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

一

After the Spring Festival in 2007, Su Hang became a different person.

It wasn't a radical, earth-shattering change, but a gradual, subtle one. During breaks, he started putting down his books and standing in the hallway for a while. If someone greeted him, he would nod, sometimes even smiling. During PE class, he no longer sat alone under the shade of a tree, but went to the basketball court to watch others play. When someone scored, he would clap, and although the applause wasn't loud, everyone heard it.

"Su Hang, wanna play a game?" Chen Hao tossed the ball to him.

Su Hang caught the ball, hesitated for a moment, dribbled twice, and then shot. The ball spun around the rim once and fell out.

"It didn't go in," he said.

"It's okay, let's try again." Chen Hao picked up the ball and threw it back to him.

Su Hang submitted another shot, but it still didn't go in.

"Your hands are too stiff." Chen Hao walked over to him and taught him the hand gestures, "Use your fingers, but keep your wrist flexible. Like this."

Chen Hao threw in a shot, and it went in cleanly.

Su Hang stared thoughtfully at the still-bouncing basketball. He took another shot, and this time it went in. Although it wasn't a swish, at least it went in.

"It's in!" Chen Hao shouted.

Su Hang smiled. It was the first time Lin Zhiyuan had ever seen him smile so broadly, not a faint, polite smile, but a genuine smile from the heart, a smile of joy at having accomplished something small.

Lin Zhiyuan stood by the office window, watching the scene on the playground, a slight smile playing on his lips. He picked up his phone and took a picture. In the photo, Su Hang and Chen Hao stood under the basketball hoop, Su Hang's hand still in a shooting stance, Chen Hao smiling beside him, the sunlight casting long shadows of them.

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

two

In early March, Lin Zhiyuan received a letter from Zhou Haitao in Beijing.

It wasn't an email, nor a text message; it was a handwritten letter. In it, Zhou Haitao wrote that his studies at Peking University were intense but fulfilling. His advisor was very kind to him, and his classmates were also excellent. He spent every day in the library, reading many books he had never read before.

"Teacher Lin, I've recently been reading Ye Shengtao's 'Collected Essays on Language Education.' Mr. Ye said, 'Teaching is for the sake of not teaching.' I've thought about this for a long time, and I feel that this is exactly what you do. You don't just pour knowledge into us; you teach us to walk on our own. Thank you."

At the end of the letter, he wrote: "Professor Lin, I have a girlfriend. She is from the Chinese Department of Peking University and also likes literature. We get along very well."

Lin Zhiyuan smiled when he saw the last sentence. Zhou Haitao has a girlfriend. That boy who always kept his head down, afraid to look people in the eye, that guy who said, "I'm not worthy of my name," now has a girlfriend from the Chinese Literature department at Peking University. Time really does change everything.

He put the letter in the drawer, alongside the old ones. From the county town to the provincial capital, from the provincial capital to Beijing, Zhou Haitao's letters grew longer and more confident with each passing year. Looking at those letters was like looking at a person's life story. This was his most precious collection since he began teaching.

three

In mid-March, Xiao Siqi started crawling.

Su Wanqing placed her on the crawling mat. She spun around a few times, then suddenly seemed to have a flash of inspiration, using all four limbs to crawl out. She crawled very quickly, with a clear goal—Lin Zhiyuan's phone on the coffee table.

"Siqi, come back," Su Wanqing called out.

Little Siqi ignored her and continued crawling forward. She crawled to the edge of the coffee table, reached out her little hand, grabbed the phone, picked it up, looked at it over and over, and then put it in her mouth.

"Lin Zhiyuan! Your daughter ate your phone!"

Lin Zhiyuan ran out of his study and saw his daughter engrossed in chewing on his phone, the screen covered in saliva. He snatched the phone, wiped it, and saw a small tooth mark on the screen.

"Siqi, this is a cell phone, not a teething toy."

Xiao Siqi looked at him, blinked, pouted, and started to cry. The crying was deafening; the whole building could hear it.

"Alright, alright, I won't say anymore." Lin Zhiyuan quickly picked up his daughter and walked around the room trying to soothe her. Little Siqi nestled on his shoulder, sobbed a few times, and then quieted down. She reached out her little hand, grabbed Lin Zhiyuan's ear, and gave it a tug.

Lin Zhiyuan winced in pain, but did not flinch.

Su Wanqing watched from the side, laughing so hard she couldn't stand up straight.

four

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

This trip was specifically to visit Chen Mingyuan. Wang Jianguo said Chen Mingyuan was hospitalized again, and this time his condition was more serious than before. Upon receiving the news, Lin Zhiyuan took leave that very day and took the bus back to the county town.

