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

一

On September 1st, the senior year of high school officially began.

Lin Zhiyuan arrived at the classroom at 6:20 in the morning. He thought he was the first one there, but Zhou Haitao was already sitting in the last row memorizing English words.

"What time did you arrive?" Lin Zhiyuan asked.

"Six o'clock."

Have you had breakfast?

"Not hungry yet."

Lin Zhiyuan didn't say anything, but took a loaf of bread from his bag and placed it on Zhou Haitao's desk. "Eat first, then you can memorize. You won't remember words if you try to memorize them on an empty stomach."

Zhou Haitao looked at the bread, then at Lin Zhiyuan, wanting to say thank you, but he opened his mouth and didn't say anything. He lowered his head, tore open the wrapper, and ate it in small bites.

At 6:40, the students arrived one after another. No one was late. Liu Qiang, who used to be the most late, arrived ten minutes early today. He walked into the classroom, saw Lin Zhiyuan standing on the podium, paused for a moment, and then quickly ran to his seat and took out his textbook.

At 7:00 sharp, the whole class was present.

Lin Zhiyuan didn't start the lesson immediately. He stood on the podium and scanned the room. Fifty-four students, all in school uniforms, sat ramrod straight. The classroom was quiet; so quiet that you could hear the ticking of the clock on the wall.

"Starting today, morning self-study will begin at 7:00 AM. Evening self-study will be extended to 10:30 PM," he said. "I know you're all very tired. But no one has been comfortable this past year."

No one complained.

"The first thing today is for everyone to stick their goal cards on the corner of their desks. Stick them in the most conspicuous place so they can see them every day."

The students lowered their heads, taking their target cards out of their pencil cases, textbooks, and pockets, and sticking them to the corners of their desks. Zhou Haitao's was already pasted up, wrapped with several layers of transparent tape, as if afraid it would fall off.

"The second thing is for everyone to write down a sentence for themselves. This sentence can be a motto, a promise to themselves, or anything you want to say to yourself. Write it on a small piece of paper and stick it next to your goal card."

The classroom was quiet for a few minutes. The students were writing with their heads down. Some wrote and then crossed it out, some wrote and then scribbled it out, and some finished writing, looked at it, crumpled it up, and started writing again.

Liu Qiang wrote: "Don't let your mother cry anymore."

Zhao Xiaoman wrote: "You can do it."

Chen Yutong wrote: "Live, and finish writing."

Sun Xiaolei wrote: "Get into a good university and see a bigger world."

Li Siyuan wrote: "Don't let these three years go to waste."

Zhou Haitao wrote: "Go out."

Lin Zhiyuan walked around the classroom, looking at the notes each student had written. He didn't comment, didn't say good or bad, he just read them silently.

Finally, he walked back to the podium, picked up the chalk, and wrote a sentence on the blackboard:

"The outcome is still uncertain; we could all be dark horses."

He turned around and looked at the students below.

"This is for you all. No matter what your grades are like now, no matter how difficult the road ahead seems, as long as you haven't reached the finish line, anything is possible."

two

The pace of senior year was even faster than Lin Zhiyuan had anticipated.

The daily schedule is packed with classes: Chinese, math, English, and humanities subjects bombard students relentlessly. Students are like wound-up machines, constantly doing problems, correcting mistakes, doing them again, and correcting them again. In the office, teachers' desks are piled high with test papers, their red pens used up faster than chalk.

Lin Zhiyuan grades over a hundred essays from two classes every week. He writes comments on each essay, ranging from two or three lines to half a page. When his hand gets sore from writing, he applies a hot towel to soothe it and continues writing.

Seeing that he was too tired, Chen Mingyuan said, "You don't need to write so many comments on every essay. Just give a grade and write 'read'."

"No. If the students write their papers and the teacher doesn't read them carefully, they won't write them carefully next time."

"You're just too serious." Chen Mingyuan shook his head, but his tone was appreciative.

The first monthly exam was held in mid-September.

After the results were released, Lin Zhiyuan compared everyone's scores with those from the previous semester's final exams. Liu Qiang, who made the most progress, improved his total score by more than forty points. Chen Yutong, who regressed the most, saw her total score drop by more than thirty points.

Lin Zhiyuan called Chen Yutong to his office.

"What happened?"

Chen Yutong stood in front of him, head down, without saying a word.

"You scored 480 on your final exam last semester, but this time you only got 450. That's a drop of more than 30 points. Tell me, what happened?"

"I don't want to take the exam anymore," Chen Yutong said softly.

Lin Zhiyuan was taken aback: "What did you say?"

