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

一

On the last day of August 2005, Lin Zhiyuan walked into the classroom of Class 3, Grade 11 at Yucai Middle School for the first time.

The classroom was on the fourth floor, spacious and bright, with a running track and lawn visible through the windows. A fan hung from the ceiling, whirring and making the curtains billow. The blackboard was dark green and spotlessly clean, with neat stacks of white and colored chalk in the chalk tray. The desks and chairs were new, without any carvings or graffiti, and not a single scratch on the surface.

Lin Zhiyuan stood on the podium, holding the student roster, waiting for all the students to arrive. He wore a newly bought light blue shirt, his hair was neatly combed, and his leather shoes were polished to a shine. Su Wanqing had checked his shirt before leaving that morning, turned up his collar, and patted him on the shoulder: "Don't be nervous. You're going to be a teacher, not to go on a blind date."

"I'm not nervous."

"You always say you're not nervous. You can fool others, but you can't fool me."

He was indeed a little nervous. After five years in the county town, he thought he was a seasoned teacher and wouldn't be nervous anymore. But when he arrived at the new school and faced the new students, that feeling from five years ago when he first stood on the podium returned. His palms were sweating, his heart was racing, and his throat was dry.

The students arrived one after another. Some carried brand-name backpacks, some held milk tea, some wore headphones and listened to music, and some chatted about the TV series they watched yesterday. Their school uniforms were blue and white, made of better material than those of the county's No. 1 High School, and they looked very smart in them.

A girl walked in, her long hair flowing over her shoulders, wearing a small earring and an expensive-looking watch on her wrist. She glanced around the classroom, chose a seat in the third row by the window, took out a small mirror from her bag, looked at herself, and then put the mirror away.

Watching her movements, Lin Zhiyuan suddenly thought of Zhao Xiaoman. The same movements, the same expression. Children in the city and children in the county town are different in some ways, and exactly the same in others.

The school bell rang.

Lin Zhiyuan took a deep breath and spoke.

"Hello students, my surname is Lin, and I am your Chinese teacher."

He didn't mispronounce the word. This time, he didn't say "same ball".

two

The students at Yucai Middle School are very different from those at the county's No. 1 Middle School.

They are more confident, more outgoing, and more willing to speak up. When Lin Zhiyuan asks a question, a flurry of hands springs up, and some students even speak up before being called on. They are not afraid of making mistakes, not afraid of being criticized, and even seem to enjoy expressing themselves in class.

However, their basic Chinese language skills weren't much better than those of students from the county's top high school. They also struggled with reading comprehension, their essays were formulaic, and they couldn't understand classical Chinese texts. The difference was that they were better at taking exams—their test-taking techniques were more refined, their time management was more efficient, and their papers were neater.

Lin Zhiyuan spent a week getting to know these students. He reviewed their files, spoke with their homeroom teachers to learn about each student's situation, and even had them write a self-introduction. Fifty-eight students, fifty-eight self-introductions—he read them one by one, noting each student's characteristics in his notebook.

There was a boy named Lu Yiming who had excellent grades, ranking in the top ten of his grade, but he was withdrawn and didn't interact much with his classmates. His self-introduction consisted of only three lines, written in illegible handwriting, as if he was just going through the motions.

There was a girl named Lin Xiaoxi who had average grades, but she wrote very well and had a very special sense of language. She wrote, "I like to sit on the windowsill on rainy days and watch the raindrops slide down the glass like tears, but not tears of sadness."

There was a boy named Chen Hao who had very poor grades, ranking near the bottom of his grade, but he was excellent at sports and a key player on the school basketball team. His self-introduction was very long, mostly about basketball, and ended with the sentence: "Ms. Lin, I don't like Chinese, but I love listening to stories. Could you tell us a story?"

Lin Zhiyuan circled Chen Hao's name and wrote a single word: "Okay".

three

In the second week of school, Lin Zhiyuan encountered his first challenge.

Chen Hao was sleeping in his class.

Not the kind of sneaky nap, but the kind where you lie down openly and snore. Lin Zhiyuan was lecturing on "The New Year's Sacrifice" on the podium, telling the tragedy of Xianglin's wife, and he was so engrossed in his story that even snores could be heard from below. Several students turned to look at Chen Hao; some were laughing, some were shaking their heads.

Lin Zhiyuan stopped, walked to Chen Hao's desk, and tapped on the surface.

Chen Hao looked up, his eyes still closed, a trace of drool at the corner of his mouth, and asked groggily, "get out of class is over?"

