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

一

On the first day of September 2004, Lin Zhiyuan stood on the podium of Class 1, Grade 12.

This was his second consecutive year teaching a graduating class. The school had originally arranged for him to return to teaching the first-year students, but he applied to stay. His reason was simple—he wanted to teach another graduating class and apply his experience from the previous year. The principal agreed and assigned him to the best science class in the grade.

He was a Chinese language teacher who taught a science class.

"Hello students, my surname is Lin, and I am your Chinese teacher and homeroom teacher." He wrote his name on the blackboard. "I know you are science students and think that Chinese is not important. Let me tell you, the Chinese exam is worth 150 points, and you can't afford to lose even one point. You can spend your time on math, physics, and chemistry, but I will not allow anyone to lose points in Chinese."

The students below watched him quietly. The science students were quieter, more composed, and more enigmatic than the humanities students. They didn't easily express their emotions, nor did they easily trust anyone. Lin Zhiyuan knew that winning their trust would take time.

After class, he returned to his office. Shen Ruohan was grading homework. Seeing him come in, she looked up and said, "Science classes must be difficult to manage, right?"

"She's alright. Just not very talkative."

"That's how science students are. If you're nice to them, they'll remember it, but they won't say it out loud."

Lin Zhiyuan sat down and flipped through the student list. He looked at each of the fifty-six names one by one. He didn't recognize most of them, but one name made him pause—Li Siyuan.

Li Siyuan. He remembered the name. A student from the previous liberal arts class, he had written novels and had a good writing style, but his math was too bad, so he only got into a teacher's college. He thought Li Siyuan had gone to the teacher's college, but he didn't expect him to come back to repeat a year and even switch to science.

"Ms. Shen, which class is Li Siyuan in?"

"Science-focused repeat class, Class 4." Shen Ruohan glanced at him. "You know him?"

"A student from the previous year. A humanities student who wrote novels. How did they switch to science?"

"You'll have to ask him."

Lin Zhiyuan decided to talk to Li Siyuan.

two

During evening self-study, Lin Zhiyuan went to the fourth-floor cram school.

Li Siyuan sat in the last row, a physics problem set open in front of him, his brow furrowed. He was still wearing his round-framed glasses, his hair was a little longer than last year, and his face was thinner. The table was piled high with books, burying him completely in them.

"Li Siyuan".

Li Siyuan looked up, saw Lin Zhiyuan, paused for a moment, and then quickly stood up: "Teacher Lin."

"Come out for a moment."

The two walked into the corridor. A night breeze blew by, carrying the chill of early autumn. Below the teaching building, someone was playing basketball, the ball bouncing loudly on the ground.

"Why did you switch to science?" Lin Zhiyuan asked directly.

Li Siyuan lowered his head, remained silent for a while, and then said, "Teacher Lin, I don't want to be a teacher anymore."

Why?

"Because nobody reads the novels I write."

Lin Zhiyuan was taken aback. He knew Li Siyuan had been writing novels, but he didn't know he had submitted them for publication.

"I submitted to three magazines, and they all rejected it." Li Siyuan's voice was soft. "The editors said my writing was okay, but the stories were too empty and lacked real life. I thought about it, and maybe it's because I've always been in school and haven't seen the outside world. If I study humanities, I'll become a teacher, but I'll still be in school. If I study science, I can do other jobs and see more things."

Lin Zhiyuan looked at him and remained silent for a long time.

"Do you think switching to science will solve the problem?"

"I don't know. But I want to try."

"Are you keeping up with math and physics?"

"It's difficult. But I can learn."

Lin Zhiyuan recalled how Li Siyuan had talked about "Fortress Besieged" in the literary society three years ago. Back then, his eyes shone with light as he spoke eloquently about Qian Zhongshu, Fang Hongjian, and how marriage was likened to a besieged fortress. Now, the light in those eyes had dimmed somewhat, but it was still there.

"Are you still writing?" Lin Zhiyuan asked.

"I write. But I write less. I don't have time."

"Don't stop," Lin Zhiyuan said. "Whether you study humanities or sciences, don't stop. You're a talented person; it would be a pity to stop."

Li Siyuan looked up at him, her eyes filled with gratitude and confusion.

