Chapter 66: A Troll Ahead of His Time

What does indiscriminate slaughter mean?
It means that when Fang Xinghe put pen to paper, he showed mercy to no one, spraying blood with absolute fairness upon every single person.
Moreover, to enhance the smoothness and visceral thrill of the read, he deliberately lowered the stylistic barriers, ensuring that even the most academically challenged dunce could understand it.
Doing this was certainly not a good idea; it was deeply unkind. But when he wrote this piece, he was aiming squarely at creating a massive sensation.
Well, he got his wish.
Virtually everyone who read this article dropped their jaws in utter shock.
……The full text is as follows……
How do you view youth?
I mean, everyone reading these lines, have any of you ever truly and deeply pondered what on earth causes the joys and birth pangs of youth?
If you don't have an answer for now, then listen to me.
I will plant my conclusion right here. There is no negotiating whether it's right or wrong, but you are free to argue with it to your heart's content.
——The joy of adolescence comes 100% from being a clueless, brainless, carefree, reckless moron.
As the old saying goes: psychiatric patients have a broad train of thought, and brainless youths have plenty of joy.
See? The sages figured this out long ago.
Joy is the simplest thing—just stop thinking so much.
As for the so-called birth pangs of adolescence... seriously, you guys love to flatter yourselves. What birth pangs? That is clearly a state of chronic, unceasing pain.
The older generation hurt so terribly that their spirits became spiritually impotent—flaccid, barely hardening for a second, and then dying down—which is why they produced "pain literature." I saw several familiar names among the judges of this competition.
As for our generation, our wounds aren't deep enough, our pain isn't genuine enough; our cries are affected, our groans are pretentious. In my opinion, we are very likely to produce "blue-balls literature."
Yet, regardless of the differences, both generations—along with the trembling, voiceless Generation X caught in the middle—haven't had a very good adolescence. That much is true.
According to my observations, the fundamental reason why adolescence becomes the most miserable period for most people is that you are always trying to please certain people or certain things.
At home, you play the obedient boy to please your parents, hoping to endure fewer nags or perhaps avoid a sound thrashing.
At school, you play the sensible student to please your teachers, hoping to earn praise to satisfy your newly budding vanity.
Before your grandparents, you speak with honeyed words to secure some pocket money—though this money is bound to vanish, soon transforming into snacks or little trading cards, delivered straight into the mouth or collection box of some boy or girl.
Writing this far, Crotch-Grabber suddenly turned and stubbornly argued with me: "This isn't called pleasing; this is pure liking! What you're writing is so vulgar!"
I didn't want to waste time bickering with him, so I nodded with a benevolent smile: "Right, right, right. Your affection for Lu Tingting is purely, utterly, flawlessly innocent. The reason she rolls her eyes at you every day is simply because she hasn't yet realized..."
"Exactly! That's so fucking spot on!"
Crotch-Grabber trotted off in high spirits, muttering nonstop: "No way, I've got to find a way to make her realize it!"
Abundance and I exchanged glances, shaking our heads with a tacit understanding. Then he went back to playing his handheld console, I resumed writing my composition, and Crotch-Grabber pestered Surplus to go with him and stake out Lu Tingting downstairs.
Staking out, you say? A more accurate description would be: wandering around in a curved zone two hundred meters outside the front gate of the residential compound like a headless fly or a scorched grasshopper, utterly self-absorbed.
If they actually ran into her, daring to flash a smile would already mean he had the guts—and the balls—to step outside today.
A young boy's crush? How fucking laughable.
The instinctive adolescent habit of pleasing others? Even more fucking laughable.
The agonizing part is that among all my friends, Crotch-Grabber isn't the only one with this flaw; Abundance and Surplus are exactly the same.
The reason Crotch-Grabber is nicknamed Crotch-Grabber isn't because his real name is Dang Tao, but because wearing cheap polyester briefs year-round constantly chafed his inner thighs, causing frequent itching that forced him to reach in and scratch from time to time. Over the years, whenever he got into a fight, he habitually went straight for his opponent's crotch... Damn it, he's such a pervert.
I once asked him why he didn't just buy a couple of comfortable pairs of underwear, and he replied with a troubled look: "I brought it up, and my mother said, 'You look like a brand-new pair of underwear to me!'"
Surplus's real name is Yu Xiaoduo. His current father is a stepfather; after remarrying, his biological mother gave birth to another younger brother, instantly making him surplus goods in that household.
He has constantly tried to please that stepfather—being diligent, doing heavy chores, speaking in whispers, and trying his absolute hardest not to take money from home. The book fees for last semester were even managed by me—damn it, he really is surplus.
