Chapter 12: The Years When Wealthy Women Chased Me Wherever I Went
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After spending barely two days at home, school finally started again.
On registration day, the moment Fang Xinghe walked through the classroom door, his classmates exploded yet again.
“Holy crap, bro, you’re amazing!”
“My God! Fang Xinghe, you look incredible!”
“Last semester you were merely handsome. After one vacation, you’ve practically caught up with Takeshi Kaneshiro.”
“Not bad, I suppose… slurp.”
“Fang Xinghe is so cool. I really want to date him…”
This time, even the top students and well-behaved girls could no longer sit still. They whispered to one another, their eyes never leaving the male incubus.
To compete in Shanghai, Fang Xinghe had deliberately dyed his hair a pure red.
The sides were shaved down to stubble, while the half-grown hair on top had been styled with wax into a blazing mass of dark-red flame.
A face with a maximum rating of ninety-nine meant that his perfect bone structure could suit any hairstyle.
Now that his entire face was exposed, he was simply devastating.
To emphasize his rebellious, untamed air, this scheming boy had also shaved his brows a little thinner, adding another three points of sharpness.
The effect was so striking that even Fang Xinghe himself was beginning to fall in love with his own reflection.
Generally speaking, only shallow men cared excessively about their appearance. But Fang Xinghe felt that he was different.
I’m not shallow. I’m exceptionally shallow!
Ha ha ha…
As for why he had chosen red hair…
The Slam Dunk anime had only recently ended, while Jordan’s legendary rise had further fueled the basketball craze. With such a splendid wave of popularity right in front of him, why wouldn’t he ride it? What else was a publicity hound supposed to do?
He could hardly wait to reach the competition venue. Once there, he would slaughter the field so brutally that not a blade of grass would survive, until the reporters themselves rushed to write articles proclaiming him the most dazzling contestant.
It would be his first meeting with readers across the nation. Wouldn’t that make him the most sincere of them all?
Absolutely. The media would adore him.
When Old Fang entered the classroom, he habitually swept his gaze toward the back. Then he suddenly slapped a hand against his forehead and let out a heavy sigh.
“Fang Xinghe, what are you up to this time?”
“Bringing glory to our alma mater!”
Fang Xinghe answered with utter righteousness, though he was talking complete nonsense. “I’m going to Shanghai for the competition soon. That place is notoriously hostile to outsiders. We can’t let people think we’re country bumpkins, or even if I win, they’ll assume it was just blind luck. Don’t you agree?”
“Hiss… When you put it that way, it really does seem necessary…”
Teacher Fang shook his head with a bitter smile, then pulled out a document. “Here. Your competition certificate. Keep it safe, and don’t lose it.”
Fang Xinghe never needed to ask for leave when he went out to have fun, but participating in the competition required an official certificate from the school. Otherwise, Group B would not recognize him and he would be relegated to Group C.
“Thank you, sir. By the way, could you keep an eye on Fang Yuting? She’s been pestering me again lately…”
Fang Yuting, who had been quietly sneaking over, widened her eyes in stunned disbelief. Her whole body trembled with rage, leaving her icy cold from head to toe.
Was this man a dog?
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Could you please restore your aloof, domineering, rebellious self for once?
No.
Fang Xinghe arched a brow at her, then cheerfully watched as her own father grabbed her by the back of the collar and hauled her away.
The result was that Lu Tingting benefited instead. The moment she turned around, she could cling to the Eagle King.
Without Fang Yuting charging ahead fearlessly, Lu Tingting returned to her quiet, obedient self, studying beside her beloved idol like an adorable little thing.
Studying and exercising at the same time, Fang Xinghe watched the days fly by.
On March 23, he once again set out on his journey.
The so-called express train to Shanghai was not actually much faster than an ordinary one. Still, this time the ticket could be reimbursed, so Fang Xinghe chose a sleeper berth.
Bathed the entire way in a mixture of smelly feet, scallion pancakes, corn tea eggs, white liquor, and cigarettes, Fang Xinghe dashed off a new essay titled “The World of the Green-Skin Train.”
His concentrated writing posture attracted the older woman in the opposite upper berth.
She was truly a woman in the prime of her beauty: mature yet elegant, cultured yet magnificently endowed, radiating the sort of allure that summoned bees and butterflies from every direction.
Ever since she had boarded in the capital, the two other men in the compartment had tried more than once to strike up a conversation with her. Unfortunately, all they received were polite but distant refusals.
Yet she herself extended Fang Xinghe a branch of honey, inviting him to chat.
“Little classmate, are you writing something?”
“Sis, get to the point.”
Fang Xinghe glanced up at her, then indifferently lowered his gaze again.
“You’ve got nothing better to do, but I’m busy. Did you take a fancy to this face, or are you simply looking for someone to kill time with? State your intentions.”
