Here, Lin Fang wishes everyone a Merry Christmas!
…………………………………………
After enduring until the dismissal bell rang and watching Teacher Gao tremble his way down the podium, Lin Fang finally relaxed completely. The next class was free time again—she could sleep if she wanted or listen to the lecture if she didn’t feel like sleeping.
The schedule at No. 2 Middle School mostly followed the rural elementary school routine, with slight modifications. Students woke up at six in the morning for morning exercises, followed by morning reading. After that, they had breakfast. In winter, the sky would only brighten after breakfast. Formal classes started at 8:30 AM—four in the morning and three in the afternoon. On Fridays, there were only two afternoon classes because students had to go home, and those from far away wouldn’t make it back before dark if they left too late.
Apart from Teacher Gao, all the other teachers turned a blind eye to Lin Fang sleeping in class. Even if she skipped class entirely, no one would say anything. This had fostered a habit that made other students envious—she either slept, did homework, or sometimes didn’t even bother showing up, choosing instead to sleep in the dormitory.
In the past, when Lin Fang was in good spirits, she would pay attention in the first class. In the second, she’d listen at first, but as soon as the teacher started asking questions, she’d begin working on the previous class’s homework. Though she often got called on to answer questions mid-assignment, she never broke the habit. After answering, she’d sit back down and continue writing, occasionally pausing to think about the teacher’s current question. Then, in the next class, she’d work on that class’s homework, leaving the last assignment for evening self-study.
Lin Fang usually ate dinner quickly, rushing back to the classroom afterward to finish the last assignment and thoroughly preview the next day’s lessons. While her classmates were still copying her homework, she’d already be fast asleep in bed. She didn’t care whose hands her notebook ended up in—by the next day, it would always appear on the teacher’s desk. If the teacher ever called her out for not submitting homework, those who relied on copying would be left scratching their heads for days.
When she wasn’t feeling well, her schedule flipped. In the first class, she’d struggle to stay awake. The moment the teacher said, “Now, I’ll ask a few questions to see if you’ve understood the material,” Lin Fang would take it as a pardon and immediately doze off. If called on, she’d yawn, answer, and go right back to sleep.
After class, the noise of her classmates would wake her up. She’d ask around for the first class’s homework and start working on it. At the beginning of the next class, she’d force herself to finish the previous assignment while half-listening to the lecture. As soon as the teaching part ended, she’d drop back into sleep.
And so it went—class ended, everyone stood up, the teacher left, she asked for homework, did it, and the cycle repeated.
Some might wonder: four straight morning classes without a bathroom break? Not a problem. Lin Fang usually ate little for breakfast and drank even less water.
But things didn’t always go smoothly.
The political teacher in Lin Fang’s class was the academic dean and loved dragging out lectures. He’d talk nonstop, weaving through history, philosophy, and future prospects, often reminiscing about hardships and the sweetness of today. The bell would ring, but he wouldn’t leave. The next class’s teacher would be waiting conspicuously outside, yet he’d ignore them until they finally spoke up. Even then, he’d reluctantly step out while still urging students to “work hard and not waste their potential.”
During political class, most students happily dozed off—Lin Fang included. She didn’t mind sleeping, but there was a downside: missing the break meant she’d sleep through the next class too, missing the lesson entirely. When doing homework later, she’d have to borrow notes from classmates.
In the past, when Lin Fang’s health was poor, she slept fitfully at night, leaving her drained during the day. But since her rebirth, she’d been sleeping soundly—unless thoughts of her otherworldly family kept her awake. These days, she was well-rested and alert.
Since the teachers tolerated her habits, Lin Fang saw no reason to change. Finishing homework during class and breaks freed up time for other things—like practicing calligraphy to showcase her elegant handwriting sooner, or reading to fill gaps in knowledge she’d once dismissed as useless, all to help her family prosper faster.