"I said, I don't want to take the exam anymore." She looked up, her eyes red. "What's the point of taking the college entrance exam? Even if I get in, what then? My parents are divorced, and nobody cares about me anymore. Even if I get in, nobody will be happy for me."

Lin Zhiyuan looked at her, feeling as if something was blocking his heart.

"Chen Yutong, how many words have you written in that novel?"

Chen Yutong was taken aback by his question and paused for a moment before replying, "More than 30,000."

When you wrote 30,000 words, did you ever think about "what's the point of writing them?"

Chen Yutong remained silent.

"When you write, you're not doing it for any particular purpose. You just want to write. Right?"

Chen Yutong's eyes reddened even more.

"The college entrance exam is the same. Getting into university isn't about making your parents happy; it's about giving yourself more choices. You can study literature, continue writing novels, and meet more people who love writing. These things are far more important than whether your parents get divorced."

Chen Yutong's tears finally fell. She lowered her head, her shoulders trembling.

Lin Zhiyuan handed her a pack of tissues without saying a word. He only spoke after she finished crying.

"Go back and study hard. Improve your grades. Not for me, not for your parents, but for yourself."

Chen Yutong nodded, wiped her tears with a tissue, and turned to leave.

Lin Zhiyuan sat in a chair, looking out the window. It was already dark, and there were people running on the playground, running lap after lap, as if chasing something.

three

In early October, a major event occurred at the school.

A student in the next class attempted suicide by cutting his wrists in his dormitory due to excessive stress. Fortunately, he was discovered early and rushed to the hospital, where he survived. The news caused an uproar throughout the entire grade. Parents flooded the school with calls, and the school urgently convened a meeting of homeroom teachers, requiring each class to strengthen psychological counseling.

Lin Zhiyuan returned to class but didn't mention the incident. He didn't want to make the students more anxious. But he did one thing—he asked everyone to write a weekly journal entry titled "My Recent Feelings."

After collecting the weekly journals, he read them one by one. Most students wrote about being "tired," "under a lot of pressure," and "not getting enough sleep," but some wrote more in-depth.

Sun Xiaolei wrote: "Sometimes I think, what if I don't pass the exam? I've thought about it for a long time, and I think, if I don't pass, I don't pass. It's not like there's only one path."

Liu Qiang wrote: "My mom said it doesn't matter if I don't pass the exam, she'll support me. But I can't let her support me anymore. She's supported me for eighteen years, that's enough."

Zhao Xiaoman wrote: "My dad has changed recently. He used to always say, 'It's okay if you don't pass the exam,' but now he says, 'You will definitely pass.' I don't know which one is the real him."

Zhou Haitao wrote: "I dare not think about failing the exam. I can only think about passing it."

Chen Yutong wrote: "I've been reading Hai Zi's poems lately. 'Facing the sea, with spring flowers blooming.' I also want a house facing the sea. But I don't know how to get there."

Lin Zhiyuan spent an entire evening reading through all the weekly journals. He picked out the ones that were particularly heavy-hearted and planned to talk to each student individually.

He contacted Liu Qiang first.

"What do you mean by writing 'Enough'?"

Liu Qiang scratched his head: "It's just... I don't want my mom to worry anymore. She works so hard selling vegetables, and if I don't pass the exam, she'll still have to support me. I don't want that."

"So you put a lot of pressure on yourself?"

"It's alright. There's nothing I can do about the pressure."

"If you're under a lot of pressure, you should talk about it," Lin Zhiyuan said. "Don't bear it all alone. You have me, your classmates, and your teachers. You're not alone."

Liu Qiang nodded, but Lin Zhiyuan knew he hadn't fully listened.

He then sought out Zhao Xiaoman.

"Is your dad putting pressure on you now?"

"It's not pressure. He just... suddenly has expectations of me. Before, he thought I could do whatever I wanted, but now he thinks I have to get into a good university. I don't know why."

"Because you've changed," Lin Zhiyuan said. "You've become a better person, so naturally his expectations of you have increased. That's not a bad thing."

Zhao Xiaoman thought for a moment and said, "Maybe."

He then contacted Sun Xiaolei.

"You have a great attitude."

"It's alright," Sun Xiaolei smiled. "I just think that as long as I do my best, that's enough. It's not like I'll die if I don't pass the exam."

"You're right. But we still need to try our best."

"I know."

The last person they contacted was Zhou Haitao.

"You wrote 'I dare not think about failing the exam.' That won't do."

Zhou Haitao looked up at him.

