Chapter 11: Fortunately, I Teach Literature

In the principal's office, Lin Ming and Liang Huiyang sat together, sipping tea.

Mr. Liang said nothing, occasionally letting out a sigh, his gaze toward the principal tinged with a touch of grievance.

Principal Lin naturally understood what was on his mind. He knew well that this matter was rather difficult for him, so he had specially brewed a pot of fine tea.

“Here, Old Liang, give this a try. If it weren't for you today, I wouldn't have brewed this for anyone else.”

“What kind of tea earns such praise from you, Principal Lin?” Mr. Liang, though feeling rather downcast, couldn't help his curiosity.

“Hehe, this is Xuan Yue Snow Buds, brought specially by Shian from the monastery.”

“Brought by student Shian?”

“Yes, come, taste it first.”

With that, Principal Lin poured him a cup.

Though Mr. Liang was not as much an expert as Principal Lin, he could still appreciate the quality of the tea—the liquor was a lustrous green, the buds stood upright, the fragrance was refreshing, and the brew was neither muddy nor too strong. Just the aroma alone cleared the mind and invigorated the senses.

He took a light sip, and the furrow in his brow slowly relaxed. The gloom in his heart seemed to lift a little as well.

Noticing this change, Principal Lin smiled and asked, “Well, what do you think? Isn't this tea wonderful?”

“It is indeed,” Mr. Liang nodded, unable to resist lifting the cup to study it more closely. “I’ve bought Xuan Yue Snow Buds before, but none tasted this good… Actually, the difference is huge. Could it be I bought a fake before? After drinking this, I feel energy coursing through me, and the aftertaste lingers so long…”

“Haha, this tea is grown by Elder Chen and Shian themselves. You won't find it elsewhere!”

“Is it the cultivation method that's different?”

“No, it's the people who grow it.”

“Huh?”

Clearly, Mr. Liang was not as familiar with Master Chen and his disciple as Principal Lin was, but he knew there was some connection between Lin and those two. Sensing that Lin did not wish to elaborate, he let the matter drop and the conversation shifted back to Chen Shian.

“Principal Lin, it’s not that I’m unwilling to take this on, but if student Shian transfers directly into Class Five with no foundation, I’m afraid he won’t be able to keep up. Shouldn’t he start from the first year to build up his basics?”

“I know, Old Liang! That’s exactly why I’ve entrusted this matter to you—because I know how much ground Shian has to make up. I wouldn’t feel at ease leaving this to anyone else.”

What followed was a stream of flattery, painting Mr. Liang as a miracle worker who could raise even the weakest students to top universities. The praise left Mr. Liang feeling rather buoyant himself.

Having enjoyed tea and cakes, Mr. Liang realized the matter was settled. Helpless, he could only fortify himself and say, “Principal Lin, I can promise to do my best to help Shian catch up, but I can’t guarantee he’ll be able to keep up with the progress.”

“Don’t worry, Old Liang, just do your best. I have faith in Shian.”

Pouring him another cup, Principal Lin asked, “Is Mengqiu still sitting by herself?”

***

“Yes, she doesn’t like having a desk mate. Since there’s a vacant seat, she’s always sat alone.”

“Well, when Shian joins your class, arrange for him to sit with Mengqiu. Maybe she can help him catch up with his studies.”

“Will she agree to that? You know her temperament as well as I do.”

“I’ll talk to her about it.”

“Then you do it. That’s not something I can decide.”

***

As the two chatted over tea, there was a gentle knock at the office door.

It was Chen Shian, test papers in hand.

“Shian? You’ve finished the placement test already?” Principal Lin asked.

“Yes, I did. I didn’t do well. There were some questions I just couldn’t solve, so I didn’t waste time on them,” Shian answered honestly, not hiding the fact that many questions were beyond him.

Yet there was no trace of discouragement in his expression; he remained calm and composed.

