Awkward Conversation

For most of the students in the class, it was their first time having five periods in the morning. By the fourth period, which was politics, many were already low in spirits, yet when the fifth period—Chinese—arrived, the class seemed to come alive again.

That was because Cheng Mengfei was their homeroom teacher, she was handing out test papers, and she was, frankly, quite attractive.

“I’ll distribute the test papers first,” Cheng Mengfei said, wasting no words. She carried a stack of test papers up to the podium and began calling names. “Fang Chang’an, ninety-four.”

Whoosh!

All eyes in the classroom turned in unison.

Fang Chang’an had more or less expected this outcome. Coming in first was certainly something to be proud of, but for his first attempt at deliberately scoring lower, it was a clear defeat. His goal had been to control his score, so by that measure, he had failed.

Shen Mo stood up to let him out, then stood up again to let him back in. After sitting down, she leaned over, curious, to look at his paper.

“Wang Sha, eighty-nine.”

“Liu Bei, eighty-seven.”

Cheng Mengfei continued reading out scores name by name. Fang Chang’an flipped through his test paper, starting with the essay. Out of a possible forty points, he’d been given thirty-seven.

That meant only three points were taken off from the other questions.

“Shen Mo, eighty-four.”

Shen Mo was reading Fang Chang’an’s essay when her aunt called her name. She quickly got up, collected her paper, and immediately checked her essay score—thirty-two points.

She glanced at her own score, then at Fang Chang’an, a little disgruntled and unconvinced. In a low voice, she said, “Let me see your essay.”

Fang Chang’an handed her his test paper and took hers in return. He skimmed through her answers first; the mistakes struck him as a bit childish, but at her age, that was perfectly normal.

He then read her essay. Her writing was equally immature; she tried hard to make it sound refined and had clearly accumulated some material, frequently quoting famous figures and lines from poetry. But it all felt rather forced.

Cheng Mengfei’s comment read: “Lavish wording, but lacking emotion; some talent for writing, but not smooth.”

Shen Mo had already finished reading Fang Chang’an’s essay. Other than the elevated ending, she found it rather plain and couldn’t understand why her aunt had given him such a high score. She studied the teacher’s comment: “Clear theme, positive and uplifting thoughts, smooth and natural prose, sincere emotion.”

She looked up at Fang Chang’an, and, seeing that he’d finished reading, took back her test paper and compared the two essays side by side.

Fang Chang’an smiled at her and whispered, “Feeling a bit unconvinced?”

Shen Mo shook her head, unwilling to admit it.

Fang Chang’an chuckled. “Even if you don’t admit it, I can see it.”

Shen Mo puffed her cheeks and ignored him. Fang Chang’an continued, “To be honest, when it comes to style, I can’t match you. Look at all the famous quotes you used. When I write, I can’t think of any.”

Hearing his praise, the girl felt a bit happier, though she tried not to show it for fear of appearing petty.

Fang Chang’an went on, “But you’ve misunderstood something. What’s the most important thing about writing an essay?”

The question was intriguing, very much in the style of modern media. Shen Mo was immediately interested. “What is it?” she asked softly.

“Wu Di, sixty-seven.”

Wu Di, who had been watching Fang Chang’an and Shen Mo whispering to each other, found them annoying. Hearing his name called, he quickly stood up and urged Fang Chang’an, “Let me out.”

Fang Chang’an was a little annoyed at the interruption and leaned back against the desk, too lazy to get up. Shen Mo, however, dutifully stood to let Wu Di pass. Once Wu Di had returned with his paper and taken his seat behind Fang Chang’an, Shen Mo sat down as well.

“Go on,” she prompted, leaning closer.

Fang Chang’an said, “You need something to write about. Before you start an essay, you need to know what you want to say. You can’t just fill space, or you’ll lose subscribers—well, that’s just an analogy. For example, if the assignment is to stir-fry shredded potatoes but you make stir-fried cabbage, you’ve gone off-topic. But even if you cook potatoes, you need enough to fill the plate, right? Essays have word count requirements, and dishes need to be enough to fill the plate. If you only have a tiny bit of potato, even a master chef with all the seasonings can’t make it satisfying. No one will think highly of it. Style is like cooking skills and seasoning.”

Shen Mo half-understood, but she got that style wasn’t the most important thing. She blinked and asked, “So what are the potatoes?”

“It depends on the type of essay. For an argumentative essay, it’s your viewpoint and evidence; for a narrative, it’s the story; for a lyrical piece, it’s the emotion.”

