From a county-level lecture hall to a nationally renowned teacher

一

The last snow of 2001 fell three days before New Year's Day.

This time it wasn't the sleet of last year; it was real snow. Large snowflakes drifted down from the hazy sky, silently landing on the ground, on the rooftops, and on the bare branches of the sycamore trees. In less than two hours, the entire campus was white.

During recess, the whole school was in an uproar. The children from the south rarely saw such heavy snow. The first-year high school students rushed to the playground to have a snowball fight, the second-year students reached out to catch snowflakes in the corridor, and even the third-year students couldn't sit still and leaned on the windowsill to look outside.

Lin Zhiyuan stood at the classroom door, watching the students run around wildly, without stopping them. Sun Xiaolei ran over, clutching a snowball in her hand, and looked at him with a grin: "Teacher Lin, can we go out and play for a period of time?"

"no."

"Just one class!"

"Not even half a period." Lin Zhiyuan said sternly, "Your minds have already wandered off. If I let you go out to play again, this class will be completely wasted. Go back to your seats, let's start class."

The students returned to their seats with sighs, but their eyes kept glancing out the window. Lin Zhiyuan picked up the chalk and wrote the lesson's title on the blackboard—"Autumn in the Old Capital." He turned around, looked at the absent-minded faces below, and suddenly smiled.

"Alright, you have ten minutes. Come back in ten minutes, and whoever is late has to copy the text."

A deafening cheer erupted from the classroom, and more than fifty people poured out like a tidal wave. Lin Zhiyuan stood in the corridor, watching them run, chase, and have a snowball fight on the playground. Several girls squatted on the ground and built a small snowman, using two pebbles for eyes and a twig for a nose.

Zhou Haitao didn't go downstairs. He sat in the classroom, flipping through an English book.

"Why aren't you going?" Lin Zhiyuan walked back to the classroom.

"It's cold," Zhou Haitao said.

Lin Zhiyuan sat down in the row in front of him and looked at him. Zhou Haitao felt uncomfortable under his gaze and raised his English book a little higher.

"Zhou Haitao, I need to tell you something."

"Um?"

"Sometimes you're too tense," Lin Zhiyuan said. "Play when you should play, study when you should study. Right now, you're putting yourself on too high a nerve, and you're likely to break down."

Zhou Haitao put down his English book and looked out the window. On the playground, Liu Qiang was chasing a classmate. He was running too fast, slipped, and fell flat on his face, making a group of people around him burst into laughter.

"Teacher Lin, aren't you afraid of wasting time?" Zhou Haitao suddenly asked.

"What a waste of time!"

"Ten minutes of playtime is enough to memorize ten words."

Lin Zhiyuan looked at him and suddenly felt a pang of heartache. This kid was pushing himself too hard. He knew why—because Zhou Haitao felt he had no way out. Unlike Zhao Xiaoman, he didn't have parents to support him, nor did he have Liu Qiang who could simply find work. He only had one path: to get into university. So he dared not waste a single minute.

"Zhou Haitao, do you believe that if you go out for ten minutes, you'll be more efficient at memorizing vocabulary when you come back?"

"I don't believe it."

"Then you can try." Lin Zhiyuan stood up. "Now, get out. That's an order."

Zhou Haitao hesitated for a moment, then stood up and slowly walked out of the classroom. He stood in the corridor, watching the lively scene on the playground, without going down. But when the wind blew by, the corners of his mouth curled up slightly.

Ten minutes later, the students returned, soaking wet, their hair and clothes covered in snow, but their smiles were genuine. They listened more attentively than usual during that lesson.

Lin Zhiyuan wrote Yu Dafu's famous line on the blackboard: "Autumn, this autumn in the north, if it could be preserved, I would gladly give up two-thirds of my life to gain a mere third."

"Do you know," he said, "that Yu Dafu was in a bad mood when he wrote this article. He was in Beiping, all alone, lonely and depressed. But look at how beautiful his description of autumn in Beiping is. What does that show? It shows that even when a person is in a bad mood, they can still see beauty. In fact, it is precisely because of a bad mood that one can see beauty even more clearly."

He paused, looking out the window at the still-falling snow: "Like today. You should have been in class, but because of this snow, you went out to play for ten minutes. Those ten minutes, you might remember for the rest of your lives."

Sun Xiaolei raised her hand: "Teacher Lin, are you just making excuses for letting us go out and play?"

The whole class burst into laughter.

Lin Zhiyuan smiled and said, "I guess so."

two

The day before the New Year's Day holiday, Lin Zhiyuan received a letter.

