Chapter 64: The Burden of a Good Student

I recalled the adjacent school building stood on the opposite side of the sports field.

The field itself was vast, requiring a walk of roughly ten minutes to traverse.

A sigh escaped my lips. Thoughts of buying bread were likely futile now. “Teacher,” I said, “class is about to start.”

The teacher merely smiled. “Aren’t you a good student? Missing half a class won’t hurt your grades. Go on, just do this one favor for me.”

I remained silent for a moment, then nodded, exiting the classroom without a word.

Just then, the class bell rang. As I headed towards the stairwell, a loud “Stand!” echoed from within the classroom.

The school building itself felt dim.

Handing out printed sheets for the teacher was usually a coveted task. If a teacher asked in class, a horde of reluctant students would raise their hands, eager to shirk studying under the guise of helping. Afterwards, dragging their feet for as long as possible only made it better.

However, I was already a good student, and frankly, I had no desire for this particular errand. My stomach rumbled with hunger; I simply wanted to eat.

I ambled across the sports field, the entire teaching block looming behind me. Perhaps someone, habitually gazing out the window during class, might turn their head and notice me on the field. Such an observation would make slipping out of school to buy something seem inappropriate.

Rain had fallen yesterday, and today was a windy, overcast day. The air was fresh, though a little chilly.

As I walked across the damp field, I found myself missing Bai Hailong. If he were here, he would be the perfect excuse. We would likely stride out of school without a second thought to buy bread. To hell with exams and worksheets, we would say.

If we did that, the teacher would undoubtedly declare I had been led astray by bad company. Yet, these old fogeys never realized that, deep down, I had never truly been a ‘good student’ to begin with.

****

I reached the school building opposite the field and ascended to the third floor. The door to the printing room was locked. After knocking for a while, the adjacent office door creaked open, and a middle-aged man poked his head out.

His eyes were somewhat murky. He observed me for a moment before asking, “Which class are you from?”

“I’m Lu Ren, from Class Two, Grade One,” I replied.

He scrutinized me from head to toe. “Isn’t it class time right now?”

I stared at the floor. “The teacher sent me to print worksheets.”

The man watched me for a long time, then chuckled. He stepped out of his office, pulled a set of keys from his pocket, and said, “What’s wrong with your teacher? Sending a kid out to print worksheets during class, especially with exams tomorrow and the day after. It’s like a joke…

“You’re Lu Ren? From Class Two, Grade One? The Lu Ren who scored 119 on the math exam?”

“Yes,” I confirmed with a nod.

He clicked his tongue, then unlocked the printing room door. “Such a good kid… What’s your teacher thinking?”

The printing room was old and poorly lit, making the entire space feel particularly dim. The man rummaged through a desk for a moment, produced a worksheet, and carefully fed it into the printer. The indicator light flared to life, and sheet after sheet began to emerge.

He lifted the printer’s cover, checked the A4 paper inside, and then patted my shoulder. “Go sit in the office next door and have some tea. You’ll be waiting a while; this is for physics, and there’s math, Chinese, and English too.”

I glanced at the gloomy sky outside the window and nodded.

Time ticked by, drop by drop.

I had arrived at the reception room at half past seven in the morning, and now it was nearly ten o’clock. The old-fashioned printer continued to churn out sheets. Outside, the sky remained overcast, with luminous, leaden-gray clouds rolling across the heavens. I took a sip of green tea, my gaze fixed on the outside world.

I lowered my head, looking into my cup, and squeezed the tag on the tea bag string.

Coming from a third-tier city in the Northeast, tea bags were a rarity. They were bothersome to make, and the taste was usually mediocre—just a bunch of green tea leaves ground up and stuffed into a small cotton pouch. I always thought it was an unnecessary fuss, like ‘taking off your pants to fart.’ With that much effort, one might as well buy proper tea leaves from a tea shop.

The man who had emerged from the office earlier sat with me for a short tea break, then rose, claiming he had an errand outside the school.

Apparently, a relative had come to visit, and he was going out to drink with them. Before leaving, he gave me a string of instructions: check if there was enough A4 paper once the printer finished (the paper was in the cabinet), lock the printing room door when I left, but just close the office door, no need to lock it…

His job seemed incredibly easy. All the school’s worksheets originated from here. He simply had to guard them, ensure no students stole them, and then, when class representatives arrived, print eighty-some copies, bag them, and hand them out.

Perhaps I didn’t look like a ‘bad student,’ as he trusted me implicitly. Thus, I found myself sitting alone in the office, sipping tea, waiting for the worksheets from the adjacent printing room.

I considered myself neither a bad student nor an exemplary one. However, the idea of stealing worksheets to print exam questions or selling them to wealthy, opportunistic students felt utterly classless. I disdained such actions.

Still hungry, I heard the machine in the printing room finally shriek, its sound muffled by the wall.

The warning tone continued its eerie wail. I was the only one on the entire floor. After sitting for a while and taking another sip of tea, I slowly opened the door, walked into the reception room, sorted the worksheets by subject, and then filled five bulging plastic bags. I lifted them and exited the old school building.

