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

一

On the afternoon of the day the final exams ended, Lin Zhiyuan was organizing the exam papers in his office.

More than a hundred exam papers, stacked in three piles, awaited his grading one by one. As usual, final exam results were released three days later; time was tight and the task was heavy. Chen Mingyuan said, "Don't go to sleep until you've finished grading them." He was serious.

Lin Zhiyuan had just finished revising a dozen or so documents when Wang Jianguo pushed open the door and came in, carrying two bottles of beer.

"Zhiyuan, don't change it yet, have a drink."

"I have so many exam papers—"

"I'll revise it tomorrow. The exam's over today, time to relax."

Lin Zhiyuan hesitated for a moment, then took the beer. Wang Jianguo opened another bottle, clinked it against his, and took a big gulp.

"How are you feeling this semester?" Wang Jianguo asked.

"It's alright. It's easier than last semester."

"Nonsense, of course it's easy. You're not stupid." Wang Jianguo wiped his mouth. "Let me tell you, the hardest year of being a teacher is the first year. Once you get through the first year, things will be easier. You did pretty well not to cause any major trouble in your first year."

Lin Zhiyuan thought about it and agreed with Wang Jianguo. This year had indeed passed without any major incidents. No students had accidents, no parents caused trouble, and no leaders criticized them. Although it was uneventful, uneventful was a good thing.

"By the way," Wang Jianguo suddenly lowered his voice, "how are things going between you and Dr. Su?"

"fine."

"How's it going? Have you made a decision yet?"

Lin Zhiyuan took a sip of beer: "It's settled. She said she'd be my girlfriend."

Wang Jianguo slapped him on the shoulder, almost knocking him over: "Good lad! I told you two were a good match! My wife said that Dr. Su is kind-hearted, down-to-earth, and not snobbish. You made the right choice in choosing her."

Lin Zhiyuan smiled. He knew Wang Jianguo was right. Su Wanqing was indeed the best girl he had ever met. But he didn't need anyone to tell him just how good she was.

"What are your plans for next semester?" Wang Jianguo asked again.

"I'll be teaching the second-year high school students. Still these two classes."

Regarding the choice of academic track, are there many students in your class who chose humanities?

"The statistics haven't been compiled yet, but there should be quite a few."

"Then you'd better be prepared. Humanities students have more Chinese language classes than science students. You might have extra classes."

Lin Zhiyuan nodded. He was thinking to himself that he might have to teach Chinese to three classes next semester, which would mean a heavier workload. But that also meant he would be dealing with more students.

Wang Jianguo finished the last sip of his beer, stood up, and patted his pants. "Alright, you can grade the papers now. I'm going back to sleep. I still have to grade math papers tomorrow, over a hundred. Just thinking about it gives me a headache."

He walked to the door, then turned back and said, "Zhiyuan, don't just focus on dating during summer vacation. Get some rest. You'll be busy next semester."

The door closed. Only Lin Zhiyuan remained in the office, along with a large stack of test papers on the table.

He turned on the lamp, picked up a red pen, and began to make changes.

two

The essay topic for the final exam was set by Chen Mingyuan.

The topic was simple: "My Dream".

When Lin Zhiyuan was grading this essay, he felt a bit conflicted. He thought, isn't this just a rehash of "My Name"? Only the title has changed. But the students' answers were much more diverse than he had expected.

Sun Xiaolei wrote: "My dream is to be a journalist. I want to go to many places, meet many people, and write down their stories. I feel that there are many people in this world who deserve to be seen."

Liu Qiang wrote: "My dream is to open a shop. Any kind of shop will do, as long as it sells things. I don't want to work for others, I want to work for myself."

Zhao Xiaoman wrote: "My dream is to go to Beijing. I've never been to Beijing, but I want to go and see it. My dad says Beijing is huge, so big you'll lose your way. I want to try and see if I can find my way."

Chen Yutong wrote: "My dream is to be a writer. I'll write novels, essays, anything. I want many people to read my writing, just like I read Sanmao."

Zhou Haitao's essay was the last one that Lin Zhiyuan revised.

He wrote very slowly, each word as if carved with a knife.

"My dream is to leave this place."

"It's not because I hate this place. This is my home, my parents are here, my fields are here, and the road I've walked since I was a child is here. But I still want to leave. I want to see the outside world. I want to know if I can survive outside. I want to know if I'm only considered a person on this land."

"Last semester, Teacher Lin said that reading is about finding yourself in books. I found Sun Shao-ping in 'Ordinary World.' Sun Shao-ping left Shuangshui Village. I want to leave too."

"But I don't want to run away like Sun Shao-ping. I want to leave with my head held high. I want to get into university, hold my acceptance letter, tell my dad, 'Dad, I'm leaving.' And then I'll leave."

"This might be something very far away. So far that I don't even dare to think about it. But I still have to think about it. If I don't even dare to think about it, then I'll really be stuck here for the rest of my life."

After Lin Zhiyuan finished reading, the red pen hovered over the paper, not falling for a long time.