The envelope was addressed to "Teacher Lin Zhiyuan," the handwriting neat and precise, like that of a primary school student. He opened the envelope; inside was a greeting card with the words "Happy New Year" in gold lettering on the front. Inside, it read:

"Happy New Year, Teacher Lin. Thank you for your teaching this past year. I used to dislike Chinese, but now I like it a little. Not because Chinese is interesting, but because you teach it in an interesting way. Wishing you good health and success in your work. Your student, Zhao Xiaoman."

Lin Zhiyuan stared at the greeting card for a long time, stunned. Zhao Xiaoman—the girl who looked in the mirror during class and said, "It doesn't matter if I don't get into university," the girl who said, "You're not treating me like the director's daughter's teacher." She actually wrote him a greeting card.

He put the greeting cards in the drawer, along with the others he had received before. Zhou Haitao had written one, very short, just seven characters: "Happy New Year, Teacher Lin," but the characters were written with great force, as if afraid Lin Zhiyuan wouldn't be able to see them. Sun Xiaolei had written one, very long, two pages long, covering everything from the literary society to class management, from "your first lesson with the ball" to "your teaching is getting better and better now." Chen Yutong didn't write a letter, but on the last page of her submitted homework, she wrote a small line: "Happy New Year, Teacher Lin. I've already written over ten thousand words in my novel."

More than ten thousand words. Lin Zhiyuan silently counted the number in his mind. He remembered Chen Yutong sleeping on her desk when school started, remembered her sitting alone in the garden saying "Life is tiring," and remembered her almost crying when she talked about Sanmao. Now she was writing a novel, more than ten thousand words.

He didn't know what the novel was about, but he felt that being able to write over ten thousand words meant she had found something. Maybe not the answer, but at least a direction.

On New Year's Day, school had a three-day holiday. Lin Zhiyuan went back to his hometown, and Su Wanqing went back to her parents' house. The two agreed to meet on the third day of the Lunar New Year.

On the afternoon of the third day of the Lunar New Year, Lin Zhiyuan rode his bicycle to the bus station on the east side of the county town to pick up Su Wanqing. She had taken a bus back from the city, wearing a red down jacket and a white scarf, making her stand out in the crowd.

"Aren't you cold wearing so little?" This was the first thing Su Wanqing said to him when she saw him.

"It's not cold."

"Your face is all red from the cold, and you still say you're not cold." She took a scarf out of her bag and handed it to him, "I knitted this for you."

Lin Zhiyuan took it; it was a gray scarf, knitted with uneven stitches, some loose and some tight.

"Did you knit this?"

"Hmm. It's not well knitted."

"It's fine." Lin Zhiyuan put on the scarf; it was very warm. "Thank you."

Su Wanqing lowered her head and smiled. The two rode their bicycles slowly along the riverside path. The river was shallow in winter, revealing stones of all sizes on the riverbed. The distant mountains were shrouded in a gray haze, like a traditional Chinese ink painting.

"Are you really going to my house during the Chinese New Year?" Su Wanqing suddenly asked.

"real."

"Aren't you afraid?"

"What are you afraid of?"

"My dad. He has a bad temper and speaks his mind. If you go, he'll probably ask a lot of questions."

"What's the problem?"

"For example, how many people are in your family? What do your parents do for a living? How much do you earn a month? When do you plan to buy a house?" Su Wanqing counted on her fingers. "Can you answer these questions?"

Lin Zhiyuan thought for a moment and said, "Answer what you can, and tell the truth what you can't."

"What truth?"

For example, "When do you plan to buy a house?" — "I can't afford it right now."

Su Wanqing glanced at him, her eyes filled with both heartache and admiration.

"Don't worry," she said. "My dad isn't that kind of snob. He doesn't care how much money you make; he cares about who you are as a person."

"So what do you value?"

Su Wanqing was taken aback by his question, and her face flushed slightly: "What kind of person are you?"

A breeze blew across the river, carrying the scent of water plants and earth. Lin Zhiyuan pulled his scarf up, covering half his face and his smile.

three

The final exams are on the 18th day of the twelfth lunar month.

After finishing the last exam, Lin Zhiyuan stood at the classroom door, watching the students pack up to go home. Sun Xiaolei tried to stuff her books into her bag, but couldn't. She nudged them with her knee, but still couldn't get them in, and stamped her feet in frustration.

"Take two fewer books back with you," Lin Zhiyuan said.

"No, I need to watch it during winter break."

