The Bully 05

But he didn’t expect that his money had slipped out of his pocket, right into their line of sight.

“Hey! A hundred?” Murong Ke reached out and snatched the bill.

“Give it back!” Fang Yunhe panicked.

Murong Ke’s eyes turned cold as he kicked Fang Yunhe hard in the stomach, sending him crumpling to the ground in pain.

Murong Ke didn’t need the money—he just wanted to humiliate this weakling.

Laughing and jeering, they walked off with the cash, leaving Fang Yunhe clutching his stomach, tears of shame streaming down his face.

Then he saw the door of the nearby stall swing open—his father was squatting inside, casually scrolling through his phone.

“Dad…” A wave of overwhelming misery washed over him.

“You dare call me that? They hit you so many times, and you just took it?” Fang Zhiyi didn’t even glance at him.

“There were too many of them…”

“Then pick one and fight back.”

“And… Murong Ke knows a lot of gangsters outside school…” Fang Yunhe, now exposed in his helplessness, spilled everything. “I don’t want to go to school anymore.”

“And what will you do instead, huh?” Fang Zhiyi stood up, gave him a complicated look, and yanked him to his feet. “Your brother’s an idiot, and you’re a coward. The Fang family is truly finished.”

Fang Yunhe hung his head in shame.

It didn’t even occur to him to wonder why his father was at the school or why he hadn’t stepped in during the beating.

“Next time someone hits you, if you don’t fight back, don’t call me ‘Dad’ again.” Fang Zhiyi washed his hands as he spoke. “Violence doesn’t solve problems, but it can protect you. Here’s your task—before this weekend, beat him up with your bare hands. If the sky falls, I’ll hold it up for you.”

Feeling his father’s pat on his shoulder before leaving, Fang Yunhe froze—then felt a flicker of courage ignite inside him.

“Did you just wipe your hands on his clothes?” Little Hei asked.

“Just a little bonus.”

“Your parenting methods are… something else.”

“What else can I do? I can’t follow him around 24/7.” Fang Zhiyi said it like it was the most obvious thing. “Besides, if you want to hit someone, you’ve got to learn how to take a hit first.”

No one knew how long Fang Yunhe spent steeling himself, but by Friday afternoon, staring at his backpack soaked in filthy water, he finally stood up—and hurled it straight at Murong Ke, who was laughing and clapping.

Murong Ke was stunned for a second before lunging at him, his lackeys piling on immediately.

That’s how it often goes—once you take that first step, the rest comes naturally.

Remembering his father’s words, Fang Yunhe ignored the others and locked onto Murong Ke, gripping him like a vise. When his arms were pinned, he used his head, slamming it forward again and again, unleashing all his pent-up frustration and rage.

By the time the teacher arrived and pulled them apart, Murong Ke’s face was red and swollen. “You’re dead after school!” he snarled.

Now that the adrenaline of his first fight was fading, Fang Yunhe trembled as reality set in—Murong Ke would definitely have people waiting for him. What now?

Before school ended, Fang Zhiyi showed up. Fang Yunhe thought he was saved—until his father just handed him another hundred and told him to keep it in his bag.

“Remember, when they hit you, think about what you’ve learned.” With that, Fang Zhiyi vanished.

Confused but anxious, Fang Yunhe stepped out of school.

Sure enough, a gang of thugs blocked his path. In the shoving, they spotted the money in his pocket. One of them snatched it, and at Murong Ke’s shout, fists rained down.

Despair filled Fang Yunhe—what was his father trying to do? Why wouldn’t he help, even knowing this would happen? What was the point of any of this?

But then the punches stopped. Someone yanked him up. Blinking through the pain, he saw uniformed officers—and the gangsters now kneeling with their hands on their heads.

“That’s them! I overheard them planning to rob someone!” Fang Yunhe’s eyes lit up at the familiar voice—his father, talking to the police.

During the statement, Fang Yunhe recounted everything: the beatings, the stolen money.

When they stepped out, Fang Zhiyi was waiting, grinning as he ruffled his son’s hair. “Come on, let’s get some late-night snacks!”

Sitting at a roadside barbecue stall, Fang Yunhe rubbed his bruised eye and finally voiced his question: “Dad… did you know they’d rob me?”

“Since when do thugs walk past free money?”

Fang Yunhe nodded. It made sense—students got mugged near school all the time. He’d just never had money before, so they’d only rough him up a little.

Fang Zhiyi’s tone turned serious. “I wanted to teach you something. Fighting back isn’t the only way to deal with bad people. Under the law, a brawl is just a misdemeanor. But if you’re injured, it’s a criminal case. And robbery? That’s ten years minimum. Those guys are all adults—time they learned a lesson.”

Fang Yunhe stared. His father had never talked this much—or known anything about the law.

“What? Can’t I improve? Back when I gambled, I met some guys who wouldn’t shut up about legal stuff. Memorized it all.”

Fang Yunhe finally understood.

“What about Murong Ke? He’s not an adult.”

“Him? Doesn’t matter. From now on, if he so much as looks at you, hit him.”

Fang Yunhe blinked. “Just for looking?”

“Yes. Anywhere, anytime. Doesn’t matter if you win—just make sure he remembers it.”

Fang Yunhe nodded, a strange excitement bubbling up.

But his newfound resolve went unused—Murong Ke didn’t show up the next day. Rumor had it he’d been arrested for robbery.

Fang Yunhe knew the truth, though: Murong Ke had just been sent home for “disciplinary action”—basically a vacation.

A pretty new girl arrived at school, soft-spoken and always surrounded by admirers. Fang Yunhe watched from afar, noting how fake her smile looked. Not his problem.

Lately, his homeroom teacher had been targeting him—extra cleaning duties, detention, endless copying assignments.

His confidence wavered. He couldn’t exactly punch a teacher, could he? Even if he could win, it was wrong.

But that afternoon, Fang Zhiyi found him again. Fang Yunhe wasn’t surprised—he’d heard his father sometimes worked part-time as the school handyman.

“Son, got something for you.” Fang Yunhe took the folder and went pale at its contents.

“Dad, what is this?” Inside were detailed records—dates, names, amounts—of their teacher taking bribes to change grades.