"Teacher Lin, what do you think I should study?"

"You should study what you like," Lin Zhiyuan said. "But if you don't know what you like yet, then study what can support you first. It's not too late to switch when you find something you truly love."

Li Siyuan nodded without saying anything.

Lin Zhiyuan patted him on the shoulder: "Go back and do your homework. If you don't understand any math or physics, you can ask Teacher Wang. I'll talk to him."

"Thank you, Teacher Lin."

Li Siyuan turned and walked into the classroom. Lin Zhiyuan stood in the corridor, watching his back, a feeling he couldn't quite describe welling up inside him. Every student has their own path, and he couldn't walk it for them; he could only watch from the sidelines, occasionally calling out, "Watch out!"

three

In mid-September, Su Wanqing returned.

This wasn't for business; she was back on vacation. She had worked continuously for three months at the city hospital without a single day off. The hospital granted her a week's leave, and without a word, she bought a ticket and returned to the county town.

Lin Zhiyuan went to the station to pick her up. She got off the bus, wearing a floral dress, her hair down, and she looked a little thinner than the last time he saw her. But she seemed to be in good spirits, and her eyes were still bright.

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

"You've lost weight too," Su Wanqing said.

They exchanged a glance and smiled. This phrase had become their greeting, like a secret code; once spoken, they knew what the other was thinking.

Su Wanqing didn't go back to her parents' house, but went straight to Lin Zhiyuan's dormitory. She stood at the door, looking at the small 15-square-meter room, and paused for a moment.

"Why are you still living here?"

"Where else would you stay?"

"You've been teaching for four years now, why are you still living in the same dormitory you had when you first arrived?"

Lin Zhiyuan smiled and said, "I'm used to it. Besides, it's close to the classroom, which is convenient."

Su Wanqing walked into the dormitory and looked around. The room was still the same as before, with some of the plaster peeling off the walls again, and the window glass had been replaced, but the frame was still the same. Books and test papers were piled on the table, the bed was covered with faded sheets, and there was a rice cooker in the corner—it was the one she had brought last year.

"Can't you take better care of yourself?" Su Wanqing's voice was choked with emotion.

"I'm fine."

"What's so great about you? Look at this house, it's exactly the same as it was four years ago. You've lived here for four years, and nothing has changed."

Lin Zhiyuan walked over and hugged her from behind. Her body was very thin, and the bones in her shoulders pressed against his chest.

"Something has changed," he said.

"What?"

"I have you."

Su Wanqing didn't turn around, but Lin Zhiyuan felt her body go limp. She rested her head on his shoulder and sighed softly.

"Lin Zhiyuan, when will this ever end?"

"When will this end?"

We live apart. You live in the county town, and I live in the city. We see each other once a week, and sometimes we don't see each other for a whole week.

Lin Zhiyuan was silent for a moment, then said, "Give me another year. After I finish teaching this graduating class, I'll apply to be transferred to the city."

"You said the same thing last year."

"This time it's for real."

Su Wanqing turned around and looked into his eyes. Her eyes held weariness, grievance, heartache, and many other indescribable emotions.

"You always tell the truth."

"Because it's always true. It's just that sometimes I can't do it."

Su Wanqing didn't say anything more. She buried her face in his chest and wrapped her arms around his waist. The two of them stood there like that, neither of them speaking. The wind blew in from the window, making the test papers on the table rustle.

four

Su Wanqing stayed in the county town for five days.

For five days, Lin Zhiyuan tried to spend as much time as possible with her. During the day, he taught classes, graded homework, and handled class affairs. In the evenings, he ate, took walks, and chatted with her. They went to the riverside, to the noodle shop where they had their first blind date, and to the small shop where they ate beef noodles after getting their marriage certificate.

"Do you remember the first time we met?" Su Wanqing asked.

"I remember. You were wearing a white coat, treating an old lady."

"You were so nervous back then, you didn't know where to put your hands."

"I'm nervous now too."

Why are you so nervous?

I'm worried about you.

Su Wanqing smiled. Her smile was still so beautiful, with her shallow dimples and crescent-shaped eyes. Lin Zhiyuan looked at her and suddenly felt that no matter where they were in the future, as long as she was by his side, anywhere would be fine.