Chen Mingyuan was staying in the internal medicine ward of the county hospital. When Lin Zhiyuan pushed open the door, he was lying on the bed with his eyes closed, an IV drip in his hand, and an IV line hanging at the head of the bed. His face was thinner than before, his cheekbones were high and protruding, and his skin was sallow, like an old newspaper.

"Teacher Chen," Lin Zhiyuan called softly.

Chen Mingyuan opened his eyes, saw him, paused for a moment, and then smiled. The smile was weak, but genuine.

"Kobayashi, what brings you here again?"

"I've come to see you."

"I'm fine, it's just an old problem." Chen Mingyuan tried to sit up, and Lin Zhiyuan quickly helped him and propped him up with pillows.

Lin Zhiyuan sat down by the bed and held Chen Mingyuan's hand. The hand was thin and cold, with distinct knuckles and clearly visible veins on the back.

"Teacher Chen, please take good care of yourself. When you get better, I'll bring Siqi to visit you."

"Siqi? Is she your daughter?"

"Yes. Almost a year old."

"Can you walk yet?"

"Not yet. But he can crawl now. He crawls very fast."

Chen Mingyuan laughed, but then he coughed. Lin Zhiyuan poured him a glass of water, which he took a sip to calm himself down.

"Kobayashi, I need to tell you something."

"Please speak."

"I've taught for over thirty years in my life. I've seen many students and seen many leave. Some I can't remember, some I can't forget. You are one of those I can't forget."

Lin Zhiyuan's eyes welled up with tears.

"It's not because you're particularly capable," Chen Mingyuan said softly, looking at the ceiling. "It's because you, like me, treat your students like your own children. A teacher can only teach well if they have their students in their heart. You have your students in your heart, that's why you can teach well."

"Teacher Chen, it was you who taught me."

"I taught you some things, but you have to walk your own path." Chen Mingyuan turned to look at him. "Xiao Lin, remember this: a teacher should never forget why they became a teacher. It's not for the salary, not for the honor, but for those children. Remember that."

"I've got it."

Chen Mingyuan nodded and closed his eyes. He was tired. Lin Zhiyuan sat by the bed, looking at his aged face, a pang of indescribable sorrow in his heart. This old man had taught in this county town his entire life, seeing over three thousand students graduate. He had no money, no fame, but he had over three thousand students. These three thousand people were scattered all over the country, doing different jobs and living different lives. Many of them no longer remembered Chen Mingyuan. But Lin Zhiyuan knew that without people like Chen Mingyuan, many of them wouldn't be where they are today.

He stood up, tucked the blanket around Chen Mingyuan, and turned to leave.

As he reached the door, he heard a faint voice behind him: "Xiao Lin."

He turned around.

"Teach well."

"I will. Take care, Teacher Chen."

五

One evening in early April, Lin Zhiyuan received a call from Wang Jianguo.

"Zhiyuan, Teacher Chen has passed away."

Lin Zhiyuan stood on the balcony, phone in hand, gazing at the distant sky. The setting sun was painting the entire sky orange-red. He stood there, motionless, like a stone statue.

"Zhiyuan, can you hear me?" Wang Jianguo's voice was choked with emotion.

"I heard you."

"He passed away peacefully. In the afternoon, he told me he wanted to see me, but I wasn't in town. He said, 'Then let's wait until next time.' He left that evening."

Lin Zhiyuan remained silent. He gazed at the clouds on the horizon, which were tinged with purple and pink by the setting sun, like a watercolor painting. He remembered Chen Mingyuan standing in the corridor watching the snow, drinking tea from his enamel mug, and telling him to "teach well."

"Zhiyuan, are you alright?"

"I'm fine," he said. "Old Wang, when is Teacher Chen's memorial service?"

"The day after tomorrow morning. County funeral home."

"I'm going back."

After hanging up the phone, Lin Zhiyuan stood on the balcony for a long time. Su Wanqing walked over carrying Xiao Siqi and saw his red eyes, but didn't say anything. She handed Xiao Siqi to him, and Xiao Siqi reached out his little hand to touch his face, babbling something.

Lin Zhiyuan held his daughter, burying his face in her shoulder. He didn't cry out loud, but his shoulders were trembling. Little Siqi nestled quietly in his arms, neither crying nor fussing, as if she knew her father needed quiet.

六

The memorial service was held at the county funeral home.

Lin Zhiyuan returned to the county town a day early. By the time he arrived, it was already dark. He didn't go to his parents' house, but went straight to the county's No. 1 High School. The school gate was closed, but the light in the gatehouse was on. He knocked on the door, and Old Man Zhong poked his head out, paused for a moment when he saw him.

"Teacher Lin? It's so late..."