The whole class burst into laughter.

"get out of class hasn't ended," Lin Zhiyuan said. "I was telling the story of Xianglin's son being carried off by wolves, and you're sleeping here. Do you think that's appropriate?"

Chen Hao rubbed his eyes and chuckled twice: "Teacher Lin, I'm sorry, I played games too late last night."

"What game are you playing?"

World of Warcraft.

"Is it fun?"

"That looks fun." Chen Hao's eyes lit up. "Teacher Lin, you want to play too?"

"I don't play it. But I've heard of it." Lin Zhiyuan looked at him. "How about this, since you think games are more interesting than Chinese, then don't sleep in this class. Tell everyone what's so fun about World of Warcraft."

Chen Hao was stunned for a moment, not expecting Lin Zhiyuan to say that.

"If you speak well, I'll reward you with a free class. If you don't speak well, you'll have to stand during my classes from now on."

Chen Hao hesitated for a moment, then stood up and walked to the podium. He cleared his throat and began to talk about World of Warcraft. He talked about the Alliance and the Horde, dungeons and battlegrounds, equipment and mounts. He spoke with great enthusiasm, gesturing wildly, his eyes shining, completely different from the person who had been sleeping on the table just moments before.

After speaking for about ten minutes, Lin Zhiyuan interrupted him.

"Okay, that's enough."

Chen Hao stopped and looked at him.

"You're right," Lin Zhiyuan said. "World of Warcraft is indeed very fun. But I want to ask you a question."

"What's the problem?"

"When you're playing games, have you ever encountered a scene that moved you? Have you ever felt that this game is more than just a game?"

Chen Hao thought for a moment and said, "Yes. Once I did a quest that fulfilled an old knight's dying wish. He asked me to deliver his sword to his son who lived far away. I traveled a long way and found his son, who was already a young knight. I gave him the sword, and he cried. At that moment, I felt that this game was more than just a game."

The classroom fell silent.

"That's the power of stories," Lin Zhiyuan said. "There are stories in games, stories in movies, and stories in novels. Language arts classes teach you how to understand stories and how to tell them well. You can feel the power of stories when you play games, so why can't you feel it in class?"

Chen Hao lowered his head and remained silent.

"Go back and sit down. From now on, you're not allowed to sleep in my classes. If you're bored, you can raise your hand and tell me, and we can talk about anything that interests you."

Chen Hao nodded and returned to his seat. He didn't sleep during that class.

four

In late September, Lin Zhiyuan returned to the county town.

He wasn't going back specifically for that purpose; he was going back to see his parents. They're getting old and their health isn't very good, so he goes back to see them at least once a month. Su Wanqing is busy with work and can't go back with him every time, but he still wants to go back alone.

By the time he arrived in the county town, it was almost noon. He first went to his parents' house, had lunch, drank tea with his father, and listened to his mother chatter about everyday matters for a while. In the afternoon, he went to the county's No. 1 Middle School.

The school was still the same. The sign at the school gate was faded, the leaves of the plane trees were turning yellow, and people were running on the playground. He walked in, and Old Zhong, the gatekeeper, poked his head out. Seeing him, he smiled: "Teacher Lin is back?"

"Uncle Chung, how are you feeling?"

"I'm fine. Are you back to see your students?"

"Come back and take a look."

He went up to the teaching building and went to the Chinese language group office. The door was open, and Shen Ruohan was sitting inside grading homework. When she saw him, she paused for a moment, then stood up.

"Teacher Lin? What brings you here?"

"I've come back to see you all."

"You still know to come back." Shen Ruohan smiled, poured him a glass of water, and said, "Sit down, let me tell you about school."

The two chatted for a while. Shen Ruohan said that several new teachers had joined the school this semester, all young and very energetic. Chen Mingyuan wasn't in good health; he had been hospitalized for a few days last month and was now recuperating at home. Wang Jianguo's wife had given birth to a son, and he was overjoyed, showing him off in his office every day.

"And you?" Lin Zhiyuan asked. "Are you alright?"

Shen Ruohan was silent for a moment, then said, "I'm divorced."

Lin Zhiyuan was stunned for a moment, not knowing what to say.

"It happened last year," Shen Ruohan said calmly. "I didn't tell anyone. The formalities were completed, and that was it."

"you……"

"I'm doing fine. It's peaceful being alone." Shen Ruohan smiled. "I'm focusing all my energy on teaching now. My students like me, and I like them too. That's enough."

