Author: Foolish Bajie
Best Supporting Character: Chekhov
"His messy yellow-brown hair looked as though it had not been washed for half a year; his withered, scrawny body wore an extremely old-fashioned, gaudy oversized shirt on top and baggy shorts below—the zipper was undone, exposing a few yellow hairs down there; a long, thin cigarette hung from his mouth, and smoke constantly puffed from his nostrils."
Pighead once said, "Damn it, if I'd known, I should have written Chekhov's son in 'Ascending Dragon Path'! You guys would've enjoyed reading it, and I'd have enjoyed writing it!"
Pighead also once said, "Surpass Chekhov? Not very likely!"
According to some reliable 8G gossip: Chekhov's prototype was Pighead himself!
I did not know which character, or rather which supporting character, Pighead himself liked best among those he had written. Nor did I know who everyone considered the best supporting character. But in my heart, Chekhov was undoubtedly the greatest supporting character in all web fiction, bar none!
Actually, the first Pighead novel I read was not "I Am a Gangster," but "Ascending Dragon Path."
I still vividly remembered the scene. One afternoon many years ago, I was playing an online game at home—I no longer remembered which one. As I played, I got chatting with several friends I was teamed up with. Somehow, we gradually started talking about web novels. We hit it off, and suddenly one girl said to me, "You should read 'Ascending Dragon Path.' It's really good!" (I discovered that quite a few girls really liked Pighead...) I asked, "Who wrote it?" She said, "My in-game name—Xue Hong!"
That evening, after dinner, I was bored out of my mind when I suddenly remembered what that girl had said. So I opened a webpage, searched for it, and there it was. I clicked in and started reading.
And so I became a Blood Thread, one of those Blood Threads who now basically only read Pighead's books.
"From a hidden door in a dark corner nearby, a skinny young Russian suddenly rushed out. His upper clothes were wrinkled, and the zipper of his filthy trousers below was conspicuously undone. The moment he saw Yi Chen, he cheered and pounced toward him..."
That was the first appearance of the great Internet Tsar, and it left a deep impression on me. Yi Chen's attitude and method of dealing with him left an even deeper one: he kicked him flying, then stepped on his head, before ordering Kane to drag him away and give Chekhov a bath with a high-pressure water hose—one could already glimpse Kane's absolute obedience to Yi Chen from this.
With just a short passage, Pighead brought Chekhov's image vividly to life.
He was a computer expert, a genius, a supreme genius;
He worshipped and even feared Yi Chen;
He was in poor health;
He was an outrageous lecher;
He craved fame and glory;
He was cowardly, cunning, and sleazy.
By all logic, a character like that would normally be cannon fodder in a book. He would only occasionally appear to use his specialty and lighten the mood, perhaps even betray the others, because people like him basically had no principles or self-respect.
But before long, Pighead immediately made Chekhov's character even more vivid and three-dimensional.
Chekhov was captured by British agents. Why they captured him needed no explanation—they were **.
Chekhov's behavior before the agents was entirely within my expectations. I thought to myself: Sure enough, he's just a bit player. Look, he's about to betray them. Yi Chen's in trouble now!
My jaw dropped. Even while they were slicing flesh off his backside, Chekhov did not betray Yi Chen. Of course, I still did not think highly of him, because Chekhov had stayed silent only because he was afraid Yi Chen would kill him. To put it bluntly, he acted out of fear. Loyalty like that was unreliable. When he encountered something even more terrifying, he would betray them—I thought so at the time.
The result, I think everyone knew. Chekhov became more and more vivid, more and more important, until at the final moment of life and death, he rushed out without hesitation to take a blade for his brothers. His body was destroyed and his primordial spirit captured. Only then did I understand: you cannot judge a person by appearance!
This world had Saints and gentlemen. Saints were extinct, and gentlemen were hypocrites.
Then there were villains—true villains.
Chekhov was a bastard, absolutely. Calling him a villain was practically a compliment. But as his brother, you were lucky. You were happy.
He would not stab you in the back, calling you brother to your face while selling you out and sleeping with your wife behind your back. Usually, he might not seem very loyal, and he might even screw you over badly, but he was still a brother worth entrusting your life to. When the crucial moment came, he would not hesitate to take a knife for you.
Though he was despicable, shameless, vulgar, and lowly, he would not bully ordinary commoners.
Of course, if you were his enemy, then unfortunately, you had encountered the most troublesome person in the world. He would use every possible means to get rid of you, no matter how shameless the method—he was not afraid of losing face, because he had neither face nor skin.
