Chapter 6: Starting Over

Red brick walls and red tile roofing made up the large tile-roofed house.

A single small door and two windows led into a spacious, dim interior. Running over ten meters long and seventy centimeters high along both sides were large kang—traditional heated brick beds—covered with yellow reed-woven mats over thick straw padding. Against the walls on these kang, a row of multicolored, unevenly rolled-up bedding and pillows with their covers lay scattered. Some particularly lazy students hadn’t bothered to roll up their bedding, pillows, or covers at all, leaving them strewn messily across the reed mats.

Down the middle of the kang ran a passage less than a meter wide.

At each end of this passage stood a simple, compartmentalized wooden cabinet, crowded with rice bowls and washing utensils.

This was the student dormitory of Dongwangzhuang Township Middle School — pretty decent conditions, actually. At least this was a new tile-roofed building, new dorms. Su Chunfeng remembered the old dorm he’d lived in during his first and second years; that one had a leaky, broken roof, making it truly harsh!

The dorm room was largely empty this afternoon. Teenagers in their prime would rather nap at their desks during class than waste precious free time sleeping in the afternoon.

Su Chunfeng took his rice bowl and washing kit from the cabinet and walked down the passage a few steps. He took off his cloth shoes, climbed onto the kang, and sat by his bedding. He lifted the bedding cover, slowly inspecting each piece—sheet, quilt, pillow, pillowcase—one by one. Inside an old khaki army pack, he found three dry, cracked mantou buns, along with a jar of stir-fried pickled vegetables and another of chili paste.

A bittersweet smile touched his lips as he looked at these necessities spread before him. He pulled a stack of ration coupons and three dollars and seventy cents from his pocket—the school-specific ration coupons came from trading the flour and corn his family brought at the school canteen; the money was originally four dollars, but he’d spent thirty cents on a noodle meal with pickled vegetables the day before.

Four dollars a week generally lasted fine.

Finally, memories from his past life and his current junior high school experience melded perfectly together.

Time to begin…

After tidying his things, Su Chunfeng visited Homeroom Teacher Li Jichun’s office and Geometry Teacher Guo Fa’s office before class.

His purpose was to proactively apologize.

His reason? A nightmare about his family, which left him afraid.

This almost absurd reason, surprisingly, yielded excellent results. Both teachers displayed great teacherly tolerance and understanding. After a light scolding, they praised Su Chunfeng’s sincere and humble attitude in admitting his fault — this era, to find such an honest, good kid who’d come admit his mistake willingly?

Rare.

…

Three classes filled the afternoon.

First period was Physics, followed by Chemistry.

Su Chunfeng had long forgotten everything he learned last life as a junior high kid, but thankfully this life’s memories remained intact. Though not a top student, he was barely average, so paying attention wasn’t too difficult. Still, he, reborn, couldn’t help his mind wandering during class.

The reason was simple. Sitting right beside him was Wang Haifei — the girl whose quiet, gentle face at fourteen or fifteen had visited his dreams countless times after youth; the girl who’d driven him to a rage that made him famous in the Jianghu of Esoteric Arts; the girl he’d felt guilty and indebted to for so many years.

In his memory, Wang Haifei always seemed forever frozen at that age: quiet, delicate, and gentle.

And now she truly, vividly sat beside him, his deskmate. Just like he remembered, a wonderful friendship held strong. That is, until that winter in their third year, when they’d accidentally held hands under the desk — only then suddenly feeling a spark course through them — a pure, beautiful spark deep inside their innocent hearts. No confession even needed. Both had known then: this feeling seemed late. Perhaps that wonderful spark had happened way back in their first year.

After the second class ended, Zhang Lifei nudged him with a laugh, “Su Chunfeng, could you maybe not stare at Haifei so much during class? Her face is bright red!”

“You’re the one blushing!” Wang Haifei, flustered, playfully swatted at Zhang Lifei.

Only then did Su Chunfeng realize that every time his mind had wandered in class, his eyes had indeed been fixed on Wang Haifei. Feeling awkward, he smiled, “What? Oh…”

“Hah, now you’re blushing too!” Zhang Lifei was all smiles.

Su Chunfeng shook his head, a mix of amusement and helplessness.

“You awful girl, Lifei…” Wang Haifei, still blushing fiercely, waved a hand playfully, starting a teasing tussle with Zhang Lifei.

With three at a table, it got pretty tight. Laughing and scuffling, seated right in the middle, Wang Haifei inevitably bumped against Su Chunfeng repeatedly. Sitting by the window on the innermost edge, feeling her already developing young body touch his again and again — smelling her faint scent — Su Chunfeng felt such immense happiness. Life had too many disappointments, but getting to start over—it was wonderful.

Sitting behind, Yao Xinbo watched all this, gritting his teeth with jealousy.

He’d long harbored a crush on Zhang Lifei and had a boy’s fantasy about Wang Haifei too. Yet both beautiful girls shared a desk with Su Chunfeng, that wimpy, weak-looking fellow. This made Yao Xinbo, like many other boys in class, utterly, bitterly envious.

