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

一

March 8th, ninety-one days until the college entrance examination.

After Chen Mingyuan retired, the position of head of the Chinese language teaching and research group became vacant. Instead of immediately appointing a replacement, the school temporarily put Lin Zhiyuan in charge of coordinating the senior year Chinese language teaching. This meant he not only had to manage his own two classes but also coordinate the entire grade's Chinese language review schedule.

His workload doubled, but he did not refuse.

"Are you sure you can do it?" Wang Jianguo asked him.

"It has to work, even if it doesn't work."

"You're just stubborn."

Lin Zhiyuan smiled but didn't refute. He knew he wasn't just being stubborn; he had no other choice. At this stage of senior year, everyone was pushing forward, and he couldn't stop or slow down.

He divided the senior year Chinese language review into three stages: thematic breakthroughs in March, comprehensive training in April, and mock exams in May. He made detailed plans for the key points, methods, and materials for each stage, and printed them out to distribute to each Chinese language teacher.

Shen Ruohan looked at his plan and said, "Teacher Lin, your plan is too detailed. It clearly outlines what to teach, practice, and test each day. What if we fall behind?"

"Then let's work overtime."

"The students can't stand it."

"They can take it," Lin Zhiyuan said. "At this point, no one can't take it."

Shen Ruohan didn't say anything more. She picked up the schedule, returned to her desk, and began preparing her lessons.

In the first week of March, Lin Zhiyuan made a decision—to add an extra Chinese language class every Saturday.

"Saturday afternoons are usually for self-study, but I'm using them for Chinese class," he announced to the class. "Participation is voluntary, not mandatory."

No one was absent.

Zhou Haitao arrived first, sitting in the last row with his notebook and textbook in front of him. Liu Qiang arrived second, carrying a bag of steamed buns, eating as he walked. Zhao Xiaoman arrived, Chen Yutong arrived, Sun Xiaolei arrived, and Li Siyuan arrived. All fifty-four students in the class were present.

Lin Zhiyuan stood on the podium, looking at the young faces below, and a surge of warmth welled up in his heart.

"Today we're going to talk about composition," he said. "There are still more than eighty days until the college entrance examination. Composition accounts for forty percent of the total score in Chinese. If you write a good composition, you've already won half the battle in Chinese."

He wrote a few words on the blackboard: understanding the topic, establishing the theme, structure, and language.

"These four things are indispensable. If you don't understand the question properly, you'll lose everything. If your theme isn't lofty, you won't get a high score. If the structure is messy, the examiner won't understand it. If your language is poor, you'll lose points for making a good first impression."

He began explaining each point one by one. When discussing essay prompt analysis, he presented ten essay topics and asked students to analyze them on the spot, identifying key words and the direction of their thesis. When discussing thesis development, he cited examples of perfect-score essays from past college entrance examinations, analyzing why they achieved such high scores. When discussing structure, he drew three common essay structure diagrams and had students memorize them. When discussing language, he read aloud a passage he had written, allowing students to experience the rhythm and beauty of the language.

He taught a 40-minute class for a full hour. No one urged him to end the get out of class, and no one checked their watch. When the bell rang, he was still lecturing, and the students were still listening.

"That's all for today." He finally stopped. "Go back and digest what we've covered today. Next week we'll practice with past exam questions."

two

The first mock exam was held in mid-March.

This was the first major exam of the second semester of senior year, and also the most important practice before the college entrance examination. The school attached great importance to it, and the exam room setup, invigilation arrangements, and marking standards were all strictly in accordance with the college entrance examination procedures.

Lin Zhiyuan was one of the proctors. Standing at the front of the exam room, watching the students engrossed in answering the questions, he felt even more nervous than they did.

The Chinese exam lasted two and a half hours. When he handed in his paper, he noticed the expressions on some students' faces—some relaxed, some somber, some expressionless. He wanted to ask, but he couldn't. Invigilators weren't allowed to interact with the students.

After finishing the Chinese exam, he returned to his office and saw Shen Ruohan flipping through the students' answer sheets.

"How is it?" he asked.

"I don't know yet. I haven't looked at the essay."

"You take a look first, then we'll discuss it."

three

The day the mock exam results came out, Lin Zhiyuan sat in his office all night.

He entered each student's grades into the computer, compared them with the previous semester's final exam scores, and compared them with their target scores. As the data popped up one by one, his emotions fluctuated.

Overall, the class average score increased by fifteen points compared to the end of last semester, maintaining its position as the top-performing humanities class. However, he was concerned about the grades of some students.

Zhou Haitao's total score improved by 20 points compared to the end of last semester, but he only scored 78 points in English, far from his goal. If his English doesn't improve, his dream of attending a provincial normal university will be dashed.

Liu Qiang's total score improved by more than 30 points, and he scored 102 in math, the first time he had broken 100 in math since high school. However, he only scored 95 in Chinese, nearly 10 points lower than usual.

Zhao Xiaoman's total score ranked in the top 40 of her grade, which is still far from her goal of the top 15, but she has made great progress.

Chen Yutong's total score improved by 20 points compared to the end of last semester, but she is still more than 30 points short of her revised goal of 500 points.