On the last day, when Su Wanqing left, Lin Zhiyuan saw her off at the station.

"Take good care of yourself," Su Wanqing said.

"The same to you."

"Don't lose any more weight."

"The same to you."

"Call me when you get to the city."

"it is good."

Su Wanqing boarded the bus and sat by the window. As the bus started moving, she waved to him through the window. Lin Zhiyuan stood on the platform, watching the bus get further and further away until it disappeared at the end of the street.

He looked down at his phone. A text message appeared on the screen, sent by Su Wanqing: "I love you."

He looked at it for a long time, then typed three words and sent it: "Me too."

五

In October, there were midterm exams.

The results for Class 1 of Senior Three were released, ranking second among the science classes. It wasn't bad, but Lin Zhiyuan wasn't very satisfied. The Chinese scores of the science classes were generally low, which was expected, but he didn't expect them to be this low.

He reviewed the report cards several times and discovered a problem—students lost the most points in reading comprehension and composition. The problem with reading comprehension was that students read too quickly and attempted to answer questions before fully understanding the text. The problem with composition was that it was too dry and lacked literary flair, resembling a lab report.

He decided to adjust his teaching methods. The Chinese language classes for science students couldn't be taught the same way as those for humanities students; a different approach was needed.

He started talking about "useless" things in class. He would read an essay, recite a poem, or play a piece of music. At first, the students weren't used to it and felt it was a waste of time. But slowly, some people began to respond.

Once, he read a poem by Gu Cheng:

"The night gave me black eyes, but I use them to seek the light."

After reading it aloud, a boy raised his hand: "Teacher, what does this poem mean?"

What do you think?

"I think it means that no matter what kind of environment you are born into, you can choose to go in a positive direction."

"Well said." Lin Zhiyuan nodded. "That's what Chinese language is all about. It doesn't give you answers, but it makes you think. You study math, physics, and chemistry, which teach you objective laws. Chinese language is different; it teaches you about the human heart. The human heart has no standard answer, but it's more complex than any formula."

After class, the boy came to him and said, "Teacher Lin, I used to think Chinese was boring. But today's class was actually quite interesting."

"That's good," Lin Zhiyuan said. "It's good that it's interesting."

六

At the end of November, Chen Yutong returned.

She had returned from the provincial capital and was on winter break. She came to visit Lin Zhiyuan at school, wearing a beige coat, with her hair permed and light makeup on, looking completely different from how she looked in high school.

"Chen Yutong?" Lin Zhiyuan almost didn't recognize her.

"Teacher Lin, don't you recognize me?"

"I know. But... things have changed."

Chen Yutong smiled. Her smile was different from before. Her smile used to always carry a hint of melancholy, but now it was gone. Her smile was bright and clear, like the sky after a rainstorm.

The two sat down in the office. Chen Yutong took an envelope out of her bag and handed it to Lin Zhiyuan.

"Teacher Lin, this is for you."

Lin Zhiyuan opened the envelope; inside was a magazine. The cover bore the words "Youth Literature," and the date was November 2004. He flipped through the table of contents and found Chen Yutong's name—the author of the short story "The Rainy Season Will Never Come Again."

"It's been published?" He looked up.

"It's been published," Chen Yutong said. "The full text has been published; it's over 20,000 words long."

Lin Zhiyuan stared at the magazine, his hands trembling. He recalled how Chen Yutong had talked about Sanmao three years ago in the literary society. Back then, she had said, "Sanmao showed me that people don't have to live such an abnormal life." Now, she had written her own novel, published it, and it was being read by even more people.

"Congratulations," he said, his voice slightly choked.

"You helped me," Chen Yutong said. "Without you, I wouldn't have been able to continue writing."

"You wrote it yourself. I just glanced at it from the side."

Chen Yutong lowered her head, remained silent for a while, and then said, "Teacher Lin, I have written a new short story about you."

Lin Zhiyuan was stunned for a moment.

"It tells the story of a teacher in a county town. He gave up his job in the provincial capital and returned to his hometown to teach. He was poor and worked very hard, but he never regretted it. His students all liked him very much."

