Not everyone is capable of controlling their own scores.

The English teacher’s surname was Xu, and she was also Fang Dianqiu’s homeroom teacher—a gray-haired old lady. When the bell rang, she appeared at the classroom door, an armful of books in one hand, a heavy wooden chair in the other. It looked cumbersome, and you had to marvel at her stamina, carrying it all the way from the office at her age.

From the neighboring class came the chorus, “Stand up! Good morning, teacher!” Their class, however, had no class monitor, nor anyone to take the lead; everyone simply sat quietly in their seats, the atmosphere rather subdued.

The old lady entered, pausing after two steps inside when the expected greeting did not come. Her expression shifted, and she turned to look at the students, her brows knitting.

Fang Changan had barely any memory of this teacher. But seeing her with the chair, something came back to him: she was rather petty and, for no apparent reason, seemed to dislike their class. Even holiday assignments were heavier than in other classes.

These recollections flashed across his mind. Judging from her faintly displeased expression, he suddenly realized—could it be that she was holding a grudge simply because no one greeted her at the start of term?

With that thought, and for the sake of lighter holiday homework, Fang Changan immediately stood up and called out, “Stand up!”

The class was momentarily stunned. But conformity is strong at this age, and having just heard the greetings from the other class, many followed suit without further thought.

As some stood, the rest quickly followed. Fang Changan continued to take the lead, drawing out the words, “Good—morning—teacher—!” so even the slower students could keep up.

Some students chimed in quickly, others belatedly; the greeting was uneven, but at least everyone participated.

The old lady’s expression softened. She glanced at Fang Changan, her previous resentment toward the class dissipating, though she still seemed somewhat displeased with the leader’s tardiness and the lack of coordination.

Fang Changan, watching her closely, felt a pang of annoyance. Was he going to have to take the blame for the whole class? Damn it, English was his worst subject!

After the greeting, all the students remained standing until the old lady nodded with satisfaction and waved her hand. “That’s fine, you may sit down.”

A chorus of chair legs scraped the floor as fifty-some students sat. The old lady set her chair in place, laid her books on the lectern, and spoke slowly, “My surname is Xu. You may call me Teacher Xu from now on.”

Without wasting words, she began the lesson. “Those from town have learned some English in primary school, but the ones from the countryside probably haven’t. So we’ll start from the basics. Open your books; we’ll begin with the alphabet.”

“Repeat after me: A—A—B—B—AB! C—ABC—”

Fang Changan couldn’t help but purse his lips. His English was poor, but in college he’d dated a foreign languages major, and in the age of the mobile internet, he’d had some exposure to English. This old lady’s pronunciation wasn’t as good as Shen Mo’s.

Still, it was best to follow her lead in class.

The first half of the lesson was spent on the alphabet. After some time, the teacher had everyone read on their own as she paced around the classroom, then began calling on students to recite.

The first name she called was Fang Changan.

“A! B! C! D…” he recited smoothly. The old lady, noting his rural attire, was surprised at his standard pronunciation. She waved for him to sit and even offered a rare word of praise: “Well done.”

She moved on to the next student.

Sitting down, Fang Changan turned to the last page of his exercise book, wrote a quick line, maintained an upright posture, and slid the notebook onto Shen Mo’s desk.

Though the lesson was dull, Shen Mo listened attentively. When Fang Changan suddenly slid his notebook over, she was puzzled at first, until he shot her a meaningful glance. Realizing she was meant to look, she glanced at the page.

There was a large, upright thumb drawn.

She immediately understood Fang Changan’s meaning—a compliment for her effective teaching that morning. She pressed her lips into a pleased smile, but when she noticed the old lady looking her way, quickly composed herself as though nothing had happened, offering no response.

“I only sent an emoji, and you won’t even reply…” Fang Changan mused with a wry smile, but didn’t disturb her further.

The rest of the English class passed with the alphabet song, “ABCDEFG~.” When the bell rang, the old lady reminded them as she left, “Review and memorize after class. Next time I’ll check, and if you can’t recite it, you’ll be copying lines as punishment.”

Then, gathering her books and chair, she walked slowly out toward the office.

The moment she left, the classroom sprang to life. Some students rushed to the restroom, others copied the class schedule, chatted, or laid down to nap—a cacophony of youthful energy.

