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

一

In late December, the county town experienced its first snowfall.

It was more like sleet than snow, fine and scattered, melting as soon as it hit the ground. But for this small southern town, it was a rare sight. During breaks, students leaned over the corridor railings, reaching out to catch it, screaming and laughing, as if it were New Year's Day.

Lin Zhiyuan stood by the office window, watching the lively scene on the playground. Chen Mingyuan walked over carrying an enamel mug and glanced out as well: "It's so nice to be young. They're this happy over a little snow."

"Teacher Chen, how many years have you been teaching?"

"This is the thirty-first year." Chen Mingyuan said this in a very calm tone, as if he were talking about something very ordinary.

Thirty-one years. Lin Zhiyuan did the math in his head; it was longer than the days he had actually lived.

"Thirty-one years, have you ever thought about... changing careers?"

Chen Mingyuan glanced at him and smiled: "I've thought about it. I think about it every year. Especially when I'm grading papers at the end of the semester, when I get to those nonsensical essays, I think, why do I have to suffer like this? I could be doing anything else."

Lin Zhiyuan smiled.

"But," Chen Mingyuan took a sip of tea, "every September 1st, when I stand on the podium and see a bunch of new faces sitting below, I feel like I can do this job for another year. I've been doing it for thirty-one years, and that's how I've persevered year after year."

He paused, looking out the window: "This line of work, when you put it bluntly, boils down to four words—treat others as you would like to be treated. If you open your heart to your students, they'll open their hearts to you. If you deceive them, they'll deceive you. It's that simple."

Lin Zhiyuan didn't speak. He looked at the snow outside the window, wondering if he could also work for thirty-one years.

two

After New Year's Day, with final exams approaching, the atmosphere on campus became tense.

Lin Zhiyuan experienced for the first time what "exam-oriented education" truly meant. Normally, classes could involve discussing literature and life, but by the end of the semester, everyone was cramming for exams. Chen Mingyuan copied stack after stack of exam papers, the smell of the mimeograph machine permeating the entire hallway.

"Does Chinese language education also need to rely on a sea of ​​questions?" Lin Zhiyuan asked.

"We have no choice but to do it." Chen Mingyuan didn't even look up. "Parents look at grades, principals look at average scores, and the county education bureau ranks students. You're talking to me about holistic education? Go talk to the parents."

Lin Zhiyuan fell silent. He began assigning a large number of practice problems, grading them until late at night every day. He used up one red pen refill after another, and his fingers developed calluses.

One evening during self-study, he was explaining reading comprehension test-taking techniques on the podium when he suddenly saw Liu Qiang asleep on the table.

"Liu Qiang".

no response.

"Liu Qiang!" he raised his voice.

Liu Qiang suddenly raised his head, a trace of drool still hanging from the corner of his mouth, looking at him in a daze.

"Stand up."

Liu Qiang stood up, a nonchalant expression on his face. Lin Zhiyuan had seen this expression before—when he was in school, those classmates who didn't like to study always had this expression when the teacher called on them.

"What did I just say?"

"have no idea."

"Don't know? Then I'll say it again. You can stand and listen."

Lin Zhiyuan continued lecturing. Liu Qiang stood there, neither speaking nor listening, just staring blankly at the blackboard. After class, Lin Zhiyuan called him to his office.

"What's been going on with you lately?"

"Nothing much," Liu Qiang said, leaning against the wall with a nonchalant air.

"You don't hand in your homework, and you sleep in class. You weren't like this before."

Liu Qiang was silent for a while, then suddenly said, "Teacher Lin, I don't want to study anymore."

Lin Zhiyuan was taken aback: "Why?"

"It's pointless," Liu Qiang said. "What's the use of studying? My dad didn't even finish elementary school, but he works in Guangdong and earns a little over three thousand a month. If I finish high school and don't get into university, won't I end up working anyway? I might as well go now."

Lin Zhiyuan looked at him. When this boy started school, he said, "I came to the county's No. 1 High School because I didn't want to farm at home," but now he says he's not going to study anymore.

Does your dad know?

"have no idea."

"Have you discussed this with him?"

"What are we going to discuss? He hardly ever calls home all year round." Liu Qiang's voice lowered. "My mom sells vegetables at a stall in town. I can help her out when I go back."

Lin Zhiyuan remained silent for a long time. He wanted to say something like "studying changes destiny," but the words stuck in his throat. He remembered when he was in high school, some of his classmates dropped out. He couldn't remember all their names now.

"There are still three weeks until the final exams," Lin Zhiyuan said. "Why don't you finish this semester first? We'll talk about it after you're done, okay?"

Liu Qiang hesitated for a moment, then nodded.

