Chairman Chen stopped Lin Fang from intervening on behalf of Fu Hongxia, but Lin Fang couldn’t bear to leave her alone.
“But,” Lin Fang wanted to say, “after all, she’s our classmate. How can we just ignore her?”
“Enough with the ‘buts’,” Chairman Chen cut her off before she could finish. “You care about her as a classmate, but does she care about anyone else? People like her need to learn their lesson the hard way. If we keep protecting her, she’ll think she’s some kind of treasure, always stirring up trouble. With your health, you’ll end up hurting yourself before you can help anyone else. And do you really think she’d appreciate it?”
Lin Fang fell silent. Chairman Chen had a point. And whenever Chairman Chen started lecturing, Lin Fang never stood a chance in an argument.
Yang Xiuqin and Liang Xiaoyan, who arrived later, carried Fu Hongxia to the school clinic. Seeing Fu Hongxia clutching her ear and wailing nonstop, the school doctor reported it to the administration, who then arranged for her to be sent to the county hospital. Liang Xiaoyan was also Lin Fang’s middle school classmate and, like Lin Fang, had repeated a year before getting into high school. However, they weren’t in the same class now.
By the time Lin Fang returned to her dorm, it was already mealtime in the cafeteria—peak hours, no less. Without hesitation, Chairman Chen grabbed Lin Fang’s lunchbox, bought her food, and came back with a few more warnings: “Stay out of trouble and focus on yourself first.” Only then did she pick up her plastic bag and thermos and return to her own dorm.
Yang Xiuqin didn’t return from the county hospital until after dark. By then, most of their dormmates had gathered, eagerly asking what had happened. Lin Fang was curious too. Logically, Fu Hongxia shouldn’t have clashed with Pi Xinhong. Fu Hongxia had a sharp tongue, but she knew how to avoid trouble. Pi Xinhong was a head and a half taller, a member of the sports team, and unusually strong. Next to her, the petite Fu Hongxia was practically defenseless. There was no way she’d provoke Pi Xinhong—unless Pi Xinhong had lost her mind.
Despite her curiosity, Lin Fang noticed Yang Xiuqin hadn’t eaten yet, so she poured her some hot water and urged her to eat first. Yang Xiuqin usually brought food from home, but since she hadn’t gone back this weekend, she’d asked a fellow villager to bring her some. Lin Fang had already fetched hot water in the afternoon, so now Yang Xiuqin just needed to soak her steamed buns and eat them with pickles from home.
As she ate, Yang Xiuqin recounted the whole incident.
This week, she and Fu Hongxia had been assigned dorm duty. Yang Xiuqin had been drinking too much cold water lately and had diarrhea. In her rush to the bathroom, she hadn’t even locked the dorm door—which was why Lin Fang had found it open earlier. While Yang Xiuqin was stuck in the bathroom for an unusually long time, she witnessed the entire fight.
Fu Hongxia had also been having stomach issues and had been racing Yang Xiuqin to the bathroom. This time, after finishing, Fu Hongxia had just pulled up her underwear—which had two large holes, exposing her backside—when Pi Xinhong walked in and mocked her. Fu Hongxia stayed silent at first but retaliated when Pi Xinhong had just squatted down, nearly shoving her into the pit behind her. Luckily, Pi Xinhong was strong enough to catch herself.
The rest was what Lin Fang had seen.
Pi Xinhong’s teasing wasn’t anything extreme—they were all from rural backgrounds, living similar lives. Most people would’ve just fired back a few sharp words to save face. But Fu Hongxia had an unusually fragile ego, especially when it came to being called poor—and being seen in such a humiliating state.
Lin Fang’s village was large, with both an elementary and middle school. Students from neighboring villages had to attend middle school there. Fu Hongxia was from a nearby village and had also studied at Lin Fang’s middle school. Lin Fang had heard from boarding students that Fu Hongxia slept naked even in winter to avoid wearing out her clothes—proof of how frugal she was.
Regardless, the fight in the bathroom—half-naked, no less—would be the talk of the school for a long time. Fu Hongxia and Pi Xinhong were now infamous.
Before lights-out, Lin Fang went to look for Meatball again, but he was still missing—probably off playing somewhere. Uninterested in the gossip about Fu Hongxia and Pi Xinhong, Lin Fang went to bed early but couldn’t sleep. Tomorrow was the first day of classes. After nearly a decade as a teacher in another world, she was about to become a student again.
On Monday morning, as usual, Lin Fang slept through morning exercises and most of the early study session. She woke up forty minutes in, quickly washed her hands, and headed to the cafeteria while it was still empty—no lines, no crowds. By the time others finished studying, she’d already gotten her food.