Even Su Chunfeng back then hadn’t realized that sitting with Zhang Lifei and Wang Haifei was the very reason he’d suffered so many unprovoked beatings.

But this version of Yao Xinbo was wary, too scared to act out now.

Clang! Clang! Clang!…

The bell rang for class.

The noisy classroom quickly settled into silence.

Wang Qimin, the school’s Vice Director of Education and Political Teacher for the second and third years, slowly entered Class 14 carrying his textbook.

“Stand up!” shouted Class Monitor Ren Zhiping.

Seventy-nine students rose unevenly. Some stretched lazily or leaned awkwardly as if barely bothering to stand, just joining the weak, unenthusiastic chorus: “Good afternoon, teacher…”

The sound trailed off weakly.

Inside Su Chunfeng, however, as soon as Wang Qimin set foot in the classroom, tension coiled. Outwardly, though, he looked the same as the others – nonchalant, indifferent.

Wang Qimin seemed utterly unconcerned about the students’ performance. Standing at the podium, his eyelids drooped as though he might slump asleep at any moment. He nodded faintly, lethargically: “Good afternoon, students. Please be seated.” After that, he didn’t even glance at the students shuffling messily into their seats, as usual pushing his old-fashioned black-framed glasses back in place. Placing the textbook on the desk, he opened it and began to drone:

“Open your books to page thirty-three. Today, we cover the significance of legal protection for legitimate property…”

Wang Qimin wasn’t tall. A bit plump, his round face creased with wrinkles. His skin was somewhat dark. He wore the same deep grey Lenin-style suit regularly—an ordinary, plain, always neat-looking outfit never seeming to change. Covering his thinning hair was an old-fashioned blue-grey flat cap.

The impression among teachers and students alike was that Wang Qimin’s personality mirrored his looks and clothes—whether teaching any grade or class, he shuffled to the podium listlessly. Holding the textbook, he’d perfunctorily drone out the passage. Read a paragraph, ramble a bit about it. Didn’t care if students were interested. Couldn’t care less if they grasped the dry political theories and legal jargon. Didn’t even check if anyone was listening. Didn’t bat an eye whether kids were sleeping, whispering, causing disruptions, heckled, or even had a student up and walk out mid-lecture.

Therefore, many students said he couldn’t see well and heard poorly, like he was a bit dim-witted.

Occasionally, a few students from Wang Qimin’s home village—the ones who’d heard the old folk tell strange stories about some of Qimin’s actions long ago, probably wanting to impress others—would whisper mysteriously amongst themselves: “You lot don’t know, do you? Teacher Wang back then… could be pretty unbelievable!”

Truth was, everyone understood: you couldn’t be thick and be a People’s Teacher. So Wang Qimin wasn’t dim-witted. Wasn’t stupid. He was just a very gentle man. Very meek.

As for whether he was “unbelievable” before, or exactly how unbelievable, no one could quite pin down. After all, it was all village whispers and rumors.

Plus, who’d believe it?

Wang Qimin was a veteran teacher after all!

And he taught politics! He was also the Vice Director of Education at Dongwangzhuang Township Middle School!

Therefore…

Calling him “unbelievable”?

Pure political heresy!

Yet undeniably—Wang Qimin, who’d never criticized a single student—in the minds of these rebellious adolescents, was undeniably seen as just about the nicest teacher there was.

The lecture had barely started, and the classroom quickly grew noisy again.

The scant few students truly trying to listen had their brows furrowed tight, frustration clear as they strained to hear the teacher over the surrounding ruckus.

Su Chunfeng, was trying hard to pay attention too.

He possessed the maturity and discipline of an adult. Regardless of how guarded he felt towards his past-life master Wang Qimin—how much he dreaded any connection—he knew if he wanted solid education, each class required attention. Besides, thanks to Zhang Lifei’s little joke earlier, his mind miraculously refrained from drifting to Wang Haifei.

But what Su Chunfeng hadn’t expected? His sheer act of listening intently? Triggered confusion in the two girls beside him.

During previous Political Science lessons, Su Chunfeng typically buzzed with chatter—lively, unrestrained banter with them all period. Why the sudden focus today? Especially since Physics and Chemistry that afternoon had also seen him mostly paying attention—aside from that occasional far-off stare—even taking notes for once!

Did I offend him? Me and Lifei? Is he nervous people will talk? Wang Haifei inwardly panicked. She didn’t understand where this feeling came from—only felt something was missing. Unable to resist, she scribbled a note and slid it subtly towards him.

It was short: “Are you mad at me?”

Puzzled, Su Chunfeng glanced across at Wang Haifei—head bowed, rosy cheeks spreading to her ears. Long strands loose from her ponytail fell soft beside her face. Large eyes lowered, long lashes trembling, delicate nose turned slightly high, soft lips tightly pressed…

Looking at this graceful image, Su Chunfeng suddenly remembered that rainy day—the time in the Capital City street he coldly ignored her earnest approach—leaving her standing alone in the drizzling rain, looking desolate and sad.

His heart skipped a beat. Without conscious thought, he wrote on the note: “Haifei, I like you!”