I also asked him why he didn't just have a go at his stepfather with his fists, and he sighed: "He has a pretty tough time, too..."
Abundance's formal name is Liu Fu, and his ambition is to be just like his nouveau riche father—mysteriously wealthy out of nowhere.
That's why this fellow hates studying and spends every day plotting to "pull off a big score," yet he lacks the guts to do it himself, so he's always egging me on. Damn it, he's truly neurotic.
His targets for pleasing are the most extensive, including but not limited to parents, grandparents, maternal grandparents, teachers, classmates, and his most important target: myself.
He once triumphantly boasted to his peers: "This is what you call being smart! When have you ever seen me take a major loss?"
I could only silently raise my thumb.
Splendid. You are indeed the one with the greatest survival wisdom.
After all, his family is genuinely rich; losing a little pocket change doesn't count as a loss.
In fact, it's not just them striving to please me; many classmates are the same.
Because I am the boss of the entire junior high division, I don't bully honest kids who study properly or girls, but I shelter all the delinquents.
Don't be surprised. I don't know if there are regional or urban-rural differences in this regard, but things are certainly this way around here.
Every single middle and high school in the county has fights.
A female classmate and I once discussed this issue with academic detachment. She was a transfer student from the South, and she said they didn't fight over there, adding that the more backward a place is, the earlier boys' territorial consciousness awakens.
At the time, I was unexpectedly calm and told her, "It doesn't have much to do with territory. I realized very early on that reasoning with certain people is completely useless. The more you beg for their understanding, the more intensely they will bully you. It's the same now; look around you, think carefully—who on earth can you reason with?"
She tilted her head, genuinely pondering this, and then looked at me earnestly: "You."
I flatly denied it: "I don't want to reason either, but if I punch you, you'll cry for a long time, which is just too much trouble. That's why I choose to reason with you, and throw punches at that gang of brats."
She sighed: "You boys..."
It was rather profound.
I couldn't be bothered to guess what she meant. I only knew that when someone displays the intention to push you around, you'd better strike back immediately, letting them know through your actions that they've messed with the wrong motherfucker.
The moment you back down once, there will be a second time, gradually feeding their boldness until the situation spirals out of control.
Later, she asked me again: "Who was it you couldn't reason with when you were little?"
I rolled my eyes: "Are you the neighborhood busybody? Kiss me, and I'll tell you."
She didn't kiss me, cursed me as a "scoundrel," and ran away blushing.
Oh, right, her name was Lu Tingting—the very girl Crotch-Grabber was desperately trying to please.
Later, she joined my small gang, became Thirteen Sister, and called me Big Brother every day.
And much later on, I blossomed, growing better-looking by the day, so I never dared to utter bullshit like "Kiss me and I'll tell you" to her again, because she would actually kiss me... They all would. My survival environment grew more dangerous by the day. Fuck!
Putting aside the gap in looks between Crotch-Grabber and me, I believe the fundamental reason someone is popular lies in the attraction and leadership brought by the strength of their "self-awareness."
Otherwise, why am I the boss and they are the underlings?
Could it be solely because I am handsome, dashing, peerlessly charming, genuinely interesting, cool, and can fight?
Part of the reason is certainly that, but more importantly, it's self-awareness—meaning who calls the shots, who executes, and who covers the consequences.
The one who calls the shots is naturally the leader, the errand runners are naturally the underlings, and the one who can both call the shots and cover the consequences counts as a good big brother.
These things aren't prescribed by anyone; when a small clique gradually takes shape, the wise lead, the brave rise, the cunning attach themselves, and the cowardly trail behind...
Naturally, without needing a single meeting, you are who you are.
Many kids my age fail to realize that at an age when you ought to be most curious, most unrestrained, and most fearless, instead of exploring your own potential, you rack your brains trying to please the people least worth pleasing. At that moment, the most vibrant part of the mental framework you use to construct your "self" gradually withers away, leaving behind nothing more than the mundane instincts for survival.
As for me, I please no one.
As for why, it's a rather complex process of evolution.
Simply put, I might have tried pleasing people when I was very small, but it probably didn't do any good, seeing as I now have neither father nor mother.
In the few years after becoming a wild child, I gradually figured out the difference between pleasing others and pleasing oneself.
Pleasing others means resting your hopes for gain upon other people's approval, affection, regard, pity... and other such emotions.
Whereas pleasing oneself means constantly growing stronger and telling everyone else to go fuck themselves.
Seeking externally is never as good as drawing from within.