He wanted to write something, but felt there was no need. Zhou Haitao had already said everything he wanted to say; anything he said would be superfluous.

In the end, he only wrote one word on the composition book: "Good".

three

Lin Zhiyuan breathed a sigh of relief the day the results came out.

The average Chinese language score of the two classes ranked third and third out of the eight classes in the grade. This was a slight improvement over the midterm exam. Chen Mingyuan praised him at the teaching and research group meeting: "Xiao Lin is good. To achieve this in his first year shows he's put in a lot of effort."

After the meeting, Chen Mingyuan kept him behind alone.

"Xiaolin, you'll continue teaching these two classes next semester. I've looked at the subject preferences, and more students in these two classes have chosen humanities, so we might have to regroup them. Be prepared to be their homeroom teacher."

"Become a homeroom teacher?" Lin Zhiyuan was a little surprised.

"Yes. Of the two classes you're in, one will be split up and reorganized, with the liberal arts students grouped into one class. The school's intention is for you to be the homeroom teacher of that liberal arts class."

"Am I capable?"

Chen Mingyuan glanced at him: "Don't you know whether you're capable or not?"

Lin Zhiyuan fell silent. He knew what being a homeroom teacher meant—more responsibility, more time, more trouble. But at the same time, he also knew that this was the path every teacher had to take.

"I'll give it a try," he said.

"It's not about trying," Chen Mingyuan corrected him, "it's about doing. You'll know once you do it."

When Lin Zhiyuan walked out of the office, the sun was blazing. The playground was deserted, save for the cicadas chirping. Looking at the empty campus, a strange feeling suddenly welled up inside him. It wasn't nervousness, nor excitement, but a heavy sense of peace.

He's going to be a homeroom teacher.

He is now responsible for the lives of more than fifty children.

four

Lin Zhiyuan was busy during the first week of summer vacation.

He first thoroughly cleaned the dormitory. For the peeling paint on the walls, he bought some lime and cleaned it himself. He went to the general affairs office to replace the broken pane of glass in the window. The bed creaked, so he put some cardboard under it, which helped.

Su Wanqing came to the school to find him and saw him painting the wall. She stood at the door and laughed for a long time.

"Teacher Lin, you can do this too?"

"No. I was just randomly refreshing the page."

Su Wanqing walked in, looked at the plaster on the wall, and touched it: "It's not painted very evenly."

"As long as it's a place to live, it's fine."

"Your expectations are too low."

Lin Zhiyuan wiped the lime on his hands on a rag: "Aren't you on duty during summer vacation?"

"It's worth it. But it's a bit more relaxing than usual." Su Wanqing sat down on the edge of the bed. "Your school is so quiet. It's completely different from the hospital."

What's that sound coming from the hospital?

"There were people crying, shouting, cursing, and the heart monitors beeping. It was never quiet."

Lin Zhiyuan sat down next to her, the two of them side by side. The cicadas outside were chirping loudly, and the heat wave rushed in through the gauze curtains.

"Su Wanqing".

"Um?"

"Do you think we'll always be like this?"

"How has it always been?"

"That's it. It's nice to just sit together and do nothing."

Su Wanqing tilted her head and thought for a moment: "I don't know. But at least things are fine now."

Lin Zhiyuan turned to look at her. She wasn't looking at him; she was staring intently at the unevenly painted patch of whitewash on the wall, her expression serious, as if she were studying some profound problem.

He reached out and took her hand.

She didn't shrink back.

The two sat there, listening to the cicadas chirping outside the window, neither speaking. The smell of lime water permeated the air, mingled with the characteristic hot, humid scent of summer. It was an utterly ordinary afternoon, so ordinary that it would be easily forgotten unless one deliberately tried to remember it.

But Lin Zhiyuan felt that he would probably remember it for a long time.

五

At the end of July, Lin Zhiyuan returned to his hometown.

His parents lived in an old residential area in the north of the county town. It was a three-story house with two bedrooms and a living room, and they had lived there for almost twenty years. When he arrived home, his mother was busy in the kitchen, and his father was sitting in the living room watching TV.

"You're back?" His father glanced at him, then looked back at the television.

"Yeah. Summer vacation has started."

"How's work?"

"It's alright. I might be a homeroom teacher next semester."

His father turned around and looked at him seriously: "Being a homeroom teacher isn't easy. Be prepared."

"I know."

"Good to know." The father turned back to watch TV.

The mother brought out a plate of watermelon from the kitchen and placed it on the table: "Zhiyuan, have a piece of watermelon first, the meal will be ready in a little while."

Lin Zhiyuan took a piece of melon, took a bite, and found it very sweet.

"Mom, I have something to tell you."

"What is it?"

"I got a girlfriend."

The mother paused for a moment, then her smile blossomed like a flower: "Really? Whose daughter is she? What does she do? How old is she?"

"The doctor at the county hospital is named Su Wanqing, and she's a year younger than you."

"Hello, doctor!" The mother wiped her hands, then wiped them several times on her apron. "How is it growing? When will you bring it home to see?"

"We've only been talking for a short time, let's wait a bit longer."

