Let's talk about something else.

"Damn it, who the hell are you?" Luo Chengcai cursed.

"I'm your teacher," Zhang Pa replied.

"Teacher?" Luo Chengcai laughed, sneering. "Teacher? And what do you want, teacher?"

Zhang Pa said, "Talk less, are you afraid to come over?"

"It's not that I'm afraid; I just don't see the point," Sheng Yang said. "What's with being a teacher? Who are you trying to scare? We're done with school."

Zhang Pa turned to glance at the police station entrance, then, without warning, made his move. There were police officers smoking outside, so they witnessed it all—Zhang Pa swiftly and cleanly knocked down both youths with two heavy punches.

His fists struck hard, landing in places that hurt but wouldn't knock them out. The two boys endured for a while before struggling to sit up.

Sheng Yang’s neighbor shouted, "What are you doing?"

A police officer tossed away his cigarette and walked over. "What's going on here? Fighting at the station entrance?"

"I'm their homeroom teacher," Zhang Pa said.

"Even so, you can't hit students. Physical punishment is forbidden now," the officer replied.

While Zhang Pa was striking, the long-legged girl shouted loudly, rushed over to check on Luo Chengcai, asked if he was hurt, then stood up and pointed at Zhang Pa, cursing, "Where did this blind bastard come from? Scumbag! Officer, he hit someone, arrest him!"

Zhang Pa ignored her, speaking to Luo Chengcai and Sheng Yang, "I know who you're hanging around with, acting all tough. No matter—Class Eighteen, Grade Three at 119 Middle School still exists. I'm waiting for you to come for revenge." He smiled. "If you don't have the guts for revenge, just come back to class."

"Go to hell," Luo Chengcai cursed, struggling to stand.

Zhang Pa said, "Cursing doesn't make you a hero. If you have what it takes, knock me down. Let’s do this—if you still think you’re a man, come to school and take your revenge. If you lack the courage, I understand why you skip classes—because you're scared, scared to come to school, scared to face me, right?"

He let out a cold laugh, then turned to Sheng Yang. "You too. If you both have guts, if you’re real men, come to school and find me. If you don’t, if you can’t even look me in the eye, just keep skipping class. It’s only a year. After you graduate, you can head straight to prison. Should I congratulate you in advance?"

"Shit, are you crazy or what?" Sheng Yang snarled, standing up.

Zhang Pa laughed coldly. "Want a chance? You two against me, three on one—how about it? Dare?"

"Shit," Luo Chengcai muttered, looking around for a weapon. He spotted a bicycle, lifted it and tried to smash it against Zhang Pa.

The bike was big, but Zhang Pa caught the wheel with one hand, kicked, and Luo Chengcai fell miserably to the ground, pinned under the bike.

The long-legged girl, clearly fond of Luo Chengcai, hurried to pull the bike off him, squeezing in a few curses at Zhang Pa.

Zhang Pa stood, unmoved. The police officer tried to reason with him, "You can't do this. Kids need proper guidance."

Zhang Pa glanced at the officer and smiled, "You're a cop, and you don’t like seeing this kind of scum either, right? Clearly criminal, should be sentenced, but a phone call and they're released, just like that. You work hard for nothing, take the blame for nothing, get cursed for nothing."

The officer protested, "That’s not the same thing."

Zhang Pa smiled, looking from Luo Chengcai to Sheng Yang. "Class Eighteen has forty-five troublemakers, forty-three of them show up at school every day—only you two act tough and refuse to come."

He laughed. "My first day on the job, the principal gave me five names: Yun Zheng, Wang Jiang, Li Shan—those three are seniors, now in Class Eighteen, under my charge. Two in Grade Two, Li Yingxiong and Pei Chengyi. According to the principal, those five are the biggest headaches in the school—not you two! So what are you showing off for? Who knows you? Who cares? Think you’re something special? You’re nothing."

"Even if your so-called boss showed up, he’s nothing too. Let me say this—he’s supposed to be some gang leader, right? If he’s got the guts, let him come find me. Want a brawl? If he dares, you two can skip class all you want. But will your boss come? I’ve been in the city for over four years, and I’ve only ever heard of people going out from Xingfu Lane to beat others, never anyone daring to come in and pick a fight. If you two are so tough, I welcome you—come and fight me. Otherwise, what are you bragging about day in and day out? It’s embarrassing."

Zhang Pa spoke at length, but it all boiled down to one thing: he looked down on them.

Luo Chengcai and Sheng Yang burned with anger, but what could they do? He was telling the truth. Many places in the city had thugs collecting protection fees, nightclubs hired people to watch the door, but only Xingfu Lane was free from that—no one dared collect protection money there.

Zhang Pa made a contemptuous gesture. "I’ll be waiting for you both at 119 Middle School. Don’t disappoint me." With that, he walked away, the picture of nonchalance.