After Liu Qiang left, Lin Zhiyuan sat in his office, lost in thought. The night wind outside was cold, rattling the windows. He suddenly realized that being a teacher wasn't just about giving lessons, grading homework, and maintaining discipline. There were things that were much harder than that.

three

The next day, Lin Zhiyuan went to see Wang Jianguo.

Wang Jianguo teaches math and is also a homeroom teacher, so he has a few more years of experience than Liu Qiang. After hearing about Liu Qiang's situation, Wang Jianguo sighed: "This kind of thing happens in every class. Two students have already left my class this semester."

"Gone?"

"One went to Guangdong to work with his father. The other found a job as an apprentice at a car repair shop in the county town." Wang Jianguo lit a cigarette. "You can't stop him. Even if you stop him this time, he'll still leave next time. His heart isn't in it, you can't keep him."

"So, we'll just leave it at that?"

Wang Jianguo took a drag of his cigarette and thought for a moment: "Go talk to his parents. If they support his education, there's still a way. If they don't care, then don't take it too seriously."

Lin Zhiyuan didn't really like the saying "don't take it too seriously." But Wang Jianguo had been through it all, so his words probably made sense.

Over the weekend, Lin Zhiyuan rode his bicycle for half an hour to the town where Liu Qiang lived. Liu Qiang's mother had a stall at the town's vegetable market, and when he found her, she was haggling with a customer.

"Are you Liu Qiang's teacher?" The woman was in her early forties, with deep wrinkles on her face and cracks all over her hands.

"Yes, my surname is Lin, and I teach Chinese."

"Has Liu Qiang gotten into trouble again?"

"No, he's fine. It's just..." Lin Zhiyuan hesitated for a moment, "...he said he doesn't want to study anymore."

The woman's face turned pale instantly. She wiped her hands on her apron, remained silent for a long time, and then said, "Teacher, to tell you the truth, his father works away from home and is never home. I sell vegetables by myself, and I only earn twenty or thirty yuan a day. If Liu Qiang came back and could lend me a hand, it would definitely make things easier for me."

Lin Zhiyuan's heart sank.

"But," the woman looked up, her eyes reddening, "his father said he'd sell everything he owns to support him through high school. Our lives are what they are, he can't be like that too."

As she spoke, she pulled a crumpled wad of money from her pocket, counted it, and stuffed it into Lin Zhiyuan's hand: "Teacher, this is Liu Qiang's tuition for next semester. Please keep it for me. Tell him that Mom doesn't need his help, and that he just needs to focus on his studies."

Lin Zhiyuan didn't take the money. He pushed it back and said, "Auntie, please keep the money. I'll talk to Liu Qiang."

four

On the way back to school, it started raining and snowing again.

Lin Zhiyuan's bicycle had no mudguards, and mud splashed all over his trousers. He rode slowly, his mind replaying Liu Qiang's mother's words: the crumpled stack of money, her cracked hands, and the words, "This is how our lives are, he can't be like this too."

He thought of his mother.

His mother was the same kind of person. She worked as a private school teacher for over twenty years, her salary increasing from tens of yuan to hundreds of yuan, without ever complaining. Part of his university tuition was saved up by his mother through frugal living.

When they arrived at school, he called Liu Qiang to the edge of the playground. The sycamore trees had all lost their leaves, and the bare branches swayed in the wind.

"I've gone to see your mother."

Liu Qiang lowered his head and kicked at the pebbles at his feet.

"Your mom said you don't need to help."

"That's what she always says."

"She told you to study hard."

Liu Qiang fell silent.

Lin Zhiyuan looked at the boy. He wasn't really good at having heart-to-heart talks with students; he hadn't taught that in college. He could only rely on his instincts and say things he wasn't even sure about himself.

"Liu Qiang, let me tell you something. When I was in high school, there was a guy in my class who had terrible grades, and the teachers didn't care about him. He felt bored and wanted to drop out. Later, his homeroom teacher talked to him, and I don't know what he said, but he didn't drop out. Later, that guy got into university and is now in Shenzhen, doing better than anyone else."

"Who is that person?" Liu Qiang looked up.

"I made it up," Lin Zhiyuan said.

Liu Qiang paused for a moment, then laughed. It was the first time Lin Zhiyuan had ever seen him laugh so genuinely.

"But what I'm saying makes sense," Lin Zhiyuan said. "You feel it's meaningless now because you don't know what the future holds. You think that if you go to work, you'll earn three thousand yuan a month, and that's it. But have you thought about what will happen in three years, five years, ten years? You might work for ten years and still be just a wage earner. But if you go to school, things might be different."

"Maybe."

"Yes, maybe. Nothing is 100% certain. But for that 'maybe,' you should give it a try."

Liu Qiang remained silent for a long time. Several students were running on the playground, their footsteps making a pattering sound.

"Teacher Lin, I'll give it a try."

五

The final exam is on the 20th of the twelfth lunar month.

