Conquering the Stars and My Haters’ Hearts - Chapter 5

While Xie Anning’s build and stature were somewhat similar to his former self, the resemblance ended there. They were polar opposites; his voice alone—so melodic and soothing was a world away from the old Xie Anning’s stuttering mumble.

Yet, a closer look revealed the underlying features. No one had expected that the “eyesore” of the class, once cleaned up and carrying himself with such poise, could be this charismatic.

Yu Hongfeng stood frozen, his jaw dropped. His expression shifted through a dozen emotions as he struggled to process the reality. He felt as though he were trapped in a surreal dream.

Xie Anning picked up a book from the floor and let out a soft, elegant sigh. The sunlight spilled across his profile, highlighting a touch of melancholy that immediately struck a chord in the hearts of his classmates. Suddenly, the entire room felt a surge of protective pity. They turned glares of righteous fury toward the bullies, completely forgetting their own past disdain for the boy.

Yu Hongfeng suddenly felt like a monster. How could I have bullied him? What is wrong with me?

Even more heart-wrenching was Xie Anning’s calm, forgiving attitude. He didn’t even seem to hold a grudge. He’s an angel, Yu Hongfeng thought, nearly tempted to slap himself. He turned to his dazed lackeys and barked, “What are you staring at? Throw this desk away and go get him a brand-new one!”

Yu Hongfeng then scrambled to pull a pristine, unread textbook from his own drawer and offered it to Xie Anning with trembling hands.

“S-sorry.” Yu Hongfeng’s face was beet-red. “Use mine for now. I’ll, I’ll pay you back for everything later.”

“Thank you,” Xie Anning replied with a gentle smile as he accepted the book.

Internally, he was relieved. If Yu Hongfeng had decided to get physical, Xie Anning knew his current physical stats weren’t high enough to win a brawl. Seeing that smile, Yu Hongfeng felt a sense of spiritual healing, which only intensified his guilt.

By the time the other lackeys had frantically scrubbed a new desk and chair, Xie Anning thanked them with a nod and took his seat. Anyone who managed to catch a word from him felt like they were walking on air, followed quickly by a crushing weight of remorse for their past behavior.

The boy who was once the pariah of the class had instantly become its sun. His gentle demeanor toward his former tormentors was so “saint-ly” it felt transformative.

Since the semester was nearing its end, the day consisted mostly of self-study periods. While the others worked, Xie Anning accessed the Star Net via his personal terminal to browse this world’s literature.

Before his death and subsequent transmigration, Xie Anning had been a “God-tier” web novelist. He was a polymath of genres, incredibly popular under multiple pen names, including a best-selling literary pseudonym that no one suspected belonged to the same person.

According to his inherited memories, this world was technologically advanced but culturally stunted. Constant warfare in the past had wiped out vast archives of historical art and literature. Now that peace had returned, entertainment and the arts were in high demand, with the government offering massive subsidies to creators. In this era, famous authors held immense social status—a perfect career path for someone without Mental Strength.

Furthermore, government crackdowns had virtually eliminated piracy. However, this meant the barrier to entry was high. The premier site, Tianji Literature City, had brutal standards; if a work was subpar, readers would tear the author apart without mercy.

Xie Anning didn’t mind the pressure. He knew the biggest platform had the best resources. He opened the “Tianji” interface and was greeted by a high-tech, dazzling array of novels. He spent the morning meticulously analyzing the top-ranking works to gauge current trends. To succeed, one had to understand the “pulse” of the audience.

After reading the works of the #1 author, Anlus, Xie Anning’s expression turned peculiar. He checked a few more titles and confirmed his suspicion.

Following the cultural renaissance, “angst” (虐 – nüe) had become the dominant trend. The prevailing belief was that a story lacked depth if it wasn’t tragic. Even high-octane mecha-war stories were relentlessly depressing. It was only a year ago that “Power Fantasy” (Shuangwen) had begun to emerge.

However, these power fantasies were crude—pure “Mary Sue/Gary Stu” archetypes where everyone immediately worshipped the protagonist for no reason. While satisfying on a surface level, they lacked immersion and pacing.

The original owner of this body had been a fan of these stories, even spending his limited allowance on donations. He had tried writing his own, but his prose was awkward and unrefined, leading to the mockery that had eventually silenced him.

This is a goldmine for me, Xie Anning realized.

However, the system’s task was for beginners. Writing a massive epic would take too long. A short story would be more efficient—quick results and immediate income. He noticed several subsidiary magazines that specialized in mid-to-short-form emotional tragedies, typically around 100,000 words.

Xie Anning registered an author account using the handle “Ning Xie.” He decided to adapt one of his previous successful templates into a new story. He chose a “Female-Oriented” (Nüzhu) perspective; despite being male, his ability to write convincing female leads was one of his professional hallmarks. He planned a story that began lighthearted and warm, only to descend slowly into a heart-wrenching tragedy.

It was an experiment. Most “angst” stories in this world started depressing and stayed there. Readers were prepared for the pain. But a story that makes you fall in love with the characters before pulling the rug out? That was a level of emotional devastation this world wasn’t ready for.