The former is uncontrollable; the latter only requires reaching into your own pocket. Whatever strength you've accumulated belongs entirely to you.
Because my conclusion was far too simple and brutal, it incurred a lot of disapproval.
My underlings didn't openly oppose me, but they all made excuses for themselves.
OK, OK.
Actually, I completely agree that before acquiring independent capability, appropriately pleasing certain correct individuals to secure a better survival experience is fine, but the most important thing is that in this process, we must not lose ourselves, while swiftly building the capacity to distinguish right from wrong.
The days of unbridled growth last only these few years; the good and the bad pour in all at once. What you accept, what you believe, and what you execute will ultimately determine what kind of person you become.
Are you aware of this?
Whether you were before or not, I believe you are aware of it now.
No need to thank me.
Now let's talk about who is worth pleasing, who isn't, and how to build the perceptual capacity for right and wrong—you can thank me for this part.
Adolescence is precisely the period when a teenager's self-awareness is at its strongest yet most suppressed, and because it's strong, it's rash.
Consequently, adults will tell you that you can't do this and you can't do that, mostly out of good intentions, but their reasoning is always, "Because we've crossed more bridges than you've walked roads," or "Because we've eaten more salt than you've eaten rice"……
Well then, anyone who refuses to reason, and whenever a hint of debate arises resorts to these rigid formulaic phrases to forcibly suppress you, is someone not worth pleasing.
These may include your parents, teachers, or elders. Or rather, it is precisely these closest figures who are most prone to suppressing your nature with such crude, rigid paradigms.
This has nothing to do with love or lack thereof. The problems love can solve are so fucking few—stupidity, stubbornness, selfishness, empiricism; which of these can be solved by love?
Remember, adults are not necessarily smart, and adult experience is not always correct.
Their experiences are derived entirely from their personal journeys, yet a single individual's personal experience, when magnified against the entire world, remains forever thin, forever one-sided, forever narrow, and forever superficial.
If someone lectures me claiming their experience is drawn from history, I would certainly be willing to listen carefully.
Yet among these adults, how many actually understand history?
Let alone insight into the nuances of human nature, the operation of society, political landscapes, and the trends of the times.
Anyway, Surplus's stepfather only ever yells at him: "I feed you and clothe you, what the fuck are you talking back to me for?"
That's why I particularly dislike Surplus's stepfather. Yet that man genuinely labors to support the whole family, and aside from playing favorites, he has no particularly bad habits—to the point where I can't even lead a gang to jump him in an alley with a sack over his head, leaving me with no choice but to limit contact and avoid the sight to spare myself the annoyance.
Then I gradually discovered that all people who aren't worth pleasing share a single common trait—
They invariably proceed from a fixed, entirely self-centered perspective to lecture us on how to view this constantly changing world.
Big brother, the whole world has fucking drifted ten miles away, and you're still standing in the exact same spot gesturing and telling us to do this and that. Isn't that hilarious?
There is a teaching on change in the *Xici* commentary of the *Classic of Changes*: "As a book, the *Yi* cannot be distanced; its Dao shifts repeatedly. Moving without fixed abode, it circulates through the six voids; above and below there is no constancy, hardness and softness interchange, it cannot be taken as a standard norm, flowing wherever the change leads."
This time the ancestors really said it. It means: the only unchanging truth in the world is that everything is constantly changing.
Some people truly don't understand; this is called being stupid.
Some people pretend not to understand; this is called being malicious.
Stupid people are terrified we will get hurt, so they stubbornly try to bend us back onto the so-called righteous path using the precious pit-falling experiences gained from all the times they got hurt.
Yet these middle-aged rotting corpses, middle-aged puppets, and middle-aged clowns—who have already been domesticated by society into fixed shapes—consistently fail to realize that they actually lack sufficient capacity to correctly distinguish right from wrong, good from bad.
I don't know what kind of cruel ending it will take to make them realize that once a dialectical thinking framework fails to be established during adolescence, it's too late to change after the age of thirty—which happens to be the age of becoming parents.
Malicious people are terrified we'll become too smart, ultimately surpassing them, replacing them, and ruining their scheming calculations, so they tirelessly drive us toward the crooked path. If enough kids are ruined, they might even collect a bounty from the wild fathers—why wouldn't they be happy to do that?
So you think I hate malicious people more?
Wrong. Actually, I despise stupidity even more.
Malicious bastards are ultimately easy to spot; after a few encounters, at worst taking a couple of losses, you eventually realize these sons of bitches harbor ill intent.
Stupid people are different, especially those relatives and elders who wave the banner of "doing it for your own good."