"You'll be lucky if you can read three books during winter break. If you bring ten back, you won't read a single one."

Sun Xiaolei thought about it and felt it made sense, so she took out half of the book.

Liu Qiang was the last to leave. He was carrying a large bag on his back and a bag in his hand. He stopped at the door, turned around and said to Lin Zhiyuan, "Teacher Lin, I will definitely study hard next semester."

"You said the same thing last semester."

"This time it's for real."

"You always say, 'This time it's for real.'"

Liu Qiang scratched his head and laughed: "This time it's really for real."

"Okay, I believe you. Let's go, be careful on the road."

Liu Qiang took two steps, then turned back and said, "Happy New Year, Teacher Lin."

"Happy New Year."

The classroom was empty. There were over fifty desks and chairs, and the blackboard hadn't been erased yet, still bearing the notes from the last lesson: "Final Exam Instructions." Lin Zhiyuan picked up the eraser and carefully wiped away the words, one by one. Chalk dust danced in the setting sun like tiny snowflakes.

He walked out of the classroom and locked the door. There were no students left in the corridor; only a few classroom doors were still open, with teachers cleaning inside. As he passed the Chinese language department office, Chen Mingyuan called out to him.

"Kobayashi, come in and have a seat."

On Chen Mingyuan's table was a bottle of wine and two glasses. He poured two glasses and handed one to Lin Zhiyuan.

"Let's have a drink to bid farewell to the past year."

Lin Zhiyuan took the glass and clinked it with his. The liquor burned his throat; he took a sip and coughed twice, choking on it.

"Xiao Lin, you've done a great job this year," Chen Mingyuan said. "I'm not just praising you casually. You really are excellent."

"Thank you, Teacher Chen."

"The class you taught went from last place to first, that wasn't easy. At the parent-teacher meeting, several people asked me about you, saying you're a good teacher and strict with students." Chen Mingyuan took another sip of his drink. "But, Xiaolin, I have something to tell you."

"Please speak."

"You're too serious. Being serious is a good thing, but being too serious can hurt you." Chen Mingyuan looked at him. "As a teacher, you can't save every student. Some students, you put in a lot of effort, but they're still the same. What do you do then? Are you going to make things difficult for yourself?"

Lin Zhiyuan was silent for a moment: "I haven't thought about that yet."

"Think about it now," Chen Mingyuan said. "If you think it through, you'll be able to go further in the future. If you don't, you won't be able to keep going after a few years."

Lin Zhiyuan picked up his glass and took another sip. This time it didn't taste so spicy.

"Professor Chen, in all these years, have there been any students you couldn't save?"

"Yes. There are many." Chen Mingyuan sighed. "Some dropped out of school, some went to prison, some... died. You can't save everyone. You can only save those who are willing to be saved."

Lin Zhiyuan put down his cup and looked out the window. It was already dark, and the playground was completely dark without any lights. A few lights were on in the dormitory building in the distance, where the boarding students remained.

"But," Chen Mingyuan changed the subject, "you can't stop trying to save people just because you can't save everyone. You should save as many as you can. That's what being a teacher is all about."

four

The 23rd day of the twelfth lunar month is the Little New Year.

Lin Zhiyuan returned to his hometown, where his mother prepared a table full of dishes. His father opened a bottle of wine, and the two of them drank a few glasses. The TV was showing a preview of the Spring Festival Gala; there was still a week until New Year's Eve.

"Zhiyuan, when are you bringing your girlfriend home?" his mother asked.

"Let's celebrate the New Year. I'll go to her house on the third day of the New Year, and she'll come to our house on the fourth."

Upon hearing this, the mother immediately became anxious: "You're going to her house? Empty-handed?"

"We can't go empty-handed, can we?"

"Of course you can't go empty-handed! Buy something—cigarettes, alcohol, tea, fruit—don't be too stingy." The mother stood up and walked around the room. "How much is your salary again?"

"One thousand and two."

"Twelve hundred..." the mother murmured, "How much money have you saved?"

Lin Zhiyuan didn't speak. His savings were almost zero. Besides daily expenses, the rest of his salary went to subsidizing students—he bought reference books for Zhou Haitao, paid for materials for Liu Qiang, and bought cotton-padded coats for impoverished students in his class. He hadn't told his mother about these things.

"I didn't save much," he said.

"What's the worst that can be saved?"

"Mom, please stop asking."

The mother fell silent, but her expression clearly showed dissatisfaction.