Following her usual routine when in good spirits, Lin Fang not only paid attention in the morning classes but also nearly finished her homework. When the bell rang, she grabbed the lunchbox already stashed in her desk and sprinted to the cafeteria with the other students who hadn’t brought meals.
The cafeteria operated on a strict no-leftovers policy, often preparing just enough food—or slightly less. Latecomers risked going hungry, as the kitchen wouldn’t cook extra. Cold food was the best-case scenario; often, there was nothing left at all.
After running a short distance, someone called out to her. Lin Fang slowed, smiling but not turning around.
“Skinny! Skinny, wait up!”
“Hey, I’ve been calling you! Why won’t you stop? You’re killing me here—huff, puff.”
A heavy slap on her shoulder made Lin Fang wince. She turned and glared. “Trying to murder me?”
The boy glared back. “You ignored me!”
Lin Fang burst out laughing at his squinty eyes, which barely opened even when he tried to glare. This was Meatball.
Meatball—real name Guo Haopeng—was Lin Fang’s neighbor, three months younger and a grade below her. Academically, he wasn’t the sharpest. Every summer, his final exam scores teetered on the edge of failing, but his mother didn’t expect much. As long as he scraped by without repeating a grade, she was content—after all, he’d inherit his father’s job someday.
After Lin Fang repeated a year, they ended up in the same class.
Before the high school entrance exams, everyone assumed Guo Haopeng would flunk the preliminaries. To their shock, he scored two points above the cutoff, while some of his “smarter” classmates got cut. Even he couldn’t believe he made it into No. 2 Middle School, checking his score repeatedly before sighing to Lin Fang, “Looks like I’m stuck with you for three more years.”
True, Lin Fang had bullied him since childhood—but she knew he wasn’t actually dumb. If he let her push him around, it was only because he allowed it. With his stocky build, one finger from him could leave her aching for days.
Lin Fang smirked but kept walking. “Mom told me to bring someone some persimmon bread, but now I’m not in the mood. Guess I’ll eat it myself.”
Guo Haopeng instantly blocked her path, pleading, “No, no! I’m sorry, okay? I won’t call you Skinny anymore—I’ll call you Sis! Your stomach’s bad; too much persimmon will hurt you. Let me handle it—I’ll finish every last crumb!”
Lin Fang scoffed. “Yeah, right. You’ll call me Sis for food, then go back to ‘Skinny’ the second you get it.”
Guo Haopeng grinned. “Pot calling the kettle black. Who gave me the name Meatball? I almost forgot my real name! Last week, the teacher handed out forms, and I wrote ‘Meatball’ in the name column. He asked the class, ‘Who here has the surname Meat? I’ve never heard of it—enlighten me!’”
Lin Fang doubled over laughing. This was classic Meatball—though the story was true from his elementary days.
Back then, food was scarce in the village. Most families were just trying to survive, let alone focus on education. But Lin Fang’s mother, Dong Huixin, had different ideas. She taught her children to read as toddlers, so all three could write well before starting school.
Young Guo Haopeng admired how Lin Fang could write her name. When he started school, he begged her to teach him. Used to calling him Meatball, she wrote “Name: Meatball” without thinking. To her surprise, he painstakingly copied it for two days until he got it right.
Soon after, the teacher handed out forms for parents to fill out. Spotting the characters for “name,” Guo Haopeng proudly wrote “Meatball” in pencil and turned it in. The aftermath became a long-running joke.
Seeing Lin Fang laugh, Guo Haopeng snatched her lunchbox. “With Meatball the Hero here, why should Sister Fang trouble herself? Go rest—I’ll fetch your meal, then we’ll talk persimmon bread. Away I go!” With that, he rolled—er, ran—toward the cafeteria.
Lin Fang’s laughter faded as his theatrics reminded her of her otherworldly family. When would she hear their voices again—those concise, cultured words she’d listened to for nearly sixteen years?
Tai Sui Yellow Amulet Paper FuLu Taoist Love Talisman Traditional Chinese Spiritual Charm Attracting Love Protecting Marriage