Sun Xiaolei's grades were the most consistent, always ranking around the top 30 in her grade, without any major ups and downs.

Li Siyuan's math score dropped again, only 68 points. Her overall ranking fell to 120th in the grade.

Lin Zhiyuan wrote down each student's question and planned to talk to them one by one.

The first person they contacted was Zhou Haitao.

"Your English is still the same old problem."

"I know."

How much time do you spend learning English each day?

Two hours.

"Not enough. Starting today, three hours every day. One hour in the morning, half an hour at noon, and one and a half hours in the evening."

"But……"

"No buts. Your Chinese and humanities scores are already good enough; you don't need to spend too much time on them. Use the time you save for English."

Zhou Haitao nodded.

"Also," Lin Zhiyuan took an English grammar book out of the drawer, "this one is for you. Go through the grammar points, and ask me if you don't understand anything. Although my English isn't very good, I still understand junior high school grammar."

Zhou Haitao took the book and flipped through it. There were many annotations on the pages, written by Lin Zhiyuan himself.

"Teacher Lin, is this your own book?"

"Yes. I used it when I was in college."

"If you lend it to me, what will you use it for?"

"I don't need it. You do."

Zhou Haitao hugged the book to his chest, lowered his head, and remained silent for a long time.

four

In late March, something happened.

Chen Yutong's novel had reached 80,000 words. She handed the complete manuscript to Lin Zhiyuan; it was a thick stack of paper, bound in a folder. The cover read, "The Rainy Season Will Never Come Again—by ​​Chen Yutong," with a smaller note below: "Dedicated to Teacher Lin."

Lin Zhiyuan paused for a moment when he saw the line of small print.

"Why did you write this?" he asked.

"Because it's dedicated to you," Chen Yutong said. "Without you, I wouldn't have continued writing."

Lin Zhiyuan didn't know what to say. He put the manuscript away and said, "I'll read it this weekend. I'll give you my feedback after I've finished."

Over the weekend, he spent a whole day and night reading through the 80,000-word manuscript. The story was much more mature than the first half; the characters' dialogue was more natural, and the plot moved with a better rhythm. The ending showed Xiaoyu getting into university, leaving her hometown, sitting on the train, watching the scenery recede into the distance outside the window, and a voice in her heart saying, "The rainy season will never come again."

After reading the last word, Lin Zhiyuan closed the manuscript and sat at the table in a daze for a long time. He remembered the night Chen Yutong sat alone in the garden and said, "Living is tiring," the evening she said, "My parents are getting a divorce," and the afternoon she almost cried while talking about Sanmao at the literary society.

This girl spent a year writing an 80,000-word novel. She poured her deepest pain and struggles into the story, and then brought the character Xiaoyu out of the story.

On Monday, he returned the manuscript to Chen Yutong.

"It's very well written," he said.

"real?"

"Really. There are a few places that need to be revised, and I've made annotations. After you've revised them, I'll help you submit them to the provincial essay competition."

Chen Yutong took the manuscript, her hands trembling. She opened to the first page and saw Lin Zhiyuan's annotations in red pen—some affirmative, some suggestive, some encouraging. On the last page, in the margin, he wrote a sentence:

"You are not Xiaoyu. You will not be trapped."

Chen Yutong stared at the paper for a long time, tears falling onto it. She quickly wiped them away with her hand, afraid of smudging the words.

"Thank you, Teacher Lin."

"You're welcome. Go revise the manuscript. Give it to me when you're done."

五

In early April, the school organized a parent-teacher meeting.

This was the last parent-teacher meeting before the college entrance examination. Lin Zhiyuan took it very seriously and started preparing a week in advance. He wrote down each student's mock exam scores, progress, problems, and suggestions for the final push on a piece of paper, ready to give it to the parents.

On the day of the parent-teacher meeting, the classroom was packed. Even parents who worked in other cities came back. Zhou Haitao's father arrived, wearing a newly bought jacket and with his hair neatly combed. Liu Qiang's mother came, carrying a basket of strawberries she had grown herself, saying she wanted to share them with the teachers.

Lin Zhiyuan stood on the podium, looking at the anxious, expectant, and uneasy faces below, and took a deep breath.

"Dear parents, this is the last parent-teacher meeting before the college entrance examination. Today, I will skip the formalities and get straight to the point."

He projected the mock exam scores onto the screen and analyzed them one by one. He pointed out which students had improved, which had regressed, which had the potential to get into a top-tier university, and which needed to secure a second-tier university. He spoke frankly, without concealing anything or exaggerating.

"There are still more than 60 days until the college entrance examination. At this stage, the most important thing is mindset. Parents' mindset directly affects their children's mindset."

He looked at the parents below and said, word by word:

"Don't put too much pressure on your child. Don't ask 'Can you pass the exam?', don't ask 'How are your preparations going?', don't ask 'How did other children score?'. These questions only increase anxiety and do nothing."

"What you need to do is provide logistical support. Cook for the children, do their laundry, and provide them with a quiet learning environment. Don't argue, don't play mahjong, and don't talk loudly at home."

"When your child is under a lot of pressure, hug them, pat them, and say, 'It's okay, just do your best.' This is more effective than any grand philosophy."