By the time I reached my classroom, it was almost noon.

Inside, that old geezer was still lecturing.

I knocked on the door and entered. Immediately, the students burst into laughter—my appearance must have been comical, standing there with five bulging red plastic bags, like a clown. The old geezer merely glanced at me, showing little gratitude, and simply told me to place the worksheets on the podium and return to my seat.

He patted the plastic bags on the desk and resumed his lecture, as if he had hired a temporary worker, paid them their due, and was now justifiably enjoying the fruits of their labor.

Sitting at my desk, I glanced sideways. The seat beside me remained empty.

Bai Hailong had skipped school today. He’d told me he was going to meet his ‘brothers.’ I was already a little envious of him; he didn’t have to face these damn dogs, nor did he deign to. He only had his brothers.

From behind, Chen Feng patted my back, stifling a laugh. “Dude,” he whispered, “you looked like an old farmer coming back from the market just now…” His words were cut short by the low laughter that rippled through our section.

On the podium, that old geezer roared, “Are you trying to rebel!”

The students fell silent. I stared at my desktop. It should have been math class now; the same old geezer taught both math and physics in our class.

The physics textbook lay open on my desk, illuminated by the overcast sky’s silver light. Despite the strong winds today, the window to my left had been opened by someone, and the cold air blew directly onto me, making me shiver.

Perhaps the students in front and behind me felt the classroom was stuffy, and opening the window beside themselves seemed too easy. So they leaned over to open mine.

The wind suddenly gusted violently, rolling my ballpoint pen twice across the desk before it was stopped by the barrier.

I really wanted to reach out and close the window, but I stared at the desktop, and for some reason, I couldn’t even muster the strength to lift my arm.

It must have been hunger. My vision gradually darkened, a tranquil feeling washing over me. I felt sleepy and just wanted to doze off.

Many times when I slept, I dreamed, but not this time. In my dream, I could feel myself shifting sleeping positions, an uncomfortable sensation. The muffled laughter in my ears suddenly surged, then abruptly faded.

A voice whispered to me, ‘You damn dog, shouldn’t you fight this bastard?’

But I didn’t want to fight. I was tired. I hated fighting.

I abruptly opened my eyes and sat up.

Outside, heavy rain poured down, raindrops smashing against the windowsill, splashing a large mist that drifted onto my desk.

All the classroom windows were tightly shut, except for mine. I looked down; half my clothes were soaked, and the ink on my physics book had begun to bleed, thoroughly saturated.

I stood up and closed the window, and the tumultuous sound of rain immediately ceased. The classroom was empty. No one had turned on the lights, leaving the entire space particularly dim. I glanced at the clock in the hall: 3:25 PM. School had been out for five minutes already.

I sighed, leaning back against my chair. Half my clothes were drenched, clinging uncomfortably to my skin.

Fortunately, the heavy rain couldn’t have lasted long; otherwise, my entire outfit would have been soaked, not just half.

After watching the rain outside for a moment, I turned my head. On Bai Hailong’s desk, his physics book still lay neatly open, untouched. He had skipped school this morning and hadn’t returned…

Returned? He skipped school; why would he come back? I chuckled at my own thought.

I thought, if only I had skipped school with him this morning when he said he was going to meet his brothers. Although I detested fighting, playing ‘Connect the Dots’ all day at an internet cafe seemed like a much better option than enduring this school’s nonsense.

A grumbling female voice echoed down the corridor, growing louder, until the classroom door was abruptly pushed open. She muttered to herself as she walked to the podium.

I looked up. It was the girl who sat in front of me. She froze when she saw me. “You haven’t left yet?” she asked.

I nodded, remaining silent.

The blackboard was still a mess, covered with the physics teacher’s chaotic handwriting. She glanced at me, walked to the front of the podium, picked up the blackboard eraser, and after a moment of thought, turned to me. “Do you have anything planned later?”

I watched the heavy rain outside, saying nothing. After a moment, she continued, “Hey, I have something I need to take care of later. How about you take my turn for classroom duty today?”

Outside, the rain still poured, its sound muffled and heavy through the closed window.

For some reason, my heart felt incredibly calm, as if I were utterly exhausted. I rather liked this feeling and didn’t want to speak, fearing it would break the tranquility. After a long pause, I finally said, “Can’t you do your own duty?”

She inhaled sharply, putting her hands on her hips.

“Huh? What kind of person are you? As classmates, we should help each other out, shouldn’t we? What’s wrong with asking you to wipe the blackboard for me? If you’re busy and have duty next time, do you think I wouldn’t help you? Why are you so selfish?”

I disliked arguing; those skilled at it always seemed to win. If she didn’t want to wipe the blackboard, it would somehow always be my fault, and I’d be branded as selfish. It was a no-win situation.

It was barely three in the afternoon, and I had plenty of time to go home. I could certainly help her with her duty.

“Just leave it,” I said. “I’ll wipe it later.”

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