With his enhanced Mental Strength, the writing process was effortless. He finished a 10,000-word opening before the bell even rang. If his classmates knew what he was doing, they would have laughed—after all, Xie Anning’s “terrible writing” was a local legend. But they didn’t know that the soul behind the screen was a seasoned pro.

He did a quick polish and submitted it to the most prestigious (and highest-paying) magazine: The Galaxy. Under the evocative title “Time Will Eventually Fade,” he hit send.

He didn’t dwell on it. To him, it was just a productive morning of “fishing” (slacking off). He immediately switched to his textbooks; he still had makeup exams to pass, after all.

On the other side of the city, Xixi, an editor for The Galaxy, was drowning in submissions. Her eyes were glazed with exhaustion.

The sheer volume wasn’t the problem; it was the quality. Most submissions were incoherent messes written by “brave” but untalented amateurs. Just as she was about to call it a day, the title Time Will Eventually Fade caught her eye. It felt different.

“Let’s see what kind of story this is” she murmured, clicking the file.

Meanwhile, the lunch bell rang.

Alva Noble High School boasted a cafeteria that rivaled five-star restaurants, though it was priced accordingly. Before Xie Anning could even stand up, he was surrounded.

“Xie! Let me buy you lunch!”

“Get lost! He’s eating with me! Move aside!”

“Who do you think you are? I’ve been in the same class as Xie Anning for two years!”

“Everyone in this room has! Are you trying to make me laugh? Move it!”

The news of Xie Anning’s recent hardships had circulated enough for everyone to have a general idea of his plight. Previously, they had collectively decided he deserved his misfortune. But now, seeing such an aesthetically stunning classmate in such dire straits, their dormant empathy exploded. They were practically tripping over each other to offer him “warmth” and support. Yu Hongfeng, driven by a frantic need to atone for his guilt, was the most aggressive of them all.

Xie Anning was caught between amusement and exasperation. Though his personal bank account was low, the streaming donations he’d withdrawn earlier were more than enough for a decent meal. After offering a round of polite thanks, he managed a somewhat clumsy escape from the wall of people surrounding him.

On his way to the cafeteria, he was met with a barrage of stunned stares. At this point, few outside his immediate class knew his identity. As whispers spread and the truth came out—that this striking youth was the very same “toad” who had supposedly lusted after the “swan,” Ning Xiujin—the campus was rocked by a wave of pure shock.

Meanwhile, in the exclusive luxury dining hall, Ning Xiujin received word from his associates that Xie Anning had returned to school.

In truth, Ning Xiujin had zero memory of the boy. Cold and detached by nature, his past intervention to help Xie Anning had been a mere matter of coincidence—he had simply been passing by.

As for the infamous love letter, Ning Xiujin hadn’t given it a second thought. To him, it was just like any other piece of trash: a useless object to be discarded. He remained blissfully indifferent to the subsequent torment Xie Anning endured. Why would someone at his level notice the struggles of a common student? His mind was occupied by something far more significant: the mysterious expert who had surfaced to defeat Ferdinand.

Like all geniuses of his caliber, Ning Xiujin was a star of the Mecha Piloting Department. Even decades after the last great war, the Empire remained a culture that worshipped the strong. Ning Xiujin was a purist; in many ways, he was similar to Ferdinand—a man obsessed with combat, indifferent to almost everything else.

“How tenacious,” remarked a blonde youth sitting beside Ning Xiujin. His expression was one of arrogant disdain. “That piece of trash actually dares to show his face at school again? I suppose the beating he took wasn’t nearly enough.

Someone should really teach him another lesson.”

This was Anders, Ning Xiujin’s close friend. His pedigree and talent were on par with Ning’s, and his mixed-heritage features gave him a striking, handsome appearance. However, his personality was atrocious—the quintessential spoiled, malicious young master.

The reason the love letter incident had escalated into a school-wide mockery and nearly resulted in Xie Anning’s expulsion was largely due to Anders pulling strings behind the scenes. Without his interference, a small social gaffe would never have fermented into such a toxic scandal.

“Don’t you agree?” Anders looked at Ning Xiujin, his voice dripping with disgust. “If a person like that confessed to me, I’d gag. I honestly don’t know how you put up with it.”

“Stop wasting your focus on such trivial matters,” Ning Xiujin replied coldly, not even lifting his head. His eyes were glued to his terminal, rewatching the recording of “Call Me Daddy’s” livestream for the umpteenth time.

“Tch, you’re no fun. How many times are you going to watch that damn video?” Anders grumbled. He was friends with Ning Xiujin not because they truly got along, but because their matching social statuses made it a convenient arrangement. Their actual bond was paper-thin. He couldn’t begin to fathom why Ning was so obsessed with a mecha clip.

Anders leaned back, a predatory glint in his eyes. “So, which should it be? Should I humiliate the brat in front of everyone, or just beat him until he’s too terrified to ever step foot on campus again?”