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“In the northern seas, there is a fish called Kun, and the Kun is so immense that its size is beyond thousands of miles…”
The next day during the morning reading class, Li Huang Xuan read the text loudly
Zhuang Zi’ang, on the other hand, unfolded a piece of paper and quietly began writing a self-reflection letter.
Yesterday had been exhilarating, but when one makes a mistake, they should accept the consequences.
Sure enough, before the class was over, the homeroom teacher, Zhang Zhiyuan, arrived.
“Zhuang Zi’ang, come to my office with me.”
The classroom office was very quiet, with only a few teachers preparing their lessons at their desks.
Zhang Zhiyuan unscrewed his thermos and took a sip of goji berry tea.
Before he could speak, Zhuang Zi’ang proactively submitted his self-reflection letter.
A full thousand words, freshly written, the ink still wet.
It was well-written and eloquent, quoting classical texts.
“Zhuang Zi’ang, do you know what you’re doing? Teacher Wu reported to me that you were reading novels in class. She’s very disappointed in you!” Zhang Zhiyuan slammed his fist on the table.
“I’m sorry, Teacher Zhang, I know I was wrong. I’ll also apologize to Teacher Wu,” Zhuang Zi’ang said sincerely.
“You’re the best student in the entire grade, and now you’ve done something so outrageous. As your homeroom teacher, I’m deeply saddened.”
“What you did is not only irresponsible to yourself but also to your parents and teachers. You’ve set a very bad example for your classmates.”
“Don’t think that writing a self-reflection letter will get you off the hook. I don’t think you’ve realized the seriousness of your mistake.”
…
Zhang Zhiyuan lectured Zhuang Zi’ang, his words flying.
His deep love for his students fueled his sharp reprimand. He didn’t want the best student in his class to go astray.
Although Zhuang Zi’ang was being scolded, he felt a sense of relief in his heart. He could clearly feel his teacher’s concern and care.
Unfortunately, he might not be able to repay this kindness.
Finally, when Zhang Zhiyuan had finished his lecture and started drinking tea again, Zhuang Zi’ang found an opening to speak.
By this time, the other teachers had left.
Only the teacher and student remained in the office.
“Teacher Zhang, I took sick leave the day before yesterday, and you approved my leave request.”
Zhang Zhiyuan was taken aback. “Is there something wrong with your health?”
“Teacher Zhang, you are the teacher I respect most, and I don’t want to hide this from you, but could you please keep it a secret?” Zhuang Zi’ang’s eyes reddened.
“What…what do you mean?” Zhang Zhiyuan sensed something was amiss.
Zhuang Zi’ang steadied himself, then pulled out a medical report from his pocket, unfolded it, and placed it in front of Zhang Zhiyuan.
Zhang Zhiyuan quickly glanced at it, his expression changing drastically.
It was like a bolt of lightning, exploding in his ears.
“Impossible, this must be a misdiagnosis. Zhuang Zi’ang, don’t worry. I’ll take you for a second opinion. It must be a mistake, it must be a mistake…”
Zhuang Zi’ang shook his head. “Teacher Zhang, it’s not a misdiagnosis. I’ve been having nosebleeds for six months.”
“How could this happen? You’re only eighteen!” Zhang Zhiyuan found it hard to accept.
Although everyone faces death, for a young man like Zhuang Zi’ang, it should be something distant.
He still had a bright future ahead, full of experiences yet to be lived.
“Teacher Zhang, I’m only telling you this; please don’t tell anyone else. I don’t want to be pitied or sympathized with. I just want to live out my last three months as I please,” Zhuang Zi’ang pleaded.
“You haven’t told your family?” Zhang Zhiyuan asked in surprise.
“No,” Zhuang Zi’ang sadly shook his head. “I went to the hospital alone. Does it even make a difference whether I have family or not?”
As the homeroom teacher, Zhang Zhiyuan knew that Zhuang Zi’ang’s family situation was somewhat complicated.
He couldn’t even understand how such a dysfunctional family could raise such an outstanding child.
Even in the face of death, he was so calm.
Zhuang Zi’ang bowed deeply to Zhang Zhiyuan. “Teacher Zhang, I know I was wrong about yesterday. I won’t do it again.”
Zhang Zhiyuan’s nose felt a little sore. “It’s okay, the teacher doesn’t blame you. If you don’t want to go to class, you can come and ask me for leave.”
He understood that growing up in such an environment must have suppressed many negative emotions in Zhuang Zi’ang’s heart.
At the point of life and death, wanting to release those emotions is only natural.
He, as the homeroom teacher, hadn’t been attentive enough to his students.
If he had discovered Zhuang Zi’ang’s illness earlier and gotten him proper treatment, would there have been a chance for recovery?
“Teacher Zhang, I don’t want to be class monitor anymore. Please choose another classmate.”
“Okay. You need to relax, don’t put any pressure on yourself, cooperate with the treatment, and don’t give up until the very last moment.”
Zhuang Zi’ang picked up the medical report from the desk, refolded it, and put it back in his pocket.
His movements were slow as if he were performing some kind of ritual.
“Zhuang Zi’ang, I can keep this a secret for now, but when I deem it necessary, I will still inform your parents,” Zhang Zhiyuan said, his emotions complex.
He understood Zhuang Zi’ang—to not even want to tell his parents such a huge thing, his heart must be filled with despair.
But his responsibilities as a teacher prevented him from keeping it a secret indefinitely.
“Thank you, Teacher Zhang. I may disappoint your expectations,” Zhuang Zi’ang said, his eyes filled with tears, bowing once more to Zhang Zhiyuan.
“No, you’ve always been the student I’m most proud of,” Zhang Zhiyuan choked back a sob.
Zhuang Zi’ang, such an outstanding student, had always brought honor to the class and the school.
In the future, he would surely become a remarkable talent in society and achieve great things.
It’s a pity, though, that fate is often unkind to the gifted.
“By the way, what class is that girl you were with yesterday?” Zhang Zhiyuan asked.
“Teacher Zhang, you saw her too?”
“Of course, I followed you for two miles.”
Upon hearing Zhang Zhiyuan’s response, Zhuang Zi’ang felt a surge of joy in his heart.
The conversation with Li Huang Xuan last night had made him question whether Su Yudie was a figment of his imagination.
Since Zhang Zhiyuan had also seen her, it proved she really existed.
She was a real person.
That little butterfly (Xiao Yudie) wasn’t a dream.
After the initial excitement, Zhuang Zi’ang asked, “There are only 22 classes in our grade, right?”
Zhang Zhiyuan asked, puzzled, “Of course, why do you ask?”
“That girl is in class 23.”
“You little rascal, are you teasing me?”
Zhang Zhiyuan deliberately exaggerated his anger, trying to lighten the somber mood.
He made a conscious effort to treat Zhuang Zi’ang normally.
Just as Zhuang Zi’ang himself had requested, not pitying or sympathizing with him was the greatest respect.
“Teacher Zhang, there’s nothing else. I’ll go back to class.”
“Go, go!”
Zhang Zhiyuan waved his hand.
After Zhuang Zi’ang left the office, his pent-up emotions finally erupted.
He slammed his thermos cup hard onto his desk.
The forty-something-year-old man cried until his eyes were red.
After leaving the office, Zhuang Zi’ang didn’t go directly back to Class 9. Instead, he walked up the stairs.
He went all the way to the fifth floor, confirming with his own eyes that Class 22 was at the end of the corridor.
Xiao Yudie, who are you?
Where did you come from?