"This isn't me."

"It's you." Chen Yutong looked up, tears welling in her eyes. "Teacher Lin, you may not know how many people's lives you have changed."

Lin Zhiyuan didn't know what to say. He turned his head and looked out the window. The leaves of the sycamore trees had all fallen, and the bare branches swayed in the wind. In the distance, someone was running on the playground, running lap after lap, as if chasing something.

"Chen Yutong, you will become a great writer in the future."

"I will," Chen Yutong said. "I will write many, many stories. Some are true, some are false. But the parts about you are all true."

Seven

December, the first snow.

The snow came late this year, but it was heavy. Overnight, the entire campus turned white. Lin Zhiyuan stood at the classroom door, watching the students having a snowball fight on the playground, and suddenly remembered this time last year.

At this time last year, Zhou Haitao was still buried in practice problems in a cram school classroom. This year, he's reading in the library of the provincial normal university or attending classes in the Chinese department. He wrote several letters to Lin Zhiyuan, saying that university life was great, that he had made many friends who shared his love of literature, and that he was preparing for his teacher qualification exam.

Lin Zhiyuan put all the letters in a drawer, along with those from Sun Xiaolei, Liu Qiang, Zhao Xiaoman, and Chen Yutong. That drawer grew increasingly full, as his students multiplied and their paths diverged.

He closed the drawer and walked out of the office. On the playground, the students were still playing in the snow. Several boys were building a snowman, a crooked one with twigs for arms and pebbles for eyes. A girl took off her scarf and wrapped it around the snowman's neck.

Standing in the corridor, watching all this, Lin Zhiyuan suddenly felt that being a teacher was really great.

It's not for the salary, not for the honor, but for these moments—watching a group of young lives blossom before my eyes. Watching them grow from ignorance to clarity, from timidity to courage, from the county town to a wider world.

He doesn't need them to repay him. Their well-being is the best reward.

Eight

December 31st, the last day of 2004.

Lin Zhiyuan held a small New Year's Eve party in the classroom. There were no performances or programs; everyone just sat together, ate snacks, chatted, and talked about the year's achievements and regrets.

"Teacher Lin, please tell us what you've learned," a boy called out.

Lin Zhiyuan stood up, thought for a moment, and said, "My greatest reward is seeing you all improve. Seeing your Chinese scores rise, and seeing you begin to find Chinese interesting. That's my biggest reward."

"And what are your regrets?" another girl asked.

Lin Zhiyuan was silent for a while, then said, "My regret is... that I spend too little time with my family. My wife works in the city, and I teach here. We only see each other a few times a month. This is my regret, and it's what I feel I've let her down."

The classroom fell silent. The students looked at him with pity, understanding, and a touch of guilt in their eyes.

"Teacher Lin, thank you for your hard work," a girl said.

"It's not hard work," Lin Zhiyuan smiled. "Your efforts in studying are my greatest comfort."

After the party ended, the students left one by one. Lin Zhiyuan stayed in the classroom alone, tidying up the desks and chairs and sweeping up the trash on the floor. He walked to the blackboard and saw a line of words written on it, but he didn't know who had written it:

Happy New Year, Teacher Lin. You are the best teacher.

He stood there and watched for a long time.

Then he picked up the chalk and wrote a sentence below that line:

Happy New Year. You are the best students.

He walked out of the classroom and locked the door. The corridor was quiet, with only the wind blowing. A few lights were still on in the dormitory building in the distance, and the laughter of students could be faintly heard.

He walked down the stairs and out of the teaching building. The playground was deserted; the moonlight shone on the snow, making it appear white and fluffy, like a layer of salt. The shadows of the sycamore trees fell on the ground, dappled and mottled.

He stood in the middle of the playground, looking up at the sky. There weren't many stars, but each one was very bright.

My phone vibrated. It was a text message from Su Wanqing: "Happy New Year. I miss you."

He replied, "I miss you too. Soon we'll be inseparable."

He put his phone in his pocket and took a deep breath. The cold air filled his lungs, cool but refreshing.

The new year is coming.

2005 years.

He was twenty-seven years old.

This is my fifth year as a teacher.

He felt like he was just getting started.