My word, they are truly impossible to reason with and forbidden to scold. The moment you resist, they burst into tears, whining, "Aren't I working this hard all for your sake?"
This isn't just annoying; it's practically a form of torture.
When my mother was still around, she never acted like this.
She simply nagged me tirelessly: "After I'm gone, you must be strong and independent. Don't listen to what others say; live according to your own mind. I can't take care of you as you grow up, and I don't care how successful you become; I only hope you'll be happy and live as a joyful person."
She was the one who showed me what pure love looks like, which made me increasingly repulsed by those inexplicable parents.
Many parents in China are actually unprepared for the job. They don't know how to respect a child because when they were children themselves, they weren't shown much respect either.
Consequently, they are stupid without realizing it, malicious without reflecting on it, yet demand absolute obedience from their children.
You obey, you're a good kid; you disobey, you're a bad kid.
What is this?
They call it inheritance. No, if you ask me, this is disciplinary training.
Regulation and training are neutral words in themselves, yet certain adults train us just like training dogs.
Is this reasonable?
Fine, it's very reasonable.
Because during adolescence we lack economic freedom, we have no choice but to pin our hopes of intellectual freedom on our parents.
When they are enlightened, gentle, and kind, the treatment you receive is: "Darling, how about we handle this matter this way?"
When they are stubborn, stupid, and tyrannical, this fucking youth feels like being fucked by a dog, sickeningly disgusting.
Fortunately, fortunately, my youth is no longer suppressed. I am now a wild dog; I can fuck whoever I want to fuck.
So if you also want to change something, start right now by learning to master two kinds of emotions.
Either remain cheerful and carefree, letting whoever trains you like a dog roll right off your back—everyone goes through it anyway, and things slowly get better later on. At worst, once we're old enough, we'll have a kid of our own and train them right back.
This is optimism.
Or erect a target in your heart, pin the people not worth pleasing onto it one by one, and take them down one by one, pleasing only yourself from then on.
This is anger.
Optimism lets you feel no pain, dodging the adolescent birth pangs, while anger lets you return the suffering manifold, dragging the perpetrators down into the pain with you.
Choose whichever you like, within your capacity.
But if you are a total piece of trash who can do neither of these, only whimpering, trembling, and quivering, there is one final path left—
Stop worshiping deities from now on; worship me.
You have to suck up to someone anyway; having it be me is surely better than some inexplicable stupid moron, right?
OK, I hereby announce the official founding of the Xinghe Divine Cult. I am your God-King, Hierarch, High Priest, Spiritual Mentor, and Idol. If you have anything you can't figure out in the future, write a letter, stuff it into a drifting bottle, toss it into the stinking ditch outside your door, and I will reply in my own handwriting once I see it.
Figure out the doctrines yourselves; anything is fine by me.
Finally, go find a picture of me, enshrine it, and burn a stick of incense morning and night.
Fruit, cake, beer, roast chicken... any offerings will do; pray for whatever you want.
I might not necessarily answer, but my picture will keep smiling at you. By extension, doesn't that mean I'm practically throwing myself at you with a smiling face, radiating light and warmth for your sake?
Sigh, you soft-pedaled cowards who can only cry after being fucked by dogs without ever daring to fuck back—seriously, you guys fucking need me so much.
The very last thing: if you have any dissatisfaction with me whatsoever, don't skulk in dark corners whispering and muttering about why I'm so arrogant. If you want to ask something, stand right in front of me, straighten out your big thick tongue, and ask to my face.
Remember to bring your balls when you step outside. That is all.
The end.
…………
Ah, damn it, it's not actually over yet. What came above was the main text, and below are a few lines of an afterword.
Do you now correctly understand what anger is?
Come on, look at me with hostility, hate me, judge me, strike me down!
I would simply love to have more amusement.
Actually, I also need peers, but what a pity, the vast majority of you don't qualify.
This is not my sorrow, nor is it society's sorrow, and it certainly doesn't need to be elevated to the level of a national sorrow; the only ones who should feel sorrow are you little pieces of trash.
Of course, I don't endorse those stupid brick-experts and malicious professors yapping on about the "post-80s lost generation." What kind of bullshit is that? With me around, it won't be lost.
So feel free to rot in peace; I won't carry you to success, but I allow you to watch how I fly.
Until the day you too become middle-aged rotting corpses, middle-aged puppets, and middle-aged clowns.
[OVER. It's truly over this time. I had my fun; what about you guys?]
The opening 300 words of this composition appeared once before; this is the first time the full text has been released.
I am not asking you to resubscribe.
Special declaration