Due to her health, the school had exempted her from morning exercises and early study sessions, and she could arrange her evening study time freely.
The first class on Monday was Chinese, taught by a frail old man rumored to be eighty years old. He had been specially hired to teach Class 51, an experimental class—the first since the school’s reorganization after the Cultural Revolution. The class was a mix of all kinds of talents, with over half the students admitted under special criteria, their scores below the usual cutoff.
For example, Yang Junxia had exceptionally neat handwriting—her characters looked printed. Zhang Jiejun, Lin Fang’s deskmate, had a beautiful singing voice. Yang Xiuqin, who seemed slow, was a math prodigy—perfect scores since elementary school, missing full marks on the high school entrance exam by only half a point, astonishing the entire county. But her other subjects were weak, with three outright failing grades.
Others specialized in painting, basketball, soccer, martial arts, storytelling, music, or writing. Basically, anyone who stood out in some way was considered a “special talent.”
As for why Lin Fang had been placed in this class, even she was baffled. Now, she was skilled in music, chess, calligraphy, and painting, but back then, aside from a good memory, she hadn’t considered herself particularly talented. And even that one strength had been overshadowed by her illness. When asked, she answered honestly, leading everyone to conclude she’d gotten in through connections—a notion that both amused and frustrated her.
Class 51 was glorified as an “experimental class,” but in reality, it was just the school’s way of boosting its reputation and enrollment—with tuition three times higher than other classes. This insider info came from Lin Yuanmin’s former colleague, whose husband taught at the school.
“Class, stand up. Good morning, Teacher Gao.”
The students held their breath as the elderly Chinese teacher struggled onto the podium before greeting him in unison. The office staff member who’d escorted him sighed in relief once he was safely seated and quietly closed the door from the outside.
“Lin Fang, recite the Four-Corner Method rhyme for the class.”
Whispers erupted around her: “See? She *has* to be a connection. Teacher Gao always calls on her—never anyone else.”
*Yeah, Teacher Gao, why not call on someone else?* Lin Fang thought. *The rhyme is just four lines, and we’ve been learning it for half a semester. Everyone’s memorized it by now. Why always me?*
When Lin Fang didn’t respond immediately, Teacher Gao asked kindly, “Lin Fang, are you feeling unwell?”
Lin Fang no longer cared what others thought, but she couldn’t help joking inwardly: *I’m perfectly fine—until I see you. Do you know people think I’m your relative? I’m more wronged than Dou E! Before coming to this school, I’d never even heard of you.*
The old Lin Fang would’ve shrunk under such scrutiny, afraid of mockery. But the new Lin Fang stood up confidently and recited without hesitation:
“Horizontal one, vertical two,
The dot and the press are three.
Cross four, insert five, square six.
Seven is pointy, eight is wide, nine is small,
“A dot with a horizontal line becomes zero.”
Teacher Gao didn’t let her sit down. Instead, he wrote a character on the blackboard and said, “Good job. Lin Fang, come up and mark the Four-Corner code for this character—’繁’ (complex).”
Lin Fang stepped up calmly, enduring the stares—and the loud whispers—of her classmates.
Teacher Gao then wrote more characters and called other students to the board, finally restoring some balance.
Half a semester in, every Chinese class began with ten minutes of Four-Corner Method drills, with increasingly difficult characters. Many students groaned in frustration. Lin Fang had asked Meatball and Liang Xiaoyan—their classes didn’t cover this. Even students at the top county high school had never heard of the Four-Corner dictionary. Only Class 51 at Second High had them—apparently, Teacher Gao’s personal project for his “experimental” class.
Once the Four-Corner torture ended, Lin Fang exhaled in relief, making Zhang Jiejun giggle. Leaning in, she whispered smugly, “Serves you right. You aced the rhyme and character breakdowns on day one. Of course you’re his favorite target.”
Lin Fang glared. *So being good is a crime now?* Then she smiled silently. *Reborn, yet nothing’s changed.*
“Lin Fang, Zhang Jiejun, no talking in class.”
Zhang Jiejun stuck out her tongue and focused on her textbook. Lin Fang sighed inwardly. *This old man switches moods fast. One second praising me, the next scolding.*
As her energy waned, Lin Fang’s eyelids grew heavy. She forced herself to stay alert under Teacher Gao’s watchful gaze, cursing the seating arrangement again. *Who decided to put me in the second row? I’m not even that short. Now I can’t even doze off under this old sage’s nose.*
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