After finishing the last exam, Lin Zhiyuan collected the papers and walked out of the classroom to find the corridor full of students. They were discussing the answers, some beaming with excitement, others looking dejected. Sun Xiaolei ran over: "Teacher Lin, you guessed the essay topic!"

"I didn't guess that. It's because you guys reviewed it."

"Whatever, you guessed it anyway." She grinned. "Teacher Lin, is there a lot of homework for winter break?"

"Not much. Read two books and write a book review."

"What book?"

"Ordinary World," by Lu Yao.

"I don't want to watch it just by hearing the name." Sun Xiaolei wrinkled her nose.

"You'll think about it after you read it."

On the day winter vacation started, Lin Zhiyuan stood at the school gate, watching the students leave one by one. Some rode bicycles, some walked, and some were picked up by their parents. Zhou Haitao was the last to come out, carrying an old schoolbag on his back and holding a copy of "Selected Essays of Wang Zengqi" in his hand.

"Have you finished reading the book?" Lin Zhiyuan asked.

"I've finished watching it."

"What's your reading response?"

"Not written yet."

Write this during winter break. Hand it in when school starts.

Zhou Haitao nodded, took a few steps, then turned back and said, "Happy New Year, Teacher Lin."

Happy Chinese New Year.

Watching Zhou Haitao's thin figure disappear around the street corner, Lin Zhiyuan suddenly felt a little reluctant to part with him. These past six months had flown by, it felt like school had just started yesterday.

He returned to his dorm and began packing. He was going home too, back to his parents' house for the Lunar New Year. He was saying goodbye to this 15-square-meter dorm room, where he had spent the past six months.

There was a stack of composition books on the table, containing the last composition of the semester. The title was "This Year." He hadn't finished revising it yet and planned to take it home to finish.

I randomly flipped open a book, and it was by Chen Yutong.

"That year, I entered high school. High school wasn't as fun as I had imagined. Chinese class wasn't as interesting as I had imagined—except for Mr. Lin's class. Mr. Lin's class was sometimes quite boring, but at least he didn't make us copy the text. He let us write what we wanted to write. I thought that was great."

"This year, I found myself very lonely. Not that I have no friends, but that no one understands me. Maybe this is what growing up is like. Growing up means becoming more and more lonely."

"But being alone isn't so bad. When I'm lonely, I can read books. The people in books are much lonelier than I am."

After reading it, Lin Zhiyuan picked up a red pen, thought for a long time, and wrote a sentence:

"Loneliness is an inevitable part of growing up. But you are not alone."

He closed his composition book and put it in his bag. Outside the window, the setting sun painted the playground orange-red, and on the distant hills, the shadows of the pine trees stretched long.

The first semester has come to an end.

六

On the eve of the Lunar New Year, Lin Zhiyuan had his New Year's Eve dinner at his hometown.

My mother cooked a table full of dishes, and my father opened a bottle of baijiu (Chinese liquor). The Spring Festival Gala was playing on TV, featuring a skit by Zhao Benshan and Song Dandan, and laughter filled the living room.

"Zhiyuan, how's the literary society at your school doing?" his mother asked.

"It's alright. There aren't many people, but they're all sticking with it."

"Stop with all that fancy stuff," the father said, taking a sip of his drink. "Focus on teaching well and getting good grades. If your grades are good, you can do whatever you want. If your grades aren't good, no one will recognize your efforts, no matter how fancy they are."

Lin Zhiyuan did not refute. He knew his father was right.

"Oh, right," the mother suddenly remembered something, "Your Aunt Wang came to visit a few days ago and said her niece is a doctor at the county hospital, a year younger than you, and still single. When would you like to arrange a meeting?"

"mom--"

"Don't call me 'Mom'." His mother glared at him. "You're twenty-three already. When I was twenty-three, you were almost a year old."

Lin Zhiyuan was both amused and exasperated. He glanced at his father, who pretended not to hear and remained focused on watching television.

"Alright," he conceded, "we'll talk about it after the New Year."

At midnight, the sound of firecrackers was deafening. Lin Zhiyuan stood on the balcony, watching the fireworks fill the sky. The fireworks in the small county town weren't spectacular, just scattered, but they were still beautiful in the night.

His phone rang. Back then, cell phones weren't common; he used a pager, which he bought after starting work. The screen displayed a message: "Happy New Year, Teacher Lin. — Zhou Haitao"

He didn't know where Zhou Haitao had found the pager number. Maybe it was on the registration form. He held the pager in his hand, feeling that this thing had never felt so warm before.

A few more messages came in after a while. They were from Sun Xiaolei, Chen Yutong, and a few other students. He read each one several times, then went back to his dormitory—no, he wasn't in his dormitory, he was at home. But what he was thinking about was that 15-square-meter dilapidated room, that creaky wooden bed, and that window facing the playground.

He wants to go back to school.