"Uncle Zhong, I'd like to go inside and take a look."

Old Zhong glanced at him, asked no further questions, and opened the door.

Lin Zhiyuan walked into the school. The playground was quiet, the moonlight shining on the cinder track, making it appear white and glistening like a layer of salt. The sycamore leaves were just sprouting, a tender green, swaying gently in the night breeze. He walked to the foot of the teaching building and looked up at the fourth floor. The light in that classroom was off, and it was pitch black.

He stood there for a while, then turned and left.

Many people came to the memorial service. Chen Mingyuan's family, relatives, friends, colleagues, and students. Lin Zhiyuan sat in the third row, next to Wang Jianguo. Shen Ruohan sat on his other side, wearing a black dress, her hair tied up, and her face very pale.

At the memorial service, the principal read the eulogy. When he read, "Teacher Chen Mingyuan dedicated 31 years to teaching, nurturing countless students," some people in the audience wept. Lin Zhiyuan did not cry. He sat there, his expression calm, his eyes fixed straight ahead.

Chen Mingyuan's son spoke on behalf of the family. He said, "My father's proudest achievement in his life wasn't us, but his students. Before he passed away, he told me that his greatest wealth in life was his students."

Lin Zhiyuan closed his eyes. He remembered what Chen Mingyuan had said—"I've taught over three thousand students. Some went to university, some didn't. Some are doing well, some aren't. But no matter what they're like now, I remember them all."

I remember them.

Lin Zhiyuan would remember those words. He would remember every word Chen Mingyuan said. He would remember every student, just like Chen Mingyuan. No matter where they went in the future, no matter what they became, he would remember them. He would remember their names, their faces, and every expression they made in class.

After the memorial service, Lin Zhiyuan walked to Chen Mingyuan's portrait and bowed deeply three times.

He straightened up and looked at Chen Mingyuan in the photo. Chen Mingyuan in the photo was still very young, with black hair and shallow wrinkles on his face. He was wearing a white polyester shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and he was smiling gently.

"Teacher Chen, don't worry. I will teach well."

He turned around and left.

Seven

In mid-April, Lin Zhiyuan returned to Yucai Middle School.

When he walked into the classroom, the students all looked at him. They didn't know where he had been or why he had asked for leave. But they could tell from his expression what he had been through.

No one asked.

Lin Zhiyuan stood on the podium, looking at the sixty faces below. He took a deep breath and began to speak.

"Class, we won't have a lesson today. I'm going to tell you a story."

He told the story of Chen Mingyuan. He told him that he taught for thirty-one years and taught more than three thousand students. He told him that he arrived at school at six o'clock every morning and did not leave until ten o'clock at night. He told him that when he retired, he said, "I have taught for thirty-one years, which is not a long time, but it is not a short time either." He told him that before he died, he said, "My greatest wealth is my students."

He spoke calmly, without any emotional appeal or exaggeration; he simply stated his facts in a straightforward manner. After he finished, the classroom was very quiet. So quiet that you could hear the wind outside the window.

"Students, why am I telling this story?" He looked at them. "Because I want you to know that there are people in this world who work quietly, doing unassuming jobs and earning meager wages. But they change many people's lives. Your teachers are such people. Your parents may also be such people."

He paused, looking at the faces below.

"I hope that in the future, no matter what job you do, you can become this kind of person. Not to make others remember you, but to make this world a little better because of you."

The bell rang, signaling the end of get out of class.

That's all for today. get out of class dismissed.

The students stood up, not rushing out of the classroom as usual. They stood there, looking at Lin Zhiyuan, as if waiting for him to say something. Lin Zhiyuan didn't say anything more. He picked up his lesson plan and walked out of the classroom.

Eight

In May, Xiao Siqi was able to stand up.

She used the sofa for support, stood up unsteadily, stood for a few seconds, and then plopped down. She stood up again, then sat down again. Stand up, sit down. Stand up, sit down. She repeated this action tirelessly, giggling with each success.

"She'll be able to walk soon," Su Wanqing said.

"It's still early. She's just learned to stand."

"It'll be soon. Just you wait and see."

Sure enough, less than a week later, Xiao Siqi took her first step. She stood up, holding onto the sofa, let go of the sofa, took a step towards Lin Zhiyuan, and then fell to the ground. She didn't cry; she looked up at Lin Zhiyuan, her eyes bright.

"Siqi, come here." Lin Zhiyuan squatted down and stretched out his hand to her.

Xiao Siqi got up, took another step, and fell down again. She crawled two steps, stood up again, and took another step.

Three steps.

She took three steps.

Lin Zhiyuan scooped her up in his arms and lifted her into the air. Little Siqi giggled, her laughter as clear and crisp as a bell.