The parents listened attentively; some took notes, some nodded, and some had tears in their eyes.

Zhou Haitao's father sat in the last row, listening intently. He didn't take notes, but he remembered every word Lin Zhiyuan said. He later told Zhou Haitao, "Teacher Lin said not to put pressure on you. Just focus on the exam, and Dad won't blame you no matter how you do."

Zhou Haitao cried after hearing this.

六

In mid-April, the SARS epidemic began to spread across the country.

By the time the news reached the county seat, it was already late April. The school began to tense up, disinfecting daily, taking temperatures, and requiring students to report their health status. A notice was posted at the school gate: outsiders were not allowed to enter, and students were not allowed to leave the school at will.

Lin Zhiyuan arrives at the classroom half an hour early every morning, using a temperature gun to check each student's temperature one by one. If the temperature is normal, he lets them go; if it's abnormal, he takes them to the school clinic.

"Teacher Lin, you don't need to come every day," Sun Xiaolei said. "We can do the tests ourselves."

"No. I'm not comfortable with that."

"You're worrying too much."

"Worrying is my job."

One day, Zhou Haitao's temperature was measured at 37.5 degrees Celsius. Lin Zhiyuan's heart tightened, and he measured it again; it was still 37.5 degrees Celsius.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

I feel a little dizzy.

Lin Zhiyuan immediately took him to the school clinic. The school doctor examined him and said it was probably a common cold, but to be on the safe side, he recommended that he go to the hospital for a check-up.

Lin Zhiyuan rode his bicycle and took Zhou Haitao to the county hospital. Su Wanqing happened to be on duty and, seeing them arrive, quickly arranged for examinations. Blood tests and X-rays took more than an hour. The results came back: just a common cold.

Lin Zhiyuan breathed a sigh of relief; his back was covered in sweat.

"Teacher Lin, you don't need to be so nervous," Zhou Haitao said.

"You're my student, if I'm not nervous, who is?"

Zhou Haitao looked at him and suddenly said something that Lin Zhiyuan didn't expect.

"Teacher Lin, you've been so kind to me, I don't know how to repay you."

"Getting into university is the best reward you can give."

"I will."

Lin Zhiyuan took Zhou Haitao back to school and then returned to the hospital. Su Wanqing was seeing patients in her clinic, and he sat on a chair in the corridor waiting for her. After half an hour, Su Wanqing came out.

Why haven't you left yet?

"Wait for you."

"What are you waiting for me for?"

"I just wanted to see you."

Su Wanqing smiled, but there was weariness in her smile. She had heavy dark circles under her eyes, and her face was pale. During the SARS outbreak, the hospital was under immense pressure, and she often worked late into the night.

"You've lost weight," Lin Zhiyuan said.

"You've lost weight too."

We've both lost weight.

"I'll take good care of myself after SARS is over."

"I'll catch up properly after the college entrance exam."

The two exchanged a glance and smiled. There was a tacit understanding in that smile, a mutual tacit agreement—they both knew this period was difficult, but they were both holding on.

Seven

In May, there are 30 days left until the college entrance examination.

The atmosphere at school is becoming increasingly tense. The countdown clock in the corridor changes daily, the numbers getting smaller and smaller, and the sense of oppression growing stronger. Some students are starting to suffer from insomnia, some are starting to feel anxious, and some are starting to lose their hair.

Lin Zhiyuan's life revolves around the classroom, office, and dormitory. His life is extremely simplified—he gets up at six in the morning and goes to bed at midnight, spending all his time with his students except for meals and bathroom breaks.

He was terribly thin, with prominent cheekbones and deeply sunken eyes. Su Wanqing felt sorry for him and brought him food every day, forcing him to finish it.

"If you keep going like this, you'll collapse before the students even take the college entrance exam."

"I will not fall."

"It's not up to you."

Su Wanqing brought a rice cooker from home and placed it in Lin Zhiyuan's dormitory, teaching him how to cook porridge and reheat rice. She also stored some eggs, vegetables, and frozen dumplings in the refrigerator so he could cook them whenever he was hungry.

Lin Zhiyuan looked at the rice cooker and felt a warm feeling in his heart.

"Su Wanqing, you're too good to me."

"You're my husband, if I'm not good to you, who will I be good to?"

Husband. The word startled Lin Zhiyuan. They'd been married for almost half a year, and Su Wanqing rarely called him that. The sudden sound today struck him like a blow to the heart.

"Say it again."

"What?"

"Honey, say it again."

Su Wanqing blushed: "I won't call you that."

"Call me once."

"I won't call it."

"Just call me once."

Su Wanqing glared at him, then turned around to pack her things. Lin Zhiyuan hugged her from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder.

"Wife," he said.

Su Wanqing's body stiffened for a moment, then went limp.

"What did you call me?"

"Wife."

Su Wanqing didn't turn around, but Lin Zhiyuan could feel that her ears had turned red.

On the last day of May, Lin Zhiyuan wrote a line on the blackboard in the classroom:

"Thirty days left. Hang in there, you can do it."

He looked at the words and silently said to himself: I will hold on too.