Chapter 17: Knowing Yet Resisting—My Fate Should Be Mine, Not Decided by Heaven [Thanks to the New Alliance TEMPEST]

Over two thousand words were read aloud in one breath, uninterrupted by anyone.

But as the last syllable fell, the room was instantly engulfed in chaos.

Unlike science competitions, the New Concept Writing Contest had no fixed standards. Whether an essay was good or not, or deserving of an award, depended entirely on the judges’ reasoned arguments—in other words, it led to disputes.

This was not the first time the meeting room had seen such a quarrel, nor was it the first time they had clashed. However, this time, the conflict was particularly intense.

Yu Hua immediately rushed to Teacher Cao’s side. “Give me the manuscript. What kind of standard Mandarin is that vague Beijing accent of yours? Let me take a closer look.”

Cao Wenxuan’s face fell as he handed the manuscript over to Su Tong.

Su Tong took it with a mischievous grin, then spun around to evade Yu Hua. “You don’t know how to read for crap. Just wait!”

Han Shaoyuan watched their bickering with a shake of his head. “This isn’t middle school composition anymore.”

Fudan University mentor Chen Si quipped, “Nor is it university-level writing. I know exactly what my students are capable of.”

Zhao Changtian sighed. “One essay titled ‘Youth,’ another about an apple at the semifinals—both connected, capturing the wildness and rebellion of adolescence…”

“That’s far more than mere rebellion,”

Ye Zhaoyan immediately disagreed. “It’s an echo formed by pressure from family and society. From the child’s perspective, everything is real. I even feel the essay depicts a widespread phenomenon.”

“Yes, this is no meaningless lament. It’s authentic and heavy.”

Teacher Tie Ning wore a solemn expression, even beginning to self-reflect. “My son is going through puberty. I feel my education toward him has lacked care and respect, often becoming harsh. So he frequently resists me. Reading Xiaofang’s essay truly moved me.”

The female writers immediately had a thousand things to say, one after another.

“Kids nowadays are indeed hard to manage. You can criticize, but it must be for clear and correct reasons. If you criticize just to criticize, you’ll end up with the very situations depicted in the essay.”

“My own son worries me more. He doesn’t resist, but he won’t communicate either—he tells us nothing. It’s exhausting!”

“No need to guess. You must have hurt his self-esteem without realizing it, then ignored it.”

“In fact, we had our own pride back then. When I was a kid, I was severely beaten once for lying—but I truly didn’t lie. They just refused to hear my explanation. Decades have passed, yet that is the only childhood memory that remains vivid…”

“Childhood neglect—how did Fang Xinghe’s mind develop so well? Such a great summary.”

“Ah, raising kids is so difficult. We really have to be careful, or we won’t even know how we spoiled them.”

Old Zhao furrowed his brows deeply, visibly displeased. “This is alarmist nonsense! Do you think hitting a child once kills their spirit? Which of us didn’t grow up under our parents’ discipline? The essay is good, it’s provocative, but this kid is too extreme, too calculating!”

“Stop, stop! Don’t make this about the author.”

Chairman Wang Meng took control, preventing the older editors from taking the opportunity to go off-topic.

He commented, “Though it does lean towards encouraging defiance and revenge, what we want from the New Concept Contest is precisely this kind of raw, natural, vivid response. Personally, I’m very happy to see this essay.”

Ye Xin immediately agreed. “Cai Yuanpei advocated that literature must serve humanistic and aesthetic functions, shaping the soul, cultivating spirit, and nurturing humanity.

Fang Xinghe’s small exam essay achieved all of this. I think this is remarkable. He is a remarkable young man.”

Old Xing pursed his lips and insisted, “I don’t like it. This kind of writing will corrupt young people.”

Li Qigang quickly changed the subject to ease the tension. “This kid is really strange. How did he even read the Baopuzi? Has anyone here read that?”

Laughter filled the room, with many shaking their heads.

“I haven’t.”

“Me neither.”

“I’m the worst—I don’t even know who Wen Kang is.”

---

“Hahaha!”

“Alright, back to business. Who wants to write a commentary on his essay?”

“Me! Me!”

“I must! I’ll do it!”

When Wang Yali and her companions returned to their office, this was exactly the scene they found:

A group of great writers and professors crowded together, arguing noisily, none willing to yield.

“What’s going on?”