"Siqi can walk now!" Lin Zhiyuan shouted.

Su Wanqing ran out of the kitchen and saw this scene, her eyes reddening.

"She really is leaving."

"Yes. She really is leaving."

That night, Lin Zhiyuan wrote a sentence in his diary: "On May 17, 2007, Siqi took her first step in life. She took three steps. She will go even further."

nine

The National College Entrance Examination (Gaokao) will be held in early June.

Lin Zhiyuan wasn't going to see his students off to the exam this year; they wouldn't take it until next year. But he still went to the exam site, not as a teacher, but as an ordinary person. He stood at the school gate, watching the students walk in, and thought of his own college entrance exam, of Zhou Haitao's, and of Chen Mingyuan seeing his students off.

Generation after generation, one generation after another.

He stood at the school gate for a while, then turned and left.

In mid-June, Su Hang won a silver medal in the National Physics Competition. It wasn't gold, but it was still the best result ever achieved by Yucai Middle School. The school awarded him a bonus, and the principal praised him at a school assembly. Su Hang stood on the stage, holding the certificate, his expression remaining calm.

Lin Zhiyuan clapped from the audience until his hands turned red.

That evening, Su Hang sent Lin Zhiyuan a text message: "Teacher Lin, thank you. Without you, I wouldn't have participated in the competition. Without you, I'd probably still be sitting alone under the shade of a tree."

Lin Zhiyuan replied, "You don't need to thank me. You should thank yourself. You got through this on your own."

Su Hang replied, "Teacher Lin, I want to be a teacher in the future."

Lin Zhiyuan stared at the text message for a moment, stunned.

Why?

"Because I want to be like you."

Lin Zhiyuan held his phone, unsure how to reply. He remembered Zhou Haitao's words—"Teacher Lin, I want to be a teacher someday. I want to be like you, returning to my hometown to teach children like me." Now Su Hang was saying—"I also want to become someone like you."

He replied, "Okay. Then you must study hard and get into a good teachers' college."

"I will. Don't worry, Teacher Lin."

Lin Zhiyuan placed his phone on the table, leaned back in his chair, and stared at the ceiling. A gentle night breeze blew outside, causing the curtains to sway slightly. He thought, perhaps this is the greatest meaning of being a teacher—not because of what you say in class, but because you, as a person, influence another person's life. This influence will continue to be passed down, from generation to generation, never ceasing.

Ten

June 30th marked the end of the first half of 2007.

Lin Zhiyuan sat in his study, flipping through his diary entries from the past six months. Every day from January to June was recorded, some long, some short, some happy, some sad. He came across the page for March, which read, "Teacher Chen is hospitalized; I went back to see him." He then came across the page for April, which read, "Teacher Chen has passed away." He paused on that page, staring at it for a long time.

Then he turned to the May page, which read, "Siqi can walk now." Seeing this, a slight smile appeared on his lips. Birth, aging, sickness, and death; joy and sorrow, separation and reunion—this is life. Some leave, some arrive; some are on the road, some are at the end. He stood in the middle of the road, watching the people coming and going, a strange peace settling over him.

He closed his diary, stood up, and walked to the living room. Su Wanqing was watching TV on the sofa, and Xiao Siqi was asleep on her lap.

"Is she asleep?" Lin Zhiyuan asked in a low voice.

"She's asleep. She was just refusing to sleep, but she fell asleep as soon as the TV was turned on."

Lin Zhiyuan sat down next to Su Wanqing, looking at his daughter's sleeping face. She looked like an angel when she slept, with long eyelashes, her mouth slightly open, and her breathing even and gentle.

"Lin Zhiyuan."

"Um?"

"What kind of person do you think Siqi will become in the future?"

Lin Zhiyuan thought for a moment and said, "No matter what kind of person she becomes, as long as she is kind, upright, and happy, that's enough."

Su Wanqing looked at him and smiled.

"You have such high expectations for your students, but you don't have any expectations for your own daughter."

"Because the students are other people's children, I can't hold them back. My daughter is my own, and I just want her to be happy."

Su Wanqing didn't speak. She rested her head on his shoulder, and the two of them sat like that, watching some program on TV, listening to their daughter's even breathing.

A gentle night breeze blew outside the window, causing the curtains to sway slightly. Occasionally, a car would pass by on the distant street, its headlights flashing like fireflies.

Lin Zhiyuan closed his eyes, silently thinking: The second half of the year is a new beginning. New students, new challenges, new hopes. He didn't know what awaited him, but he knew he would keep going, step by step. Just like Siqi's first step in life—shaky, possibly falling at any moment, but still moving forward.

Keep moving forward, don't look back.