The long-legged girl shouted, "What are you showing off for? We’ll take you down tomorrow! Aren’t you a teacher? My dad will get you fired!"

Zhang Pa chuckled, waving as he walked away. "Goodbye, little sister."

"Who are you calling sister? You filthy pervert!" she screamed, stamping her feet.

Zhang Pa headed for the bus stop. The timing was good—there were seats. He sat down, leaned his head against the window, and found the posture incredibly comfortable. With his eyes closed, he fell asleep in no time.

Three stops later, he woke up, feeling he’d had a wonderful nap. Arriving at school, he went straight to share with the principal, "Sleeping on the bus is surprisingly comfortable. You should try it."

Principal Qin laughed, "You’re brave. Didn’t lose anything?"

Zhang Pa thought for a moment. "Pretend I said nothing." Then he reported on Luo Chengcai and Sheng Yang.

The principal sighed, "Other principals get their students into Tsinghua or Peking University. Mine go to technical schools and vocational colleges. Alas."

"You’re overthinking," Zhang Pa said. "How could middle schoolers get into Tsinghua or Peking?"

"It’s just a figure of speech! Don’t you get it?" The principal said. "The barbecue last time was great. When’s the next one?"

Zhang Pa grumbled, "Last time? It was just yesterday!"

"Was it? It feels like ages ago," the principal replied.

Zhang Pa considered, "Goodbye," and turned to leave.

The principal called after him, "When’s the next barbecue?"

Zhang Pa, exasperated, tossed back, "Are you planning on eating your way through all six thousand yuan before you’re satisfied?" He shut the door.

Class Eighteen was in session. Zhang Pa returned to his office.

Luo Shengnan had finally gone to class, leaving the office to Zhang Pa alone. He started typing furiously.

Fatty suddenly called, saying Old Zhang had taken the dog away.

Zhang Pa felt a bit disappointed and replied, "Anything else?"

Fatty said, "I’ve been thinking, let me ask—are we still making the web drama?"

Zhang Pa asked, "Are you planning to quit?"

"Not quit. If you don’t want to film, I’ll get Turtle and the others to pool some money for Da Zhuang. He doesn’t live here, so it’s not fair for him to cover the rent," Fatty explained.

Zhang Pa said, "I already contributed two thousand."

"I know," Fatty replied. "We’ll gather the rest... but tell me, are we filming or not?"

Zhang Pa sighed. "It’s not about whether I want to film, it’s whether you all want to."

"We do," Fatty said.

Zhang Pa smiled. "Wanting isn’t enough. Doing matters."

Fatty said, "If you don’t film, what can we do?"

Zhang Pa said, "Shut up and listen." Fatty agreed, and Zhang Pa continued, "First, you guys aren’t ready. Your bodies are stiff, your speech feels off. You need to learn, to practice, but all you do is play games. If you want to film a web drama, prepare yourselves. I saw a documentary about a minor supporting actress in a domestic film—she appeared for only a few minutes each time, barely noticed by the camera. Her acting wasn’t great, neither was her presence, but she worked hard. At the end of the movie, there was a three-minute dance. She practiced for ten months—ten months for three minutes of brilliance."

He paused, then asked, "Do you know what I’m getting at?"

Fatty replied, "That was a movie. We’re filming a web drama. No need to be that serious, right?"

Zhang Pa said, "Fine, let’s talk movies. But what happens after? If the box office flops, and she’s just a minor actress with average looks, who will remember her? Ten months of effort—who knows about it? How’s that different from a web drama? But she took it seriously! If you truly want to make a web drama, be serious. There are plenty of books online, the library has them. If you can’t learn by yourself, join a class. In a lifetime, there are always a few things you want to do. My advice: after you decide, prepare well, then do it."

Fatty sighed. "I know you’re thinking about us, but a bunch of lazy guys learning something? It’s too late, too pointless, and besides, those guys won’t bother."

Zhang Pa said, "Just an excuse. By your logic, I’m old and still chasing dreams—is that pointless, boring, crazy? Let me tell you, I’m learning to sing, to dance, and to play guitar. What do you think?"

Fatty was quiet for a while, then said, "You win." He hung up.

Zhang Pa looked at his phone screen, muttering, "I wasn’t done yet." He put the phone down and got back to work.

Since Old Zhang had taken the big dog, Zhang Pa didn’t need to rush home to care for them. But another issue remained—what about the animation?

He thought of his forty-odd students. Not one willing to study, not one interested in computers. A dozen or so tough kids didn’t even play computer games...

Zhang Pa felt it was unnatural. In all those school dramas on TV and in movies, no matter what kind of class, no matter what kind of students, there was always a computer genius, an athletic star, or some other prodigy...

Thinking of Class Eighteen, he couldn’t help but sigh. Over forty troublemakers, all cut from the same mold—none liked learning. All they knew was skipping class, fighting, causing trouble, nothing else.