Chapter 024: A Furious Kick

Just as Zhang Tan had anticipated, the senior students did not return to settle the score. However, the process deviated slightly, for someone from the senior year did come—members of the school’s soccer team. After the group from the senior year lost their fight, word spread quickly among their classmates, especially those who played soccer. These boys decided to act as mediators and resolve the grudge.

After all, with preparations underway for the soccer tournament, the senior soccer players had forged some camaraderie with Zhang Tan and his group. If the conflict dragged on, it would deepen the divide between the freshmen and seniors, ultimately jeopardizing the tournament.

“Zhang Tan, let’s not escalate this. I’ve already talked with Li Hui and Yang Xun; everyone should calm down. It wasn’t a big deal to begin with—no need to make it awkward for everyone, right?”

Li Hui was the one with the crew cut; Yang Xun was the one with the pockmarked face.

With peacemakers stepping in and their own side having won two consecutive fights, Zhang Tan was not about to press the matter: “Fine. We never intended to stir up trouble. Since you’re all here to mediate, we’ll let it go. But you need to make sure they promise not to use this as an excuse to bully Fan Wentao again.”

“Don’t worry, that won’t happen.”

“Good.”

“So, are you all ready for the soccer tournament? On September 21st, next Friday, we’ll draw lots to decide the matches.”

“Alright.”

And so, the storm blew over, returning life to its quiet rhythm.

Zhang Tan, who fancied himself a sage with youthful exuberance, no longer made a spectacle of himself. He buried his head in his novel during classes, snatched time at noon to play soccer, occasionally daydreamed, or told a few jokes to the girls.

“Xiaomei wrote her wishes for the future in her essay book: First, she hopes for a cute child; second, she hopes for a husband who loves her. Do you know what comment the teacher wrote at the end?” Zhang Tan leaned against the wall, sharing a joke with the girls in the front row.

The wall behind him was covered with letter paper, to prevent the chalk dust from sticking.

The two girls in front of him were Zhu Dandan and Gao Jie. Neither was exactly beautiful, nor ugly, but both were remarkably tall—taller than Zhang Tan’s modest height of one meter sixty-five.

Tall girls always stand out.

“What did the teacher write?” Gao Jie asked.

There was no teacher supervising evening study; Yu Na had gone to a meeting, and everyone whispered quietly among themselves.

The freshmen had not yet felt much academic pressure, so the atmosphere during evening study was relaxed.

Zhang Tan tilted his head. “Guess.”

“Did the teacher say Xiaomei shouldn’t think so far ahead?” Zhu Dandan hazarded.

“No.”

“So maybe Xiaomei is too young,” Cao Yu, another classmate, suggested.

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Gao Jie asked coquettishly, “Come on, what did the teacher actually write? Zhang Tan, stop keeping us in suspense.”

“Cough, cough.” Zhang Tan smiled. “The teacher wrote: ‘Please pay attention to the order of your wishes.’”

“Huh?” Gao Jie and Zhu Dandan were puzzled, but then the meaning dawned on them and they burst out laughing. “Ha ha, Zhang Tan, you’re terrible! No teacher would say that!”

Xiaomei had wished for a child before wishing for a husband.

The teacher advised her to wish for a husband first, then a child.

A joke coarse, banal, and vulgar—so-called “three vulgarities”—in the future, no one would even laugh at it. Yet in this time and place, such jokes were wildly popular. The girls liked talking to Zhang Tan not only for his distinctive air, nor for his unconventional style alone.

Much of it was his uncommonly witty conversation and his talent for telling anecdotes.

Among a crowd of high schoolers, he was like a torch in the night.

It was impossible not to stand out.

...

The ending of “The Four Great Constables Shake the Northeast” featured Coldblood’s desperate counterattack, wrapping up a thrilling battle: one man hunting down a band of thirteen notorious villains. The plot was not grand, but the momentum was mighty, preserving Wen Rui’an’s alien-like martial arts style and infusing the plain prose of Jin Yong.

It wasn’t just a retelling of the original; Zhang Tan also incorporated elements from the adaptations he’d seen, making the worldview clearer and more coherent.

He dared not claim his revisions were outstanding, but at least they were no worse than Wen Rui’an’s original. Zhang Tan was confident that his version of the Four Great Constables would unleash even greater energy, because Wen Rui’an was notorious for digging plot holes and never filling them, often letting masterpieces end with a whimper. Zhang Tan, however, was a bit compulsive—he loved to wrap up his stories with clarity.

“Alright, next up: ‘The Four Great Constables Meet in the Capital’!”

He carefully copied his manuscript onto letter paper and sealed it in an envelope to send via express through the school’s small shop. After that, he stopped worrying about the manuscript.

By now, school had been in session for a while, and the soccer team of Class Five, First Year, had entered its training phase.

As captain, Zhang Tan led his teammates to the field every noon, sometimes inviting other classes to play matches.

Today, Class Five was playing a practice game against Class Six.

Class Six boasted two experts: Xu Weidong, strong and skilled, and Wang Panfeng, who possessed extraordinary ball sense—no one could take the ball from him.

In his previous life, Zhang Tan had played many matches against them, and knew them well.

The way to neutralize Xu Weidong was man-marking—no tackling, just interfering, disrupting his rhythm and accuracy. Wang Panfeng was easier: just hold your position and watch him perform. Wang Panfeng’s dribbling was unbreakable; at least, few at Shuangdun Middle School could steal the ball from him.

---

Sure enough, Wang Panfeng broke through with the ball, changed direction once, and left the Class Five midfielder in the dust.

Then, with another move—ball and body splitting—he bypassed yet another defender.

Zhang Tan, still at midfield, couldn’t help but applaud Wang Panfeng’s dazzling skills.

“Well done, another one passed!”

Having dribbled past three Class Five players, Wang Panfeng was unstoppable.

Yet Class Five’s goalkeeper, Wei Tao, remained calm. With his glasses and absent-minded demeanor, he looked almost senile, arms folded, head down, lost in thought.

Now Panfeng had created a clear shot at goal.

To the left, Xu Weidong had moved into position, ready to receive a pass. Whether Wang Panfeng shot directly or passed, both seemed likely to result in a goal.

Xu Weidong stretched out his arm, signaling for the ball. “Old Wang, pass it over! Pass it!”

Would he shoot, or coordinate with a pass?

The tension was palpable.

Class Five’s defenders, all new to soccer, didn’t even know to turn and cover after being bypassed. Aside from the dazed goalkeeper, everyone else—including Zhang Tan—stood their ground, watching Wang Panfeng’s spectacular display.

“Number 11, Wang Panfeng of Class Six, dribbles past three—at this moment he’s possessed by Maradona, Ronaldo, Henry, Pele, the spirit of Italy itself! He’s not alone—he’s not even human! Now he’s at our goal, what will he do… Oh, he lifts his foot… shoots!”

Zhang Tan enthusiastically played commentator.

Boom!

The ball struck Wang Panfeng’s foot with tremendous force, like a cannonball, or an arrow loosed from its bow, or a meteor streaking across the sky.

A furious shot.

Whistling upward.

In countless eyes, it traced a beautiful arc.

It soared and soared, clearing the school wall, vanishing at the world’s edge.

“Damn! That’s one hell of a shot!” A bystander on the field craned his neck, unable to help but marvel.