“Teacher Lin, I went to check out another calligraphy class the other day. For beginners like my child, they all start with basic strokes. Why do you have the kids copying entire characters right away? That doesn’t seem very logical.” Shortly after the first class began, a parent accompanying the children voiced their concern.
Lin Fang smiled and explained, “Oh, it’s like this—every child has their own unique characteristics. I want to see how well they can imitate without any prior experience with brush writing and observe their individual habits. Based on that, I can assess each child’s traits and tailor my teaching accordingly.
If all children were taught the same way, those who grasp things quickly and have strong imitation skills might start with high enthusiasm. But if I teach too slowly, they could grow bored and gradually lose interest.
On the other hand, children who learn more slowly might struggle from the start. If I teach too fast, they could lose confidence as they fall behind and eventually give up altogether.”
Another parent asked, “Can you handle it? There are eight kids here, and you’re just a high school student. Do you even have experience?”
“She’d have to be inexperienced not to—I’ve been her guinea pig since I was little,” Rou Qiu muttered under his breath from the back row before Lin Fang could answer. Despite his grumbling, his hand never stopped moving as he practiced each stroke meticulously.
The parents, intrigued by his tone of dissatisfaction, turned to look at him. They saw Rou Qiu filling his paper with the character “永” (yǒng), the same character Lin Fang had asked the children to copy.
Although the character “永” has few strokes, it encompasses dots, horizontal strokes, downward-left strokes, downward-right strokes, and turns. Techniques such as hooks, lifts, pauses, flicks, and sweeps are all incorporated. The character is also roughly symmetrical, which helps with spatial arrangement when learning to write. Mastering this character makes practicing others much easier—though, of course, Lin Fang had already taught Rou Qiu the key techniques in advance.
This guy—wasn’t he just supposed to be here as a foil? Lin Fang chuckled helplessly. “Since you’ve already decided to entrust your children to me, please trust me. I won’t make grand promises like others might. Just compare Guo Haopeng’s current writing with the characters on the sign outside the door on the right, and you’ll see the progress. In time, your children will write as beautifully as the characters on the left sign.”
At her words, the parents rushed outside to check the sign, then came back to examine Rou Qiu’s writing, pointing and nodding in approval. They all agreed that his writing had improved significantly—far better than the characters on the sign outside.
Mentioning the sign made Rou Qiu inwardly cringe, but he kept a smile on his face as he answered the parents’ questions. Meanwhile, Guo Hongping, stationed by the counter near the door, felt a surge of satisfaction—for no other reason than seeing Rou Qiu uncomfortable.
To prevent the children from causing chaos, Lin Fang and Rou Qiu had arranged the bookshelves and stationery cabinets together, separated from the writing tables by a counter, much like other bookstores. Hongping manned the counter, ensuring the kids didn’t rummage through the shelves while allowing customers to browse freely—maintaining the store’s original sales approach while serving a dual purpose.
While speaking with the parents, Lin Fang also observed each child’s imitation of the character, studying their facial expressions and sensing their energy. Only after all the children had filled a page with the character did she let them take a break.
During the break, Lin Fang analyzed each of the eight children for their parents, explaining how she would adapt her teaching to their individual traits.
In her past life, Lin Fang had founded the Lin Academy at the age of eight, starting as a small village school with just herself as the teacher. It later expanded into a town-level institution with separate classes for boys and girls. By the time she became principal, she was still personally teaching. Now, drawing from that experience, she spoke with the authority of a seasoned educator, leaving the parents nodding in agreement. Though she was still a girl under sixteen, their doubts about her abilities had completely vanished.
Lin Fang wasn’t upset by the parents’ repeated skepticism. She knew that without her sixteen years of experience from her past life, she’d be like most fifteen- or sixteen-year-olds—still coddled by her parents, not out earning money.
She remembered that in just a few years, parents would spare no expense to have their children learn a special skill. Later, some would even enroll their kids in multiple classes at once. This demand would give rise to countless specialty brands, some even expanding into national chains—from kindergartens to art schools, all competing fiercely.
She recalled the daughter of a former colleague, whose weekends from kindergarten to middle school were packed with painting, violin, mental abacus, dance, and schoolwork. By the second year of middle school, the girl had made little progress in any of them, grew increasingly irritable, and her grades plummeted. After discussions with teachers, the parents reluctantly cut back to just violin—since her father taught it. But one day, in a fit of anger, the girl smashed her violin on the ground and stomped on it. She never touched it again.