Lin Zhiyuan looked at her, a feeling he couldn't quite describe welling up inside him. He wanted to say something comforting, but felt that nothing he said would be right.

"Teacher Shen, if there's anything I can help you with, just let me know."

"Thank you, Teacher Lin. You still think of us even after you've come to the city."

"I've lived here for five years, this is my home."

五

Lin Zhiyuan went to Wang Jianguo's office.

Wang Jianguo was grading homework when he saw him come in. He stood up and slapped him on the shoulder: "You little rascal, you're back?"

"I'm back."

"How's it going in the city? Is the new school any good?"

"It's great. The students here are harder to manage, but it's also more interesting."

Wang Jianguo smiled, poured him a cup of tea, and the two sat down to chat. Wang Jianguo talked a lot about school affairs—who got promoted, who transferred, who retired, and who had conflicts with whom. Lin Zhiyuan listened, feeling both a sense of familiarity and distance.

"Oh, right," Wang Jianguo suddenly remembered something, "Do you still have contact with Zhou Haitao, that kid?"

"Yes. He called me last month and said he was preparing for the postgraduate entrance exam."

"Taking the postgraduate entrance exam? Isn't he only a sophomore?"

"He prepared in advance. He said he wanted to apply for graduate school in Beijing and wanted to go to a bigger place."

Wang Jianguo sighed: "This child is promising. You've done a good job teaching him."

"It's all thanks to his own hard work."

"Don't be modest. Without you, he would have stopped studying long ago." Wang Jianguo picked up his teacup, took a sip, and said, "Zhiyuan, although you're gone, what you left behind will always remain."

Lin Zhiyuan didn't speak. He looked out the window, where the leaves of the sycamore tree were falling in the wind, one by one, like golden butterflies.

六

In early October, Lin Zhiyuan received a call from Zhou Haitao.

"Professor Lin, I've decided to take the postgraduate entrance exam."

Where should I take the exam?

"Beijing Normal University. Education major."

"Education is a good major. You're going to be a teacher in the future, so studying education will be useful."

"Teacher Lin, would you be happy if I passed the exam?"

Of course.

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone. Zhou Haitao's voice became somewhat choked: "Teacher Lin, sometimes I think, if I hadn't met you back then, what would I be like now? I might have dropped out of school long ago, I might be working outside, I might be farming. I don't dare to think about it."

"You don't need to think about those things right now. What you need to think about right now is how to get into Beijing Normal University's graduate program."

"Teacher Lin, you're still the same, always looking forward to things."

"How can you move forward if you don't look ahead?"

Zhou Haitao smiled. His laughter was much brighter than before; he was no longer the boy who kept his head down and dared not speak. He had grown up, matured, and had his own direction and goals.

"Teacher Lin, I'll come to the city to see you after I pass the exam."

"Okay. I'll wait for you."

Seven

In late October, Lin Xiaoxi came to see Lin Zhiyuan.

She came during break time, holding a notebook in her hand. She stood at the office door, hesitating for a long time before coming in.

"Teacher Lin, I wrote an article, could you please take a look at it?"

"Of course." Lin Zhiyuan took the notebook and opened it.

It's an essay about her grandmother. Her grandmother lives alone in the countryside, raising a few chickens and tending a small vegetable garden. She visits her grandmother every summer, but each time she feels her grandmother has aged further. At the end of the essay, she writes, "I know my grandmother will leave me someday, but I hope that day never comes."

After reading it, Lin Zhiyuan remained silent for a while.

"It's very well written," he said. "If you submit this to the school magazine, it'll definitely get published."

"Really?"

"Really. Your writing has a very special feel to it; it's not something you learned, it's innate. You should cherish this talent and read and write more."

Lin Xiaoxi's eyes lit up, she hugged the notebook to her chest and nodded vigorously.

"Thank you, Teacher Lin."

"You're welcome. Feel free to show me anything you write in the future."

Lin Xiaoxi left. Lin Zhiyuan sat in his chair, watching her skipping figure, and thought of Chen Yutong. They were the same age, with the same sensitive hearts. Chen Yutong was now a junior in college; her new novel had been published in a provincial literary journal. She sent Lin Zhiyuan a copy, with a note on the title page: "Teacher Lin, my second novel. I will continue writing."

Lin Zhiyuan placed the magazine on the bookshelf, next to Chen Yutong's first published work. The bookshelf grew longer and longer, as did the works of his students. Sometimes he would think that perhaps one day he would have many students who would become writers, teachers, or doctors. They would shine brightly in their respective fields, and he, somewhere, would be watching them silently, proud of them.