"You're pushing yourself too hard. The fact that you don't even dare to think about a way out means you have no way out. People with no way out are the most likely to break down."

"I had no way out to begin with," Zhou Haitao said.

"You have options," Lin Zhiyuan said. "Even if you don't get into university, you can retake the exam, go to a junior college, or work while studying. There are many paths to success. Don't put all your eggs in one basket with this one exam."

Zhou Haitao remained silent for a long time before saying, "Teacher Lin, I know you mean well. But this is the only path I can take."

Lin Zhiyuan looked into his eyes, and there was something familiar in them. He himself had once had that look—the look of someone with no way out.

He stopped trying to persuade him. He knew that some roads can only be walked alone.

four

In mid-October, Lin Zhiyuan and Su Wanqing went to get their marriage certificate.

There was no wedding, no banquet; the two of them simply went to the Civil Affairs Bureau, filled out forms, took photos, and received two marriage certificates. Su Wanqing said they would hold a formal ceremony later when they had the money. Lin Zhiyuan agreed.

When Su Wanqing came out of the Civil Affairs Bureau, the sky was blue, the clouds were white, and the wind was gentle. She looked at the marriage certificate over and over again several times before carefully putting it into her bag.

"You are a married man now," she said.

"You are a married woman now," he said.

The two looked at each other and smiled.

"What are we having for dinner?" Su Wanqing asked.

What would you like to eat?

"Noodles, please."

"Noodles again?"

"Noodles are good. May you live a long and prosperous life."

The two went to a noodle shop near the hospital, each ordering a bowl of beef noodles with a poached egg. Lin Zhiyuan put the poached egg into Su Wanqing's bowl, but Su Wanqing took it back. After some back and forth, they each got half.

"Lin Zhiyuan."

"Um?"

Do you think we'll argue in the future?

"Probably."

"Would you give in to me?"

"It depends."

Su Wanqing glared at him: "What do you mean by 'depending on the situation'?"

"If you're right, I'll give in. If you're wrong, I'll still reason with you."

"You," Su Wanqing laughed, "still so serious even after getting married."

Teachers take everything seriously.

After finishing their noodles, Lin Zhiyuan drove Su Wanqing back to the hospital. She had to work the afternoon shift. At the hospital entrance, she suddenly stopped, turned around, and looked at him.

"Lin Zhiyuan."

"Um?"

"Thank you."

"What are you thanking me for?"

"Thank you for making me realize that this county town isn't so small."

These were words Lin Zhiyuan had said before. He hadn't expected her to remember them.

"Su Wanqing".

"Um?"

"Thank you for making me realize that being a teacher isn't so tiring."

Su Wanqing smiled, tiptoed and kissed him on the cheek, then turned and ran into the hospital.

Lin Zhiyuan stood at the door, touched the spot where he had been kissed, and stood there grinning foolishly for a while.

五

In November, the weather turned cool.

The senior year review has entered its second round. Students are practicing past exam papers for each subject, one set a day, followed by a review the next day, and then another test on the third day. They're spinning like tops, getting dizzy and disoriented.

Lin Zhiyuan tries his best not to turn his Chinese language classes into test-taking sessions. In each class, he still sets aside ten minutes to read a short passage, a poem, or have students share good sentences they have recently read.

"Chinese language is not just about exams," he said. "If all you learn in your senior year of high school is how to do exams, then my Chinese language class has failed."

One day, he read a poem, Hai Zi's "September":

Wildflowers bloom on the grassland where the gods witnessed their death.

The wind from afar travels farther than the distance itself.

After reading it, the classroom was quiet.

"Do you know what this poem is about?" he asked.

No one answered.

"I don't know," Lin Zhiyuan said. "I've read it many times, and I still don't know. But every time I read it, I feel something inside me being touched. That's poetry. It doesn't tell you the answer, but it makes you think."

He paused, looking at the students below: "I hope that in the future, no matter whether you get into university or not, no matter what job you do, you can occasionally read a poem, an essay, or a novel. Not for any other reason, but just so that when you are very tired, you have a place to go."

After class, Zhou Haitao came to find him.

"Teacher Lin, may I borrow Hai Zi's poems to take a look?"

Lin Zhiyuan took out a collection of Hai Zi's poems from the drawer and handed it to him.

"Give it back to me after you've finished reading."

"it is good."

Zhou Haitao left with the poetry collection. As he walked, he held the book to his chest, as if it were a precious treasure.

As Lin Zhiyuan watched his retreating figure, he suddenly recalled his high school days. Back then, his Chinese teacher had lent him a collection of poems, also by Hai Zi. He didn't quite understand it at the time, but he just thought it was good.