I was not here to clear Chekhov's name or plead his case. He was not a good person, absolutely not. He was a complete turtle-bastard. But I would be willing to be his brother.
If a man could take a blade through both ribs for his brothers, then in that respect, he was a Saint. In the past, Buddha cut off his flesh to feed an eagle and thereby transcended the mortal realm to become a Saint. If one sacrificed life and limb for one's brothers, what then?
Best Love: Xia Jie and Liu Xin
How many authors dared to truly separate their male and female leads by death?
Back then, Jin Yong intended to let Little Dragon Girl die, but in the end, he could not withstand public opinion and compromised.
But Pighead was not Jin Yong, and Liu Xin was even less like Little Dragon Girl. Liu Xin died.
How many people threatened that if Liu Xin died, they would never read Pighead's books again?
How many people wept bitterly when they saw Liu Xin die?
I cried. It was also the only time I had ever cried after reading web novels for so many years—though I was the only one who had firmly believed from beginning to end that Liu Xin would die, and had to die.
How many others read it again and again, knowing they would cry, yet still unable to stop themselves from reading it?
How many people, when they first began reading, said: "Are a group of witches like this even worth praising? Is a female madwoman who kills without blinking worth loving?" Yet when the entire Witch Tribe later marched to death without hesitation for Chinese civilization, they shouted, "Pighead, show mercy! At least leave behind some bloodline of the Witch Tribe!"
To be honest, I really could not remember now where the book described Xia Jie and Liu Xin being lovey-dovey, or flirting and whispering sweet nothings.
Even their wedding was such a tragedy—Xia Jie was directly kicked out of the bridal chamber.
Not to mention how Liu Xin usually treated Xia Jie like human fertilizer.
There was none of the rosy feeling between men and women found in other novels, much less any sex scenes. Even preserving so-called male dignity before Liu Xin was difficult for a man—Liu Xin was simply too formidable.
As a man, you could not find any vanity in having a delicate little bird of a woman by your side in Liu Xin, nor could you find that domineering aura that made infatuated girls swoon. Groping her or taking advantage of her? Unless you wanted to meet God early.
Pighead did not deliberately portray how difficult or earth-shaking the love between Xia Jie and Liu Xin was. Everything happened unknowingly, subtly, and quietly.
When Liu Xin finally streaked across the night sky like a brilliant meteor, those were not only the tears of the heavens, but the tears of countless readers.
Why did Xia Jie fall in love with a woman like her? Why did readers accept Liu Xin? Some even said this was Pighead's most unforgettable love story to date.
Why?
Actually, I did not know either, because I truly could not think of any particular scene at the moment.
Could it have been because of purity?!
Although Xia Jie had a wife in his previous life, in this life, he was a virgin. Even after getting married, he was still a virgin.
Though Liu Xin was fierce and domineering, at her core, she was only a pure, transparent teenage girl. That was why, on their wedding night, she kicked Xia Jie flying—because she truly did not understand.
Because of that purity, none of us felt that the love between them was sexual love. People nowadays said: "Love, love—there must be sex for there to be love, otherwise why call it sexual love?"
It was precisely because it was too pure and white that when it shattered, it moved people so deeply—like a transparent, colorless crystal. It was not as soul-enticing as emeralds, gold, or silver. It simply sat there, quiet and pure, occasionally gleaming when sunlight swept across it. Then one day, it shattered, and so did our hearts. Why? I did not know.
Perhaps this was the highest state of love: Do not ask me why I love you. I do not know why either. If there had to be a reason—because I love you!
Best Cockroach: Jiang Zizai
"Save me, my true self!!!" This sentence was hailed as the most magical line in web fiction. As long as you shouted it, no matter where you were or how dire your situation, you would not die.
Jiang Zizai, the owner of that line.
A cockroach, that was what "little powerhouse" meant.
Annoying and loathsome. Though tiny, it always came out to disgust people. Yet its vitality was incredibly strong. You could die of rage, and it still would not be dead.
And I could not think of anyone more suited than Jiang Zizai for the title of Best Cockroach.
From the early stages of "Journey of the Wandering" to its completion, Jiang Zizai always appeared at the most disgusting time, in the most disgusting place, and disgusted you beyond endurance. Just when you gritted your teeth and wanted to slowly slice him to death, one line—"Save me, my true self!"—and he was gone, while you coughed blood.
Some people said that the protagonist of "Journey of the Wandering" was not Lin Xiao, but Jiang Zizai. The book should not have been called "Journey of the Wandering," but "Jiang Zizai's Adventures."