The father put down his chopsticks, glanced at the mother, and said, "Why are you in such a hurry? Let the children handle their own affairs."

"I'm not in a hurry, I'm just..."

"You're just too impatient." The father picked up his wine glass. "Zhiyuan, listen to me. When you go to someone's house, be polite and sweet-talking. What you buy isn't important; what matters is your attitude. If you respect their parents, they'll feel comfortable entrusting their daughter to you."

Lin Zhiyuan nodded. He knew his father was right.

On New Year's Eve, firecrackers rang out from all directions, one after another, as if in a competition. Lin Zhiyuan stood on the balcony, watching the fireworks fill the sky. There were more fireworks in the county town than last year, and the colors were also richer, red, green, yellow, and purple, illuminating the night sky with flickering light.

My phone vibrated. It was a text message: "Happy New Year. — Su Wanqing"

Just as he was about to reply, several more messages arrived: "Happy New Year, Teacher Lin! Wishing you become even more handsome in the new year! —Sun Xiaolei" "Happy New Year, Teacher Lin! I will definitely study hard this year! —Liu Qiang" "Happy New Year, Teacher Lin. The novel has reached 15,000 words. —Chen Yutong"

The last message was from Zhou Haitao: "Happy New Year, Teacher Lin. Thank you for your care this past year. I will work even harder next semester."

Lin Zhiyuan replied to each message one by one, writing something different for each one. After replying to the last one, his phone was almost out of battery. He put his phone on the table and looked out the window.

The new year is coming.

2002 years.

He was twenty-four years old.

I've been a teacher for a year and a half.

I served as a homeroom teacher for one semester.

He felt like he was just getting started.

五

On the third day of the Lunar New Year, Lin Zhiyuan went to Su Wanqing's house.

Following his father's instructions, he bought a case of wine, a carton of cigarettes, a box of tea, and a basket of fruit, packing them neatly in a red bag on the back of his bicycle. The ride from the county town to Su Wanqing's hometown took forty minutes. All the way, he pondered what to say as his first words upon meeting her.

Hello, Uncle and Aunt.

Too ordinary.

"Su Wanqing often mentions you to me."

That's so fake.

He came up with over a dozen versions, but none of them satisfied him. When he arrived at Su Wanqing's doorstep, he stopped thinking about it—since he couldn't come up with anything anyway, he'd just play it by ear.

Su Wanqing's home was in an old residential area in town, on the fourth floor, without an elevator. He carried his things up the stairs, took a deep breath when he reached the door, and rang the doorbell.

Su Wanqing opened the door. She was wearing a red sweater, her hair was down, and she looked at him with a smile: "You've arrived?"

"They're here."

"Come in."

He changed his shoes and went inside. The living room wasn't large, but it was very clean. Opposite the sofa was an old-fashioned television, which was playing "Princess Pearl." A man in his fifties, wearing glasses, was sitting on the sofa, reading a newspaper.

"Dad, Lin Zhiyuan is here," Su Wanqing said.

The man put down his newspaper and stood up. He was taller than Lin Zhiyuan had imagined, with a straight back, gray hair, deep wrinkles on his face, but bright eyes.

"Hello, Uncle," Lin Zhiyuan said, his voice louder than he had expected.

"It's good that you're here, it's good that you're here." Su Wanqing's father extended his hand and shook hands with him. "Sit down, don't stand."

Su Wanqing's mother came out of the kitchen. She was a plump woman wearing an apron, her hands still covered in flour. "You must be Xiaolin? You look quite energetic. Sit down, sit down, the food will be ready in a little while."

Lin Zhiyuan sat down on the sofa, and Su Wanqing poured him a cup of tea. Su Wanqing's father sat opposite him, watching him without saying a word. Lin Zhiyuan felt a little uneasy under his gaze, picked up the teacup, and took a sip.

"Xiao Lin, are you a teacher?" Su Wanqing's father finally spoke.

"Yes, the county's No. 1 High School, teaching Chinese."

"How many years have you been teaching?"

"A year and a half."

"You must be tired?"

"It's alright. Quite fulfilling."

Su Wanqing's father nodded and didn't ask any further questions. He picked up the newspaper and continued reading, as if Lin Zhiyuan was just an ordinary guest, nothing special.

Lin Zhiyuan breathed a sigh of relief, but quickly became nervous again—because Su Wanqing's mother poked her head out of the kitchen and started asking questions.

"Xiaolin, where are you from?"

"From the county town."

What do your parents do?

"My dad works in a machine factory, and my mom is a primary school teacher."

