A perfect score on the college entrance exam? The Preface to the Pavilion of Prince Teng has astonis

One of the comments below reads: "So what exactly can't Chen Mo do? Classical Chinese, poetry, math, physics, singing, songwriting—can he even cook?"

Someone replied: "He can make dumplings. Su Wanci posted on her WeChat Moments that he can roll out the dough, and he rolls them out very round."

Monday, not long after.

During a Chinese class in Class 3 of Grade 11 at Jiangcheng No. 1 Middle School.

As soon as the bell rang, Ms. Fang, the homeroom teacher and Chinese language teacher, walked into the classroom. She didn't have any textbooks or lesson plans in her hands, only a mobile phone.

He connected his phone to the classroom's multimedia equipment, and the projection screen lit up.

The students below the stage watched him; some were hunched over their desks, some were flipping through books, and some were secretly taking their phones out of their drawers, glancing at them, and then putting them back.

Teacher Fang stood on the podium without saying a word.

He looked at the fifty-six students below the stage, remained silent for several seconds, and then spoke.

"No class today, I'll play you a song."

The classroom was quiet for a moment, then erupted in cheers.

"Listening to music? Has Teacher Fang taken the wrong medicine today?"

"What songs would you be allowed to play during class?"

"Could it be 'Moon Reflected in the Second Spring'?"

Teacher Fang ignored these voices.

He clicked on the video.

On the projection screen appeared willow trees by West Lake, a sunset, a dark brown guitar, and a boy wearing a gray T-shirt.

The classroom fell silent instantly, not from fear, but from a deeper kind of silence.

"At the head of the Xunyang River, I saw off a guest at night; maple leaves and reeds rustled in the autumn breeze..."

When that sound came out of the speakers, the mouths of all fifty-six people in the classroom opened at the same time.

Some people's faces turned into an O shape, some into an oval shape, and some were so big that an egg could fit inside.

The boy sitting in the first row dropped his pen on the ground, but he didn't bend down to pick it up.

The girl sitting in the last row was secretly doing her English homework. Her pen stopped in mid-air, on the fourteenth question of a cloze test, and then she didn't put it down.

Class monitor Lin Xiaotong sat in the third row by the window. She was usually the calmest person in the class, and she never changed her expression no matter what happened.

But at that moment, she covered her mouth with her hand, and her eyes were wide open like saucers.

She wasn't unfamiliar with Chen Mo's singing.

She had seen that video on TikTok. But what she heard on her phone and what she heard through the classroom speakers were two different things.

When she heard it on her phone, she said, "It sounds nice."

She was speechless when she heard it on the classroom speakers.

Teacher Fang stood on the podium, not looking at the screen, but at the students below the stage.

He saw people with their mouths agape, forgetting to close them; he saw people with their pens hovering in mid-air, forgetting to drop them.

His lips curled up slightly, but he quickly closed them again.

He's a teacher; he can't laugh during class. He's serious.

The video ended three minutes later.

The silence in the classroom lasted for several seconds.

Then someone spoke, their voice sounding like they were speaking in a dream: "This is... Senior Chen Mo?"

"It's him."

"He sang 'The Song of the Pipa'?"

"He turned 'The Song of the Pipa' into a song?"

Holy crap.

"You're swearing."

"Sorry, but holy crap."

Teacher Fang did not interrupt them.

He wiped the whiteboard next to the projection screen, picked up a whiteboard marker, turned around, and wrote two words on the whiteboard: "Recite".

He finished writing those two characters.

"Perfect Score in College Entrance Exam? Preface to the Pavilion of Prince Teng Shocks Everyone!", a masterpiece by Limitless Operations, click to read now!

He turned around.

Looking at the fifty-six faces below the stage, still reeling from the shock.

Then he laughed, this time he couldn't help it.

"Starting today, you can use this song to memorize 'The Song of the Pipa.' Each of you should listen to this song ten times when you get home. Starting next week, I will conduct random checks on your memorization. Those who can sing it will receive extra points."

The classroom erupted instantly.

"Teacher Fang, that's a really ruthless move."

"Memorizing texts is bad enough, but now you're making us hum them while we recite them?"

The whole class wailed.

Teacher Fang listened to these sounds but did not stop them.

He put the whiteboard marker back in its slot.

Leaning against the podium, looking at the students below.

He recalled that when he was young, he also felt that memorizing texts was the most painful thing.

I feel that those ancient people wrote such long articles just to torment future generations.

But later he realized—those articles survived not because they were on the exam, but because they were worthwhile.

It's not because they're hard to memorize, it's because they're good.

It's so good that you'd be doing yourself a disservice if you didn't memorize it. He didn't say these words aloud because he knew these principles were too advanced for a seventeen-year-old student.

All they care about now is "whether or not we have to do a dictation test tomorrow".

"Teacher Fang."

A girl sitting in the middle raised her hand.

She stood up, holding a crumpled notebook in her hand. She opened it to a page filled with densely copied words.

She looked at the page, took a deep breath, and then asked a question that silenced the entire class.

"Professor Fang, how many more articles do you think senior Chen Mo will write?"

Teacher Fang looked at her.

"What do you mean?"

"What I mean is—"

She bit her lip, her voice filled with pain.

"I have his full text of 'Preface to the Pavilion of Prince Teng' pasted on the wall at home because I want to memorize it. My notebook is full of his 'Ode to the Goddess of the Luo River' and 'Exhortation to Learning' because I want to write reading notes."

"My phone ringtone is now his 'Pipa Xing' because I have to memorize it. Every night before I go to sleep, I have 'Seeing off a guest at night at Xunyang River' in my mind."

"I dreamt about him yesterday. I dreamt that he was sitting by West Lake playing the guitar. I asked him, 'Senior Chen Mo, how much more do you want to write?' He told me, 'It depends on my mood.'"

The whole class was silent for a moment.

Then someone said two words: "Authenticity".

Teacher Fang was standing there.

Looking at the faces of the fifty-six students, I suddenly felt a little heartbroken, and also a little amused.

He recalled the time when he memorized "The Song of the Pipa".

I suddenly cried when I recited the line "We are all fellow sufferers in this world".

It wasn't because he was moved, but because he finally memorized it.

No more being forced to stand as punishment.

He stopped smiling, cleared his throat, and his voice became serious.

"Classmates, I have something to tell you."

"Chen Mo's 'Preface to the Pavilion of Prince Teng,' 'Ode to the Goddess of the Luo River,' 'Exhortation to Learning,' 'Jiang Cheng Zi,' 'On the Love of Lotus,' and today's 'Ballad of the Pipa' may not be on the college entrance exam, but your generation will definitely memorize them."

"It's not because the Education Bureau mandates it, it's because your generation is willing to memorize it."

"You see his articles on Douyin, hear his songs on the radio, and see him turn poems from a thousand years ago into melodies in your classmates' WeChat Moments. You are not being forced to memorize them; you are remembering an era."

"The names of your seniors will stay with you for the rest of your lives. This is not a burden, but something you have more than him."

The classroom fell silent.