"What are you waiting for? You're already twenty-three!" the mother exclaimed anxiously. "Your Aunt Wang introduced you? I'll have to thank her properly another day."

The father coughed lightly beside him: "Don't rush the child. It's your good fortune that the girl is willing to be with you. Take your time and don't be hasty."

Lin Zhiyuan nodded. He knew his father was right. But he also knew his mother was right. Some things couldn't wait; some things couldn't be rushed. Caught in the middle, he could only proceed at his own pace.

That night, lying on his small bed, he sent Su Wanqing a text message. Back then, cell phones weren't common; he was using a Nokia, which could only send text, not pictures.

"I told my mom about you."

A few minutes later, a text message came back: "What did your mom say?"

She said you're a good girl.

After a while, she said, "Your mother has never met me, how does she know I'm a good girl?"

She said all doctors are good girls.

"Your mom is so cute."

Lin Zhiyuan looked at the words on the screen and smiled. Moonlight streamed in through the window, falling on his face. He thought, this summer seems different from before.

六

In mid-August, Lin Zhiyuan returned to school ahead of schedule.

He needed to prepare for the next semester. He had no experience as a homeroom teacher and needed to familiarize himself with the job beforehand. He borrowed a stack of materials from the teaching affairs office—the homeroom teacher's handbook, student management regulations, and parent contact system—and studied them one by one.

Chen Mingyuan was a little surprised to see him arrive so early: "Aren't you going to take a few more days off during summer vacation?"

"I want to prepare in advance."

"You can't learn anything about being a homeroom teacher just by reading books." Chen Mingyuan offered him a cigarette, but he didn't take it. Chen Mingyuan lit it himself. "You have to deal with students, parents, and teachers of all subjects. These things can't be written in books."

"Then tell me about it."

Chen Mingyuan took a drag of his cigarette and thought for a moment: "The first rule of being a homeroom teacher is fairness. Treat everyone the same, regardless of their family's wealth or their academic performance. If you show favoritism even once, you'll lose your authority. The second rule is keeping your word. What you say is like water spilled; you can't do it if you don't want to. If you say it, you must do it. The third rule is not to get too close to the students. You are their teacher, not their friend. They'll remember if you're good to them, but you have to let them know that there are limits to being good."

Lin Zhiyuan memorized each and every one of them.

"Also," Chen Mingyuan flicked his cigarette ash, "you're young and easily swayed. Being soft-hearted isn't a bad thing, but a homeroom teacher can't just be soft-hearted. When it's time to be firm, you have to be firm."

"for example?"

"For example, if a student makes a mistake and you criticize them, and they cry, what do you do?"

"Comfort him?"

"You're wrong." Chen Mingyuan shook his head. "If you comfort him, he'll know you fall for it. He'll cry again next time. You have to wait until he's finished crying before you continue criticizing him."

Lin Zhiyuan thought about it and felt that it made sense.

"Of course," Chen Mingyuan changed the subject, "what I've said is all based on experience. How you actually do it is up to you. Every homeroom teacher has their own style; you can't learn from others. You have to find your own path."

Lin Zhiyuan nodded. He knew Chen Mingyuan was right. He also knew that no one could walk this path for him.

Seven

In late August, the school began to get busy.

Preparations for the new semester were in full swing: scheduling classes, assigning classes, distributing textbooks, and cleaning classrooms. Lin Zhiyuan was assigned a new classroom—the easternmost one on the third floor of the teaching building, with its door facing the playground. He spent a day cleaning the classroom thoroughly and wrote a line on the blackboard:

"Welcome back, Class 5, Grade 11."

This is his class.

He stood on the podium, looking at the empty desks and chairs below, imagining the classroom filled with students on the first day of school. More than fifty people, more than fifty faces, more than fifty names. He wanted to remember them one by one, to get to know them one by one.

He recalled his slip of the tongue during his first class, the students' uproarious laughter, Zhou Haitao's first essay, Liu Qiang saying "I don't want to study anymore," Chen Yutong talking about Sanmao, and Zhao Xiaoman saying "You don't treat me as the director's daughter's teacher."

These things seem like they happened just yesterday.

But it's been a year already.

He stepped down from the podium and walked to the last row, to the window seat. That was Zhou Haitao's seat. He sat there for a while. The sycamore trees outside the window were taller and their leaves were denser than last year. There was someone running on the playground; he was a student he didn't recognize, probably a physical education student who had come early for training.

He stood up, walked out of the classroom, and locked the door.

At the end of the corridor, the setting sun was bathing the entire corridor in an orange-red hue. His shadow stretched very long, all the way to the stairwell.

The teachers' conference is tomorrow.

Students will register the day after tomorrow.

The new semester starts the day after tomorrow.

He'd be standing on that platform again, facing over fifty pairs of eyes, saying, "Hello, students." This time, he wouldn't shout "Fellow students!" But he hoped that every word he spoke would be worthy of those eyes looking at him intently.

He walked down the stairs and into the playground. The evening breeze rustled the leaves of the sycamore trees, as if they were telling him something.

He couldn't hear clearly, but he felt it must be something nice.