Wang Ke, bored, rested her head on her desk, glancing at Wang Hao, then at Fang Changan, and finally at Zheng Lili across Wang Hao. She regretted her seat choice; she should have sat behind Fang Changan, so she could play with Zheng Lili.

Hesitating a moment, she took out a red string, poked Shen Mo in front, and asked, “Do you know how to play cat’s cradle?”

Shen Mo shook her head. Fang Changan eagerly volunteered, “I do!”

“I’m not playing with you!” Wang Ke shot back, still holding a grudge. She turned to Shen Mo, “I’ll teach you.”

Seeing Shen Mo nod, Wang Ke tied the ends of the string together, then stretched it between her hands, guiding Shen Mo through the motions. “Hook this part with your pinky, then this one, then move it over there…”

Shen Mo struggled with the moves, fumbling several times. Fang Changan helpfully offered, “Let me, I’ll teach you.”

“No way!” Wang Ke pulled the string away, refusing to let him touch it. Fang Changan rolled his eyes and turned to Wang Hao, “Let’s play. Do you have a string?”

Wang Hao shook his head.

Zheng Lili piped up, “I have one!”

Fang Changan grinned, about to speak, when the little girl flashed a bright smile: “But I’m not lending it to you!”

His smile froze. Wang Ke and Wu Di immediately warmed to Zheng Lili—rarely did they see Fang Changan stymied. Wu Di, delighted, turned to Zheng Lili, “I know how to play too. Let’s play together.”

“Okay.”

Fang Changan watched both sides having fun, then glanced at Wang Hao, who looked back at him innocently. Sighing, Fang Changan patted Shen Mo’s shoulder. Wang Ke glared, “What are you doing?”

“Going to the bathroom!” he shot back, glaring in return.

Wang Ke pouted sulkily. Shen Mo stood to let Fang Changan pass. When he returned, class was about to start. The chalk writing from the previous lesson was still on the board, so he wiped it clean, then tapped the lectern with the eraser.

“Everyone, quiet down.”

The chatter, games, and daydreaming ceased as all eyes turned to him.

“We’ve just started school. Teacher Cheng hasn’t had time to assign class monitors or duties yet, but other classes greet the teacher. We should show the same courtesy, or we’ll give a bad impression and get more homework. Next time, I won’t prompt you—when you see the teacher enter, stand up and greet them.”

“And someone has to clean the blackboard. Otherwise, the next teacher won’t be pleased. One person a day—today I’ll do it. Tomorrow, starting with Xu Yang, we’ll go by seat order.”

A boy in the back row called out, “Why should we listen to you? Who do you think you are?”

Everyone turned to look. The speaker was one of three boys in the last row—the tall one without a desk-mate. He leaned on his desk, not standing, but you could see his height. He wore a lazy, defiant air, lips curled in disdain.

Fang Changan remembered him because of his height, but couldn’t recall the name and didn’t care to try. He looked at him from the lectern and said evenly, “You want to do it instead?”

The boy snorted, tilted his head, and slumped back down, eyeing Fang Changan sidelong. It was unclear whether he could see him. “Not interested.”

“Then do as I say,” Fang Changan replied.

The tall boy said nothing more. No one else objected, so Fang Changan left the lectern just as the starting bell rang.

Shen Mo stood to let him pass, her eyes shining as she watched him. Fang Changan asked, “Why are you looking at me?”

Shen Mo shook her head and sat down without speaking.

A stocky, dark-skinned middle-aged man appeared at the door, arms full of test papers. This time, without Fang Changan prompting, the students stood and greeted him on their own—though without a leader, the greeting was even more chaotic, some finishing as others began.

The teacher didn’t mind. “Sit down, sit down,” he said, heading to the lectern and stacking the papers.

Many students’ hearts sank.

“These are the tests you took last night. I just finished grading them, so today we’ll go over the papers before starting the new lesson next time.” He didn’t bother introducing himself, going straight to the point.

Fang Changan admired this. In other classes, just grading over fifty papers overnight—without parent chat groups or extra help—was impressive. The students took it for granted, some even thought the teacher was a nuisance, and the teacher himself didn’t act as if he were a martyr. In modern times, wouldn’t netizens be singing his praises?

“I’ll call your names to collect your papers. They’re ordered by score, so you’ll know where you stand in class.”

The math teacher’s announcement made the class tense again. Fang Changan, however, was calm—he’d predicted his own score before the test, just over ninety, not low but not at the top, since there were sure to be some above ninety-five…

“Fang Changan!”