Twenty years later, he did the same thing.

六

In late November, Chen Yutong had written 50,000 words of her novel.

She showed the printed manuscript to Lin Zhiyuan. It was a thick stack, stapled together, with the words "The Rainy Season Will Never Come Again" written on the cover, and "Written by Chen Yutong" below.

"Finished writing?" Lin Zhiyuan asked.

"No. I've only written half of it."

"Then how did you show it to me?"

"I wanted you to see the beginning. If it's not good, I won't write anymore."

Lin Zhiyuan spent a weekend reading through the 50,000-word manuscript. The story is about a girl named "Xiaoyu" who lives with her mother after her parents' divorce. Her mother remarries, and her stepfather treats her badly, but she bears it all alone, not telling anyone. Later, she meets a teacher who discovers her writing talent and encourages her to continue writing. She starts writing, and as she writes, she finds herself not so sad anymore.

Some of the people in this story are real, and some are fictional. But Lin Zhiyuan knew that the teacher was writing about him.

After reading the manuscript, he wrote a long letter to Chen Yutong. In the letter, he gave three suggestions: First, the characters' dialogue could be more natural; second, some parts were too full and could be left open-ended; third, the ending should not be too tragic and should leave the reader with some hope.

At the end of the letter, he wrote: "This story deserves to be finished. You deserve to be read by more people."

On Monday, he returned the letter and the manuscript to Chen Yutong.

When Chen Yutong took the manuscript, her hands were trembling. She opened the manuscript and saw Lin Zhiyuan's annotations in red pen, densely packed. Some places had "good", some had "revise", and some had wavy lines.

She stared at it for a long time, then looked up, her eyes red.

"Thank you, Teacher Lin."

"Keep writing. Once you're done, I'll see if it's publishable."

"Publish?" Chen Yutong's eyes lit up.

"Yes. We had a student at our school who won an award in a provincial essay competition. You could give it a try."

Chen Yutong hugged the manuscript to her chest and nodded vigorously.

Seven

December, the first snow.

This year's snow came earlier and was heavier than last year's. Overnight, the entire campus turned white. During morning self-study, students didn't stay in the classrooms; they all ran out to see the snow.

Lin Zhiyuan didn't stop them. He stood on the playground, watching the students run around in the snow, have snowball fights, and build snowmen. Liu Qiang rolled a big snowball and shouted, "Zhou Haitao, come help me!" Zhou Haitao ran over to help, and the two of them worked together to build a crooked snowman.

Sun Xiaolei put her scarf on the snowman, and Zhao Xiaoman drew eyes and a mouth on it with a twig. Chen Yutong squatted beside it, staring blankly at the snowman.

Lin Zhiyuan took out his phone and snapped a photo. In the photo, his students were laughing around a snowman, with white-tipped sycamore trees and a hazy sky in the background.

He saved the photos, planning to print them out and give them to them when they graduated.

In the afternoon, the snow stopped. Lin Zhiyuan returned to his office and saw Chen Mingyuan standing by the window, looking at the snow outside.

"Teacher Chen, what are you looking at?"

"To see the snow," Chen Mingyuan said. "I've seen snow at this school for over thirty years, and it's different every year."

"What's different?"

"With you all here this year," Chen Mingyuan turned around and smiled. "The school is different now that you young people are here."

Lin Zhiyuan didn't know what to say. He walked over to Chen Mingyuan and looked out the window at the snow.

"Professor Chen, are you retiring next year?"

"Yes. I'll retire in June after I finish sending off this year's graduating class."

"Then this is your last year."

"Yes. This is the last one." Chen Mingyuan lit a cigarette. "After leading this for so many years, it's time to take a break."

Looking at his profile, Lin Zhiyuan suddenly realized that the old man had aged. He hadn't just started aging today; he'd been aging all along, but Lin Zhiyuan hadn't noticed.

"Thank you, Teacher Chen."

"What are you thanking me for?"

"Thank you for taking me under your wing. Thank you for teaching me so much."

Chen Mingyuan was silent for a moment, then flicked his cigarette ash: "Xiao Lin, let me tell you, you'll be better than me in the future. You're younger than me, more educated than me, and better at dealing with students. Do your job well, don't let this job down."

"I will."

Chen Mingyuan nodded and said nothing more. He turned around and continued to look at the snow outside the window. On the white snow, the students were still playing, their laughter drifting in intermittently.

Lin Zhiyuan stood behind him, watching his back, and suddenly felt his eyes sting.

He turned his head to the window so that Chen Mingyuan wouldn't see him.