Chapter 22: A Gathering of Respondents

Ever since he’d started carrying money in his pocket, Zhang Tan no longer ate at the school cafeteria; he would run over to the Fieldside Restaurant for his meals. The Fieldside Restaurant, being in a remote location, mostly catered to teachers from Shuangdun Middle School, so customers were few and far between. To broaden his business, the owner accepted Zhang Tan’s private arrangements.

Fifteen yuan for lunch—one meat dish and one vegetable—and five yuan for dinner, just a single vegetable dish.

Every day of the week brought new dishes, with no repeats.

With better food and drink, his body could develop well, and he’d have the strength to maintain his daily exercise routine: five laps around the track in the morning—two hundred meters each; an hour of soccer at noon; and another five laps in the evening. While he was still young, he intended to forge his body thoroughly.

Tonight’s vegetable dish was stir-fried green peppers with tofu skin, and he polished off two bowls of white rice with it.

After dinner, Zhang Tan headed back to school, planning to gather a few classmates and hit the basketball courts.

But as he reached the dormitory, he found a crowd blocking the entrance.

“What’s going on?”

Standing at the door, Zhou Yuxi replied, “I’m not entirely sure. Apparently, Fan Wentao was playing soccer on the field just now and accidentally hit a senior from second year with the ball. Now two second-year students have come looking for trouble.”

“Looking for trouble?” Zhang Tan raised an eyebrow, feeling a small thrill of excitement.

He pushed through the crowd and squeezed into the dorm, shouting, “What’s going on here? Why are you all blocking the door?”

Inside, he saw two unfamiliar students—probably second-years—pointing at Hou Wentao, cursing at him with the usual vulgarities.

Annoyed, Zhang Tan knocked away the finger of the close-cropped senior. “If there’s a problem, say it properly. Stop swearing!”

“Who the hell are you?” the second-year glared.

“Who am I?” Zhang Tan replied lightly, “I’m the one who speaks for this dorm. If there’s an issue, tell me. And stop cursing at my classmates.”

“Who the hell do you think you are, sticking your nose in?” the other, a pockmarked-faced student with a fiery temper, spat.

“Watch your mouth,” Zhang Tan shot back, eyes narrowing.

The pockmarked student was about to let loose again when his friend stopped him, turning instead to Zhang Tan, aggression clear in his voice. “So you’re the spokesman for this dorm? Your guy here hit my friend with a soccer ball. How do you plan to settle that?”

Fan Wentao shrank behind Zhang Tan, mumbling, “I already apologized to him.”

“Like hell an apology’s enough!” the pockmarked kid snapped, even raising his fist as if to strike.

“I told you to stop cursing—are you deaf?” Zhang Tan stepped in front of Fan Wentao.

“You look like you just got out of a labor camp, trying to act tough?” the pockmarked student sneered.

Zhang Tan’s face darkened. “Cut it out. Try pointing that finger again and see what happens.”

The pockmarked student looked at Zhang Tan with disdain. “So what if I point at you? Let me make this clear: I don’t care who speaks for your dorm. This isn’t something an apology can fix. If you don’t believe me, try it. Let’s see if you can keep your place at Shuangdun Middle School.”

The other students in the dorm, awed by the two second-years, didn’t dare speak up. Most had never witnessed a scene like this. Fan Wentao kept his head down, not daring to look up.

All eyes turned to Zhang Tan, as if only he could defend Fan Wentao in this moment.

After just over a week since the start of term, Zhang Tan had already become the pillar of Class 5 in the first year.

In his previous life, Zhang Tan would never have dared get involved—especially against second-year students. But now, he didn’t give them a second thought.

“Fan Wentao was wrong to hit you with the ball, but he’s already apologized. You keep harping on it, and he didn’t hit your face. Threatening to ruin us at Shuangdun? Who do you think you are? Here’s my word: Fan Wentao’s apologized. If you two leave now, we’ll pretend nothing happened. If not, you won’t be the ones walking out.”

The two second-years exchanged glances and laughed. “You’re pretty cocky, kid.”

Zhang Tan chuckled, glancing around until he spotted Zhu Ran by the door. “Zhu Ran, go call Xu Weidong and have him bring everyone from the seven class dorms. Tell them some second-years are bullying me, Zhang Tan. Everyone else, block the door. Today I want to see just how arrogant these two can be.”

Xu Weidong was the sports rep of Class 6, first year, and captain of the soccer team—a notorious troublemaker. Recently, thanks to the soccer matches, he’d gotten close with Zhang Tan. In fact, all the soccer-loving students in the first-year classes had befriended him—and incidentally, those were all the somewhat rebellious types.

With Zhang Tan’s call, students from all the first-year dorms assembled, flooding the doorway of dorm 103.

Xu Weidong, a big guy, barged in, voice booming. “Detective, who’s got the nerve to mess with you? The boys are all here!”

Seeing Xu Weidong and the others come to back him up, Zhang Tan couldn’t help feeling a surge of pride.

He’d always envied the school’s ring leaders—how with a wave of a hand, they could rally a crowd for a fight or a prank. Now, it was his turn to call and have the masses answer.

The thrill of being the boss was undeniable.

The two second-years watched as more and more students squeezed in, their expressions flickering with unease, but they held their ground. “Oh, so you think numbers matter…”

Before he could finish, Xu Weidong shoved the pockmarked one. “Yeah, numbers matter—what of it?” With his bulk and bluster, he was even fiercer than Zhang Tan—and quicker to act.

As Xu Weidong pushed, the others joined in. Soon, everyone was shoving and shouting.

The fracas began—not like the brawls on TV, but more shoving, yelling, and seeing who could shout the loudest.

Real punching was rare.

In the chaos, the two second-years were swiftly forced out of the dorm, the pockmarked one even tripping and falling.

“Remember this, you bastards!” he shouted as he scrambled up, fleeing with his friend, but not without tossing one last classic threat over his shoulder.

And so, first-years versus second-years: first-years, one—second-years, zero.

With the troublemakers gone, the spectators gradually dispersed to their own rooms.

Only the ringleaders of each class remained in dorm 102, gathering to boast and brag. Beating back the second-years had left them all riding high, faces flushed with excitement.

Having defended his classmate, Zhang Tan was now firmly established as the leader of Class 5, first year.

“I have a feeling those two will stir up trouble again,” Xu Weidong, experienced in such matters, observed shrewdly.

“If they try anything, we’ll just fight. Detective, if they come back, you call us. I can’t stand these guys who bully first-years just because we’re new.”

“That’s right. We first-years need to stick together—why fear the second or third-years?”

“Zhang Tan, just say the word and I’ll be the first to act.”

With the second-years gone, everyone was talking tough. Zhang Tan found it amusing—after all, Fan Wentao was the one in trouble, but now it seemed he himself had become the aggrieved party. Still, Fan Wentao was a member of the soccer team—timid, but a good guy—and Zhang Tan didn’t mind taking the heat for him. He had nothing better to do anyway.

Now, with friends at his back, there was no one in the school he feared.

“All right, thanks everyone for coming to my aid. If they try anything again, I’ll call you. And if any of you need help in the future, just say the word. No one in Class 5 shies away from a fight.”