Tie Ning looked helpless. “They’re all fighting over who gets to comment on Xiaofang’s essay… Look at Yu Hua!”

Yu Hua was pulling on Su Tong’s arm, trying to coax him, but Su Tong held firm, holding the manuscript high and scolding, “Have you ever written a preface? Do you know what a proper commentary is? Let go! Let me have the first turn!”

Wang Yali and Chen Danya had yet to read Fang Xinghe’s semifinal work and exchanged glances.

“Is it really that good?”

“Even better than you imagine.”

Unable to squeeze in, the three resorted to asking for details to satisfy their curiosity.

“So, what exactly did he write?”

Tie Ning handed over a copy of the original draft. At her first glance, Chen Danya felt a powerful, naturally imposing grandeur emanating from the words—

“Knowing but not submitting, my fate should be mine, not heaven’s—Reflections on a Bitten Apple.”

“Whoa…”

Chen Danya gasped, a shiver running through her.

...

The next morning, Fang Xinghe received the expected notification.

He had won. The award ceremony would be held that afternoon in the hotel conference room.

First prize in Group B—easily.

Standing before the mirror, he smoothed his clothes carefully, buttoned the collar of his Zhongshan suit just so, revealing only the edge of his white shirt beneath. He slicked his hair back with wax, instantly becoming a red streak of lightning.

Yet the cunning boy still felt the look lacked impact, so he added a carefully chosen pure silver earring in his left ear.

As he put it on, he muttered, “Damn ‘Young and Dangerous’—how many kids did that ruin?”

Thanks to the small town of Nong’an, there were piercing shops but no good tattoo parlors. Otherwise, with Fang’s brash attitude back then, he’d have surely gotten a Blue Dragon and White Tiger tattooed.

Lucky, really.

Compared to tattoos, earrings were a small matter.

In truth, Fang Xinghe didn’t like jewelry much, but preferences aside, professionalism demanded he take care of his image. Since he was destined for stardom, there was no need for hesitation; everything must serve to attract fans.

Grumbling, he had roamed every jewelry shop in the county, carefully and calmly selecting multiple sets of accessories.

That’s called professional dedication.

Placed in a future era of diverse aesthetics, earrings still hold a significant place in personal style, and today their allure would be even stronger.

At this time, young people’s greatest rebellion barely went beyond hairstyles like Haonan’s, cross necklaces, and bell-bottoms—nothing compared to the next generation’s nonconformity.

Fang Xinghe was already several levels ahead.

Finally ready to leave, he happened to meet the girl from the opposite room. When she looked up, her face instantly flushed crimson, and she quickly looked down, clinging to the wall as she hurried away like she was fleeing.

Ah, such a charming era.

Clearly, the effect was outstanding.

The self-assured young man lifted his chin, walking toward the conference room in high spirits.

Along the way, anyone who saw him gasped audibly, as if he had consumed all the cold noodles produced in Xi’an in just minutes. Whispered remarks followed.

“He’s so handsome!”

Too typical.

“He really doesn’t seem like a good guy…”

You know far too much.

“Look, that’s Fang Xinghe!”

Huh? His name’s already spread that widely?

“Oh my, when he receives the award later, please don’t stand next to him—I can’t handle it.”

Ha! We’re all bros here. Why make things hard for each other?

Fang glanced at the murmuring guy and decided if given a choice later, he’d stand right next to him for the photos.

This isn’t hardship—it’s training.

On the second floor, the conference room had already been decorated with banners and arranged for the event.

Staff bustled about, judges took their places, and the only two photographers stood beside Chen Danya.

The moment Fang Xinghe entered, female judges like Wang Yali, Chen Danya, and Yuan Min’s eyes lit up.

But a few older male judges frowned.

Such is the balance of fame—drawing attention invites both admiration and criticism.

Overall, however, most judges greeted him warmly, nodding and smiling kindly.

The award ceremony was uneventful, with many first prizes handed out. Groups of winners held certificates, lined up in two or three rows beneath the banners, waiting for the photographers.

Fang Xinghe “passively” stood in the center.

He didn’t fight for the center spot, but the photographers directed him: “Student Su, please stand in the middle!”

Okay, cooperation.

As he moved to the center, the two guys beside him shifted nervously aside, taking tiny, hesitant steps like devils’ dances.

Click, click.

With the sound of shutters, the moment was captured forever.