' slip?"

"No, I didn't."

Fang Xinghe remained entirely unfazed, his expression unmoving.

"I am the dream idol of young maidens. How can a few allowance coins earned from them by their idol be called fleecing?"

"Damn it, you're becoming invincible..."

If one listened closely, a sense of despair could actually be detected in Han Han's exclamation. He genuinely felt this jerk was unbeatable—formidable and utterly shameless, acting more like he was forty-one than fourteen.

Moreover, he simply couldn't fathom: "Must you resort to all those external maneuvers? Your writing is already so brilliant..."

"You have a good father," Fang Xinghe interrupted. "I don't."

Han Han fell silent instantly.

He certainly didn't have the face to claim, "My qualification for the second round wasn't due to my dad's connections."

After a brief silence, he clumsily changed the subject: "How are we supposed to band together?"

"I want to launch a project. You announce your participation with a competitive stance and help build the hype through certain media outlets."

"A project?"

Such an archaic-sounding word... coming from a high schooler, it was truly laughable.

Yet once Fang Xinghe began to explain, Han Han couldn't laugh at all, his mouth remaining open in a permanent state of shock.

"There are actually several people in our cohort with extraordinary potential, but for reasons unknown, they don't dare take the leap. Either they're waiting, or they've shrunk back.

I really dislike that.

Obviously, I have no right to demand anything of them, but 99% of problems in this world can be solved with money.

I just took on a commercial endorsement, so I have a bit of pocket change. I can pull out one million yuan to provide an opportunity for every single award-winning contestant from this cohort..."

Glug!

Han Han swallowed hard, his expression a mix of shock and confusion, his gaze drifting aimlessly.

"What kind of... opportunity?"

"Self-published books!"

Fang Xinghe's voice carried a metallic resonance, a hint of rust coating his throat. Han Han couldn't describe what he was feeling at that moment.

Yet Fang Xinghe wasn't finished.

"Starting from now, any award-winning contestant who can produce a manuscript—I will personally fund the printing of at least 10,000 copies to push into the market.

I pay the costs, they keep the royalties, I handle the publicity, and the fame is entirely their own.

If subsequent reception is good, publishers will naturally step in for reprints, and they can make a tidy profit.

If it sells poorly, they can go back and practice more.

The advantage of doing this is that when all of us band together, we can completely digest the momentum generated by the publication of the *New Concept Writing Collection*, and push it even further—maximizing the anticipation of readers, judges, the literary circle, and the educational community.

*Mengya*, Peking University, publishing houses, the *Xinmin Evening News*... every single force will be willing to add bricks and mortar to our cause.

I've given this project a name—

The joint cry of the inaugural New Concept winners: the '80s Sound of Youth' Youth Literature Publishing Project..."

Han Han didn't have time to overthink; he blurted out instinctively: "What if some people can't write a full-length novel? Do you think just anyone can do it?"

"The '80s Sound of Youth' can also be the issue number of a magazine."

Fang Xinghe looked at his good brother with deep meaning: "Novels published directly as books; short stories, essays, poems, and miscellaneous articles stuffed into the magazine. We'll only publish this single issue. I refuse to believe it won't sell."

"The money made from sales..."

"Divided roughly according to word count. Any losses are on me, any profits are yours to split."

"Editorial review..."

"I can rope in Chen Danya, Wang Yali, Li Qigang, even Yu Hua."

"..."

Han Han closed his mouth with difficulty, his brain spinning wildly, though it felt like a tangled ball of yarn inside.

He couldn't figure out what was wrong with this plan—it was simply too far out of his league, leaving him with only a lingering, intuitive sense that things couldn't possibly be that simple.

Finally, he latched onto the most glaring absurdity.

"You're spending so much money—what are you even after?"

"What am I after? I'm after the spectacle."

Fang Xinghe grinned, revealing a flash of white teeth as he smiled more brilliantly than ever before in front of Han Han.

"What's the fun in showing off to a cabbage like you every day? I want you all to prove to the world—I am not a cabbage at all; on the contrary, I am freaking awesome!"

Han Han finally understood a little: "And then, you'll prove to the world that even though we are so awesome, we're still just cabbages compared to you?!"

"You're finally getting a little smarter~~~"

As soon as the compliment left Fang Xinghe's lips, seeing that the good brother was about to blow his top, he quickly pacified him with another line.

"Opportunities are equal, the momentum is given to you, and the platform is built. If you refuse to accept it, feel free to knock me down. Let our work do the talking—isn't that fair enough?

If I didn't step in, would anyone be willing to publish your new book?"

Han Han was instantly left speechless.

Because indeed, no one would.

He had carried his first draft to two publishing houses behind his father's back, and they had both turned him down.

After a long silence, he suddenly clenched his fists tightly.

"Fine! Just you wait and see, damn it! Let's see who smashes whom in the end!"

Very good, that momentum was finally hitting the right note.

It looked like his pressure was about to reach maximum capacity. Fang Xinghe thought happily: *Nice, I can look forward to an even more restless, angrier, and more agonizing version of Triple Door.*

As a former troll chieftain who had clawed his way back from the dead, Fang Xinghe had never feared anyone stronger than himself, never feared being overshadowed, and certainly never feared the pointed remarks, comparisons, mockery, or insults of the mob.

Therefore, whether it was Han Han, Ding Yan, Liu Jiajun, or anyone else—if they ultimately pulled out a masterpiece and snatched away his starlight, it would only bring him wild, unadulterated joy, completely devoid of anger or jealousy.

Confidence was a mystical thing. In truth, Fang Xinghe didn't dare guarantee that he would successfully grow into the lofty heights of his imagination, because the non-material factors he had to fight against were simply too numerous; pessimism far outweighed optimism, and the higher one climbed, the harder it became.

Yet he neither envied others' strength nor feared his own weakness.

Was this confidence?

Probably not.

Or perhaps, it was the appearance, but not the core.

What was the core, exactly? Fang Xinghe couldn't summarize it in a moment, nor did he care all that much.

Watching Han Han—who was both excited and solemn, pacing back and forth with restless energy—he smiled softly to himself.

"Even if time stretches on and I fail to become the river of stars itself, I still sincerely hope every single star clustered around me shines with breathtaking brilliance."

"So... bloom to your heart's content, my fellow cohort members."

"I truly hope the opportunity I provide brings forth a brilliance that never existed in my past life."

Thinking thus, this must surely be the fortune of an era...