Having recently gained new insight into the state of “the mind as a clear mirror, aware of one’s own position,” Shian was now attempting to use a resolute will and action to replace the vague sense of confidence—he no longer acted simply because he believed he could succeed, but because he had to succeed.

The profound truths that take some a lifetime to grasp, he could understand with a little guidance and experience. One had to admit, Shian was a prodigy in the Daoist arts.

But understanding was not enough; true cultivation lay in putting knowledge into practice—a truth only validated through action.

“I managed to finish most of the language paper, but I really struggled with math, English, physics, chemistry, and biology. I’ll need Mr. Liang to look them over for me.”

“All right, let me see,” Mr. Liang said, pulling glasses from his shirt pocket and accepting the papers.

Results aside, he rather admired this boy. Even if his scores were abysmal, Shian regarded the matter with uncommon seriousness.

As a language teacher, Mr. Liang first examined the Chinese paper.

The neatness of the paper was a pleasure to behold. The boy’s handwriting was especially fine—meticulous small script with the grace of a master, steady and powerful, not a single correction or stray mark—a clear sign of years of diligent calligraphy.

Handwriting is a scholar’s second face, they say; beautiful writing always earns extra favor.

“Shian, your handwriting is excellent,” Mr. Liang offered his praise, then frowned. “But… why are you using traditional characters?”

“I’m used to writing that way, and I read a lot of classical texts, so it comes naturally.”

“Hmm… do you know how to write in simplified characters?”

“I do.”

“Well then, from now on, use simplified characters for your test papers, to keep things standardized.”

“All right,” Shian replied, taking note.

Glancing over the test, Mr. Liang began to review the answers in detail. It was last week’s monthly exam—a paper he knew well. But when he saw Shian’s answers, his brow furrowed again.

“You got all the dictation right, but in the modern reading section… it’s not that your answers are wrong, but they don’t fit the grading rubric. And… why did you answer in classical Chinese?”

Mr. Liang paused, then continued, “And your composition as well—beautifully written, but using classical Chinese is too risky. We don’t encourage that.”

“Shian, you haven’t had standardized schooling, so you may not agree with what I’m saying, but this is how school exams work. You can have your own style and understanding, but in the end, your answers have to fit the framework we’ve set. This kind of standardization may cause some treasures to be overlooked, but it’s the fairest and most universal way to select for the majority.”

Mr. Liang was thorough in his comments, using the answers as a springboard for a broader discussion. After all, Shian was different from other students—he’d never attended school and had no concept of rules ingrained in other students from childhood. He needed to be made aware of this first.

Shian absorbed it quickly. No order, no rule—just as the mountain had its own rules, so too did the school. He understood well enough.

“You’re right, Mr. Liang. I’ll remember that.”

“I can see your foundation in Chinese is solid, with deep and insightful answers. With more practice, you’ll adapt quickly.”

Finishing the Chinese paper, Mr. Liang let out a small sigh of relief. For a young Daoist who’d never attended school to possess such literary accomplishment was remarkable indeed.

After all, only a true piece of jade can be polished.

He didn’t grade the paper—there was no point—but he was confident that after some standardized training, Shian’s language score could quickly rise above 120.

He then picked up the other subject papers.

“Hmm…”

“…”

A long silence fell.

Just moments ago, Mr. Liang had plenty to say about the Chinese paper. But when it came to the other subjects, he pondered for a long time before finally squeezing out a single sentence:

“The other subjects… your foundation is practically zero.”

He wanted to offer some encouragement, but seeing Shian’s calm demeanor, it didn’t seem necessary. Still, he added earnestly, “Shian, you’ll really have to work hard from here on out…!”

“Yes, I must work hard,” Shian replied seriously, nodding.

Looking at this humble and pure young man, Mr. Liang silently thanked his stars that he taught language—at least there was some hope for half the subjects.

If the other teachers saw these papers, they’d probably feel the sky was falling…