“You really are an interesting child.”
The woman set down the copy of Soulmate in her hands, clearly preparing to dig into his life and have a long conversation.
But when Fang Xinghe saw the magazines spread across her table—Soulmate, Yilin, Reader, and Youth Digest—he lost what little interest he had in speaking with her.
Later, that entire genre of concentrated chicken soup would turn its attention overseas. Even so, he still remembered the old joke about “high-concentration Yilin.”
They took advantage of ordinary Chinese people who had never seen the outside world, forcibly pried open their mouths, and poured love-struck drivel down their throats. If you refused to swallow it, they would whip you until you did.
What the hell.
So even though a thousand yuan per thousand words was practically within reach, Fang Xinghe had never considered submitting anything to them.
As a reincarnated member of Generation Z, he would rather starve to death than leave behind a disgraceful chapter like that in his history.
Fang Xinghe genuinely did not want to deal with her. He hated these early-era female literati who had nothing going for them except their cleavage.
Unfortunately, the woman was simply too good at this sort of thing…
She had brought a mountain of food.
So Fang Xinghe responded now and then, all the while shamelessly mooching four buckets of Master Kong instant noodles, two bags of vacuum-packed braised chicken, four bags of Bullhead beef jerky, and various fruits, snacks, and AD-calcium milk drinks.
The two men watched with envy, their eyes practically bloodshot. But how could they imitate him? There was nothing to imitate.
By the time they were nearing their destination, Fang Xinghe still had not revealed a single secret, while the woman had already spilled everything—even the story of how her ex-boyfriend had borrowed money and refused to pay it back.
Several times, she probed him. “You seem very mature. Are you really not yet eighteen?”
Confronted with the faint expectation in her eyes, Fang Xinghe violated every rule of fair play and flashed her a smile.
“Not just eighteen. Satisfied?”
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It was an extremely professional smile—the sort later-generation idols practiced carefully, a sweet, high-sugar smile that displayed their charm while making it obvious they knew exactly how handsome they were.
Who could possibly remain unaffected?
The woman’s ears instantly flushed pink. She covered her mouth shyly, and her eyes began to brim with the seductive haze that often overflowed from a woman who had ripened to perfection.
Then she moved to the lower berth on Fang Xinghe’s side—his berth.
Excellent. He had found material for another piece of writing:
“The Years I Was Chased by Rich Older Women Everywhere I Went.”
By the time he had finished the first draft, Shanghai had finally arrived.
Fang Xinghe pulled up his pants and left—purely a figure of speech; he had never actually taken them off.
Shanghai thirty years ago looked nothing like what Fang Xinghe had imagined.
The area around the railway station was chaotic. Utterly chaotic.
Things did not become much cleaner after he left the station. The red-armband patrols were doing their best, but there were simply too few places they could control.
Thus, the moment Fang Xinghe appeared, he was targeted by ill-intentioned pickpockets, unlicensed taxi drivers desperate to depart, middle-aged women of uncertain honesty, and flamboyantly dressed landladies shouting, “Our girls are gorgeous!”
Wonderful. Shanghai was so welcoming.
Fang Xinghe slapped away an outstretched hand and swept the man with a razor-sharp glance. The scrawny creep immediately pretended nothing had happened and wandered off.
There were plenty of targets. If one was too difficult, simply move on to another. There was no need to fixate on a single mark.
The competition staff had already explained how to take the subway. But before Fang Xinghe could put those instructions into practice, the woman forcibly dragged him across the road.
“Come on, little brother. Wherever you’re going, I’ll take you.”
The moment he saw her hideously ugly, box-shaped Mercedes, the young man realized that the value of his looks was still continuing to rise.
Fine, then. He might as well mooch one more ride.
They arrived at the intersection of Zhaojiabang Road and Dong’an Road, where Fang Xinghe indicated that he had reached his destination.
Before he got out, the woman pressed a business card into his hand and reminded him, “If you run into any trouble, call me right away.”
“Of course. Thank you, Sister Lei.”
Fang Xinghe’s manner was so obedient that he could have passed for a model child. But once he had gotten out and crossed the intersection, he casually tossed the card into a trash can.
A Shanghai heiress who was clearly the daughter of some powerful family could indeed solve plenty of problems. But the trouble she carried with her was likewise far beyond Fang Xinghe’s current level.
So let things end here. Let us forget each other in the wider world. Why would I cling to you?
Little Fang walked away with great style, unaware that the woman continued watching him from inside her car. When she saw him throw away her business card, she gnashed her teeth while laughing.
“You little bastard! So arrogant, as if you’re something special. What a nuisance…”
What a coincidence.
The chief secretary of the New Concept Organizing Committee, Li Qigang, had formed the exact same first impression of Fang Xinghe:
Arrogant.
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