Seeing her deep in thought, Fang Chang’an added, “Of course, if you can make a great dish with very few potatoes, that’s impressive already. If you and I had the same amount of potatoes, you’d definitely do better.”

He didn’t mention that some people leave school never having managed to put their potatoes in the pan at all.

Shen Mo glanced at him, pursed her lips, and said nothing, realizing he was trying to comfort her.

“Alright, everyone has their test papers now. You all know how you did,” Cheng Mengfei said, wrapping up after distributing the papers. “But these scores only reflect your past performance, not your future. Your middle school journey has only just begun.”

“If you didn’t do well, don’t be discouraged. Work harder and do better next time. If you did well, don’t get complacent—others might surpass you next time.”

“Now, let’s go over the test paper.”

As usual, half the period was spent handing out papers, the other half reviewing them. It was clear that Cheng Mengfei wanted to try more flexible teaching methods rather than the old rote style, but her abilities weren’t quite up to it. The review mostly stuck to the answer key, and she couldn’t explain the tricky parts thoroughly.

This matched Fang Chang’an’s impression.

The bell rang.

Cheng Mengfei didn’t hold the class over time. She briskly announced the end of class. Many students were already starving after five periods, and as soon as she stepped out, the students in the front row rushed for the door.

Fang Chang’an had behaved himself for the whole period and was just about to stretch when he saw someone waiting outside the classroom—a man in his early forties, not tall, with a thin face. It was his uncle, Fang Luguo.

Fang Chang’an patted Shen Mo on the shoulder. The girl looked up at him, not the least bit offended by the gesture, only blinking in mild confusion. When she saw him stand, she stood too, letting him pass.

Cheng Mengfei gathered her things and was about to leave when she noticed Fang Luguo. She smiled and greeted him, and he replied politely. Once she had gone, Fang Luguo said to Fang Chang’an, “Go call Fang Dianqiu. I’ll get Fang Ying. Let’s all have lunch together.”

Fang Chang’an didn’t argue. He went to the window of Class One. Fang Dianqiu was hunched over her desk, writing something, with a math paper in front of her bearing the glaring red number 62.

He tapped the window. Fang Dianqiu looked up, startled, and instinctively tried to hide her test paper, only to realize she’d already been seen. Annoyed, she asked, “What do you want?”

“Lunch. My uncle’s waiting.”

“Huh?” Fang Dianqiu looked flustered and whispered, “Can I not go?”

“What do you think?” he replied.

Fang Dianqiu sat for a moment, then stuffed her test paper into her desk, looking like someone headed for execution as she stood up.

Fang Chang’an rolled his eyes and waited for her at the classroom door. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Fang Ying already out of Class Two, talking with Fang Luguo.

When Fang Dianqiu joined him, they walked over together. Fang Dianqiu, sullen a moment before, broke into a sweet smile upon seeing Fang Luguo and called out, “Grandpa.”

Fang Chang’an’s mouth twitched, but she was correct—it was only polite.

Fang Luguo’s home wasn’t far from the school, but it was still a good ten-minute walk. The four of them headed downstairs together. As they did, they saw Cheng Mengfei riding an electric bike out from behind the teaching building, with Shen Mo in a tracksuit, sitting astride the back seat.

“Off you go?” asked Cheng Mengfei.

“Yes, off we go,” Fang Luguo replied with routine politeness. Shen Mo also noticed Fang Chang’an.

Fang Chang’an put on a perfectly-timed look of surprise.

Shen Mo guessed he didn’t know about her relationship with her aunt and had even cautioned her not to make things awkward for her. She found this amusing and had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. She waved her little white hand at him.

“Is that Miss Cheng’s niece?” Fang Luguo thought the pretty girl looked familiar, and then recalled she’d been sitting next to Fang Chang’an in class.

“Yes, she’s my deskmate,” Fang Chang’an replied truthfully.

Fang Luguo nodded, “That’s good.”

Fang Chang’an had no further comment.

Neither Fang Dianqiu nor Fang Ying spoke. The four of them walked out of the school gate in silence, the atmosphere a little awkward.

Fang Luguo wasn’t much of a talker, but as an elder and the host, he felt it wouldn’t do to say nothing at all. So he tried to make conversation: “How did you all do on yesterday’s assessment test? Have the papers been handed out?”

Fang Dianqiu and Fang Ying exchanged a glance, both feeling that the earlier silence had actually been less awkward.