How much do you earn in a month?

"One thousand and two."

Su Wanqing's mother gave an "Oh" and retreated into the kitchen. Lin Zhiyuan didn't know what that "Oh" meant—whether she was satisfied or dissatisfied.

During the meal, Su Wanqing's father became more talkative. He had been drinking, and his face was slightly flushed. He began to recount his experiences as a teacher. He had taught elementary school for over thirty years and had just retired last year.

"Xiao Lin, let me tell you, being a teacher isn't easy. Low pay, lots of work, heavy responsibilities. I've done it my whole life, and I haven't saved much money, just a host of health problems." He raised his glass and clinked it against Lin Zhiyuan's. "But I don't regret it."

Why?

"Because it's worth it," Su Wanqing's father said. "Think about it, you've been teaching for decades, how many children have had their lives changed because of you? This is something that no amount of money can buy."

Looking at Su Wanqing's father, Lin Zhiyuan suddenly felt a sense of familiarity with him. His words were exactly the same as Chen Mingyuan's. A man who had been a teacher his entire life, even in his old age, said the same thing—it was all worthwhile.

"Uncle, I toast you." Lin Zhiyuan raised his glass and drank it all in one gulp.

六

On the fourth day of the Lunar New Year, Su Wanqing came to Lin Zhiyuan's house.

My mother got up early in the morning and cleaned the house thoroughly. She then went to the market and bought fish, meat, chicken, and duck, filling the table with food. My father changed into a clean Zhongshan suit and sat on the sofa watching TV, but his eyes kept glancing at the doorway.

When Su Wanqing arrived, she was carrying two boxes of health supplements and a bag of fruit. She was wearing a beige coat, her hair was tied up, and she had light makeup on; she looked very energetic.

"Hello, Uncle. Hello, Auntie." She greeted them with a smile, her voice soft but sweet.

Mother beamed, "Good, good, come in, come in. Is it cold outside?"

"It's not cold, the weather is quite nice today."

Su Wanqing sat down on the sofa and chatted with her father for a few minutes. Her father didn't say much; he asked about her work at the hospital, said a few words like "Doctors work hard" and "Take care of yourself," and then didn't know what else to say.

The mother pulled Lin Zhiyuan into the kitchen and whispered, "This girl is nice; she's pretty and speaks confidently."

"Mom, keep your voice down."

"I'm speaking softly," the mother said in a low voice. "When are you two getting married?"

"mom--"

"Don't call me 'Mom.' You're twenty-four already. When your dad was twenty-four, you were already one year old."

Lin Zhiyuan was both amused and exasperated. He took the tea out and handed it to Su Wanqing. Su Wanqing took the teacup, glanced at him, and a slight smile played on her lips.

During the meal, her mother kept piling food onto Su Wanqing's plate until it was overflowing. Su Wanqing smiled and said, "That's enough, that's enough," but her mother kept piling food on her plate, as if afraid she wouldn't have enough to eat.

"Wanqing, is your hospital busy?" her mother asked.

"It's alright. Sometimes I have to be on duty."

"You must be taking care of yourself during your shift. It's tough being on duty."

"Thank you, Auntie."

How are your parents' health?

"That's great. My dad was also a teacher; he retired last year."

"Hello, teacher. Hello, teacher." The mother glanced at Lin Zhiyuan. "We have two teachers in our family. Now that you're together, there will be three teachers."

Su Wanqing's face flushed slightly, and she lowered her head to eat.

After dinner, Lin Zhiyuan escorted Su Wanqing downstairs. It was getting dark, and the streetlights came on, casting a dim yellow glow on their shadows.

"Your mom is so warm and welcoming," Su Wanqing said.

"She likes you."

How did you know?

"She won't put that much food on people she doesn't like."

Su Wanqing laughed: "So your mom likes me, but what about your dad?"

"My dad likes it too. He's not a talkative man, but he's very perceptive."

Su Wanqing lowered her head, remained silent for a moment, then looked up at him: "Lin Zhiyuan, do you think we... can make it to the end?"

Lin Zhiyuan looked at her. Under the streetlights, her eyes shone brightly, as if they held two stars.

"Yes," he said.

How did you know?

"Because I want to."

Su Wanqing didn't ask any more questions. She reached out and took his hand. Both of their hands were cold, but as they held each other, they slowly warmed up.

A breeze blew in from the alleyway, carrying the smell of gunpowder from firecrackers. In the distance, someone was setting off fireworks; with a bang, a golden flower exploded in the air.

The new year has truly begun.