I would not comment on that, but I wanted to say this: by the end of "Journey of the Wandering," Jiang Zizai was the most unforgettable character.
Because I was not particularly satisfied with "Journey of the Wandering," and Pighead himself repeatedly shook his head over it, there was not much to comment on regarding the book itself for subjective and objective reasons. Well, although I followed it from beginning to end without missing a single word, there truly was not much to say.
But as far as Jiang Zizai himself was concerned, I believed he was a successful character, and Pighead was successful. Whether he disgusted you or repulsed you, one thing could not be denied: Jiang Zizai made everyone who read about him remember him for life. That was enough—how many unforgettable characters could an author create?
Best Sleaze: Black Jack
Pighead said Chekhov could not be surpassed, and I also believed Chekhov was the best. But I still believed Pighead could surpass himself.
The appearance of Black Jack gave me that confidence.
Pighead had truly become more and more seasoned. In just two short chapters, a vividly distinctive Black Jack appeared before us.
In just two chapters, the supporting character Black Jack made everyone's eyes light up, even drove them mad.
I remembered taking screenshots of one or two passages and posting them in my chat group. The entire group immediately said, "Wonderful! What great writing! Tell me which book this is from—I want to read it!"
And at the time, the review section was likewise filled with praise.
Actually, when I wrote about Best Sleaze, I had considered my options. At first, I planned to write about Chekhov. It was not because I had already written Chekhov for Best Supporting Character and therefore would not write him for Best Sleaze. Rather, after carefully and seriously comparing them, I had to say: Black Jack's sleaziness had more depth, more flavor, and a higher level than Chekhov's!
Chekhov was the kind of super-sleazy bastard any normal person could recognize at a glance. Black Jack was different. Black Jack's sleaziness was absolutely this: he wanted to erect the tallest, grandest, most magnificent chastity arch, while also being the most shameless, brazen, miserly top prostitute!
One second, he could sternly and righteously denounce the city's inadequate environmental protection, generously donate money, and act like the greatest philanthropist. The next second, he would immediately tell his subordinates that there had to be at least twenty reporters present—Confucius would surely have been gratified. Good deeds not only had to be done; everyone also had to know about them. Black Jack truly was an excellent student.
"You may deceive my feelings, you may toy with my body, but you cannot steal my money!"—this was a line comparable to Chekhov's famous saying—"Miss, let's have a relationship that surpasses friendship but is absolutely not love, one based purely on the flesh!"
Pighead used several tiny, inconspicuous stories to bring Black Jack to life and write him into everyone's hearts.
Real life actually told us that if you wanted to survive in this dog-eat-dog world, and live with relish, you had to both be a prostitute and erect a chastity arch. Better to be a prostitute than merely pretend to be one; better to erect the arch than not.
A prostitute needed a chastity arch even more than a widow did. A rotten prostitute was wanted and loved by no one. Only a noble, distinguished, and unattainable good prostitute could become the object of everyone's longing—just like the difference between a streetwalker standing beneath a bridge and one of the Eight Famous Courtesans of Qinhuai.
Only by erecting your chastity arch high, grand, and beautifully would everyone desire you, yearn for you, and respect you.
Black Jack and Grandet were both supreme misers. Why was Grandet so disliked and hated, while Black Jack, who was countless times sleazier than Grandet, was so popular?
Because Black Jack erected a fine chastity arch!
Mm, Pighead truly had nothing much to say about the above review.
Classmate Chekhov—I did not know him. He was absolutely not my incarnation.
Classmate Liu Xin—I had said far too much about her. One sigh, and that settled it.
Classmate Jiang Zizai—I liked this person very much. No matter what, he worked hard to live. Even if he was a bad person, he was diligently and purely bad. He knew he was a bad person, so he seriously did bad things, worked hard to preserve his own life, and ruined other people's affairs. One could even say that he did it very successfully. If he possessed the strength of his true self, his achievements might have been even greater!
Unfortunately, he was only a lowly divided spirit, a puppet-like character.
To be precise, Jiang Zizai's life experience embodied the great spirit of a grassroots little person striving to survive!
And Black Jack? He was a pure miser. There was nothing in his heart but glittering gold coins, so from spirit to flesh, he was utterly pure and single-minded. Only money was what he valued most.
When only one thing existed in a person's heart, he reached the realm where no sword was in his hand, yet all things beneath heaven were swords. He transcended the mundane and gained the chance to become a Saint!
Namo Amitabha, Infinite Heavenly Venerable above, aside from Liu Xin, Chekhov, Jiang Zizai, and Black Jack, what three adorable, pure bastards they were! (To be continued)
Before you continue