Of course, such outcomes varied by individual. If a child was genuinely interested, they wouldn’t react so extremely.
Back then, Lin Fang had disapproved of the pressure her colleague placed on the child, yet she envied those talented kids—proud and full of vitality. Now, though she was teaching calligraphy to earn money, she wanted the children to enjoy it—to see it as fun, not a burden.
With the parents no longer interfering, Lin Fang’s teaching went smoothly, almost effortlessly.
Busy days passed quickly. Mornings were spent teaching calligraphy, afternoons practicing piano, and the remaining time helping Teacher Qiu proofread manuscripts. She also squeezed in her own calligraphy and painting practice and tutored Rou Qiu. Meanwhile, Guo Hongping handled most of the bookstore’s sales. By the time Lin Fang noticed how many books had been sold, it was already Little New Year (a traditional festival marking the start of New Year preparations).
“Wow, Hongping, you’ve been working hard—so many books sold!” Lin Fang praised as she tidied the shelves.
“I just used the method you taught me—recommending books to people buying stationery. Lately, more elderly folks have been coming in. You said most of the people who’d understand these books are older, so I focused on them. Heh, it worked!” Hongping grinned earnestly.
Lin Fang was curious. “Why the sudden increase in elderly customers?”
This time, Rou Qiu didn’t contradict Hongping but answered for her: “I know—the senior citizens’ activity center moved nearby, so naturally, there are more elderly people around.”
“Right, exactly!” Hongping agreed.
“Echo,” Rou Qiu muttered under his breath, teasing Hongping, who rolled her eyes at him.
The senior citizens’ activity center? Oh, right. Lin Fang remembered now. Back in her first year of high school, the center had relocated nearby. As a young reporter for the school’s literature club, she had interviewed the elderly there and admired the chrysanthemums on display—over twenty varieties. Her favorite was one called “Child’s Face.”
She recalled an elderly man who had patiently introduced each chrysanthemum to them. When explaining one called “Old Man’s Face,” the man—who wasn’t actually old—had playfully mimicked the flower’s wrinkled appearance, making everyone laugh, including himself.
Sadly, her stamina had failed her that day. Before she could finish admiring the flowers, she had to sit down, watching enviously as her classmates continued to enjoy themselves. She had longed to join but simply couldn’t.
Sigh. Since her rebirth, she’d been so focused on making money that she’d forgotten she was still part of the literature club. She hadn’t attended a single event—missing the chrysanthemum viewing entirely.
Wait—she had forgotten, but had everyone else too? Why hadn’t anyone reminded her? She was well-liked at school—something must have gone wrong.
“Rou Qiu, did you join the literature club?” Lin Fang tested the waters.
“What literature club?” Rou Qiu looked baffled.
“Our school’s literature club.” Lin Fang felt she already knew the answer.
“Since when does our school have a literature club? I’ve never heard of it.” Rou Qiu was puzzled.
So even Rou Qiu didn’t know about it. Her hunch was right—the literature club, which should have been established at the start of the semester, didn’t exist yet. Had her rebirth altered this too? In her past life, Rou Qiu had vehemently opposed her joining the club, fearing it would be too much for her health.
Just as Rou Qiu thought the strange topic would fade away, Lin Fang spoke again: “I heard our school is starting a ‘Double Zero Literature Club.’ Since you love joining things, I thought you’d sign up.” That had been the club’s name in her past life.
Rou Qiu immediately protested: “Beanpole, I haven’t done anything to annoy you lately. Why are you picking on me again?” Writing enough for exams was already exhausting—joining a literature club? Was Lin Fang messing with him?
“Pathetic. Joining a literature club is too much for the great Rou Qiu?” The senior center’s appearance was a perfect opportunity. Lin Fang had already formed a plan and, in high spirits, began teasing him.
From Little New Year onward, most workplaces operated as if they were on holiday. Unless a leader was being unreasonable or higher-ups were inspecting, expecting employees to stick to regular hours was impossible. Everyone was busy preparing for the New Year. Shops and restaurants gradually closed, making it nearly impossible to get anything done—most offices were empty.
No matter how many ideas Lin Fang had now, they’d have to wait until after the New Year. For now, she shelved her thoughts and, with Rou Qiu and Guo Hongping, tidied the bookstore before heading home to celebrate Little New Year.
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