Chapter 46: The Formation of the Dead Fat Man

"Hey, Elder, do you think I should accept the invitation from the Disciplinary Committee?"
The room was shrouded in darkness. Chen Fan lay with his hands folded behind his head, his pillow propped up, while the Elder token rested peacefully beside him.
"How should I know? If you want to go, then go. No one's stopping you. We're all adults here. Before making a choice, you need to weigh the consequences."
With the light so dim, Chen Fan couldn't see the Elder's expression, but judging by the tone, it sounded as if he was picking his nose and mocking him.
"Delayed justice is still justice, so a belated invitation should still count as an invitation. Though the Student Council dampened my enthusiasm, they also rekindled a spark of hope." Chen Fan feigned gravity, but his mind was already made up.
"As long as you've decided, that's what matters. There's still five minutes until eleven. Xiao Yuhe has already agreed. Wait, why am I telling you all this? Haha, just pretend you didn't hear it."
Chen Fan shot him a glance, took out his phone, and replied to the message, "Elder, I'm not the type who compromises just for a pretty face. I'm joining the Disciplinary Committee because I genuinely want to learn something useful, nothing more."
"Sure, I believe you. All I know is that Xiao Yuhe is better-looking than Xu Ying, except her chest is a bit smaller." Taking advantage of the phone's remaining glow, the Elder token leaped in front of Chen Fan, pulled a Thomas-style ghost face, then mischievously rolled back to its spot.
"Even old folks like you still care about that? Aren't you ashamed?" Chen Fan set his alarm and tossed his phone aside.
"Don't be fooled by my age; my body is much sturdier than yours. With your scrawny frame, you’d probably fizzle out before the engine even warms up."
"Wait till the day you possess me—I'll let you experience the true terror of being dominated." Chen Fan shot back, then, drowsy, closed his eyes.

...

"Tsk, this is a bit tricky. I'll link Lai Guangyi and Wei Youlong together. This guy delivers takeout late at night—I'm worried Wei Youlong is up to something behind the scenes again."
Chen Fan picked up a red thread, looping its ends around cards labeled with Wei Youlong and Lai Guangyi, tied them securely, and slipped the bundle into his pocket before heading out.
Chen Fan was a Cupid for men, and he was exceedingly cautious. He buttoned his pocket tightly after tucking the cards in, terrified that they might accidentally fall out.

"Cupid, oh Cupid, you're supposedly a god of love, but your power seems limited to sharing sensory experiences." Chen Fan found his usual spot and spun around to stand firmly on the lawn.
He had assumed Cupid's red thread would work like the Old Man Under the Moon’s, binding two people together in fated affection. After all, Cupid was the Greek god of love—the powers should at least match the reputation.
But what he had was a sham, and a low-grade one at that. Once the red thread was tied, there was no predestined romance, nor any solemn vow to watch over each other through life and death.
All it did was—if one got hit, both would cry out in pain. And that was it.
Just in case, Chen Fan wrote his own name and Xu Changhui’s on little cards as well. If things got dangerous, even if he were beaten to death, at least he could take Wei Youlong down with him.

A rehearsal was scheduled for the morning, originally set for nine, but the leaders didn't show until ten, waddling in with their potbellies. One was especially notable—his eyes were mere slits, probably just woken up, and he’d forgotten his glasses.
"Alright, alright, this afternoon is the big showdown. Have you all thought of your slogans and formation names? Make them loud and impressive—show your spirit, show your youth," the drill instructor said, taking advantage of the time before the leaders started their speeches.
Hiding at the back, Chen Fan muttered, "Let's just call it the Fatty Squad."
"Which fatty said that? Step forward. Be serious, will you? Now, what's our slogan? What's our goal?" the instructor shot back.
"First year this year, second year next year; pass every exam, never fail," came a voice from the other side at the back.
"How about Thousand Punches? It rolls off the tongue."
"Ha, let's name it Eighteen Dragon Subduing Palms. But we only have sixteen moves. Maybe try Sixteen Dog-Beating Punches instead."
The instructor was exasperated. "Can't you come up with a normal name? We used to have names like 'Iron Flood,' 'Blade,' 'Red Dagger.' At the very least, call yourselves 'Railway Guerrillas' or something—give it some respectability."
He glanced at the formation next door, their spirits high, then looked back at his own group—utterly lifeless.

"I have only one requirement—our name can’t be worse than the others’. I’m not asking for creativity, just don’t let us finish last." The leaders on stage had begun their endless speeches, so the instructor lowered his voice.

Whether or not anyone in the squad was racking their brains for ideas, Chen Fan had already resigned himself to going down with the ship—Fatty Squad it was.

"Lao Han, have you picked a name yet? You're the last one," the chief director came over and asked.
"I really want to make them run a few laps to get their brains working. The ideas they come up with are all rubbish."
The chief director waved a list of all the chosen names in front of Instructor Han. "Don’t bother worrying. This year's students hate anything conventional. Look at these names: 'I Only Have Spaghetti,' 'Don't Leave After Training Today,' and the weirdest—'Cross-Bridge Spicy Hot Pot.' Don't sweat the details."
Han considered this. "Wait a moment, let’s have a democratic vote. I'll give you an answer in three minutes."
"Everyone, time is short, so let's vote. I'll read out the candidate names, and when I count to three, show me with your fingers which you like best."
Chen Fan was surprised to find Fatty Squad at the top of the list—clearly, the instructor remembered it well.

"Three, two, one..."
Chen Fan unhesitatingly raised a finger. Hua Tianyi beside him did the same, and most of the group followed suit. After all, it was just a name they'd shout during the official performance that afternoon.

At noon, a strange program list appeared on the leaders’ lunch table.
"Fatty Squad, Don't Leave After Training Today, Fight or Date, I Only Have Spaghetti, YSL Star Troupe, Be Your Own Queen, Cross-Bridge Spicy Hot Pot, Buy One Get One with Free Gifts, Real Men Don't Cry Easily, Under the Wisdom Tree—You and Me, Can't Connect to WiFi, Stop Talking and Kiss Me."
Principal Wang adjusted his reading glasses with trembling hands, carefully confirming every word.
"Is this appropriate? Our university champions freedom and openness, but aren't they taking things a bit too far?" The principal was still reading when the Dean of Students exploded in outrage.
"No problem, let them have their fun. Invite some media over, get some publicity—it might even help with next year’s admissions," the old principal said kindly, setting aside his glasses and tucking into his wontons with gusto.