Fang Yan stood at the podium, and the students broke into spontaneous applause.
"Thank you," he said, bowing deeply to the audience. "Thank you, everyone."
"Mr. Fang, what are you thanking us for?"
"Yeah, we should be thanking you!"
"Mr. Fang, we're so glad you're back! We were really worried you'd left—"
Fang Yan looked at the thirty-seven students seated before him, smiling warmly. "I used to think, like many of you, that a teacher's role is to impart knowledge and clarify doubts. Teachers are givers, deserving respect and appreciation from their students."
"But after this recent experience, I realize I was wrong. I want to thank Haoran for speaking up for justice and his father for amplifying his voice as a journalist. I also thank Zhu Fang and her parents for their thoughtful letter, and every one of you who supported me, openly or quietly, in your own ways. We're more than just teachers and students; we're friends who share both joy and hardship."
"Since we're friends, can I just call you by your names?"
"Sure! Feel free to call me Fang Yan," he laughed. "Respect and affection don't come from titles."
"Mr. Fang, what will we learn this class?"
"How about 'The Assassination of the King of Qin by Jing Ke'? We could act it out, with each of you playing Jing Ke!"
"I'll be the King of Qin, and you can all try to assassinate me. But none of you will succeed—"
In the past, teachers decided what to teach, and students passively absorbed it. This rote approach led to frustration on both sides. But since adopting Fang Yan's "reenactment teaching method," the students had started requesting specific lessons.
This change was remarkable. With such enthusiasm for learning, how could they not improve?
"We're not learning anything new today," Fang Yan said, smiling. "In our last class, we studied Farewell to Cambridge by the Sparrow River. This time, why not write a piece titled Farewell to Sparrow Bridge? Imagine how you'll feel when you graduate from Suzaku and truly say goodbye to this place."
"There's no time or word limit. Just submit the work you're proud of. I'll read each one aloud, and we'll vote for the top three. The best piece will earn the title 'Class Nine's Outstanding Poet,' add one point to your Chinese grade, and you can exchange that point for one missed class—if you ever want to skip one of my lectures—"
"We'd never use it to skip your class, Mr. Fang!"
"Exactly! If we skip anything, it'll be math."
"Vote for mine, everyone—it's going to be a masterpiece!"
The students laughed, then fell into quiet contemplation. Some started writing immediately, while others searched for inspiration. A few students even got up to pace the room, but Fang Yan didn't mind.
Artistic creation should be free from constraints.
He settled into a chair at the back of the room, leaned against the wall, and drifted off to sleep.
"Teaching is such a privilege," he thought, sighing. If he were home, his father would already have him practicing martial arts. He didn't understand why he had to keep training when he could never defeat Ye Wenrou. Next time he saw her, he'd challenge her to a recitation contest of The Three Hundred Tang Poems—winner takes all.
At eighteen, he'd suggested a poetry duel, but the fierce Ye Wenrou ignored him, resorting to her fists. Eventually, he had to concede, raising a white flag.
"That blood debt…" Fang Yan felt a renewed determination. "I'll settle it."
Next time he saw her, he'd pelt her with snowballs. If he couldn't win in close combat, maybe he'd succeed from a distance.
Imagining Ye Wenrou covered in snow, begging for mercy, Fang Yan couldn't help but laugh—
"Mr. Fang—Mr. Fang—wake up!" Huang Haoran shook his arm, calling him back.
Fang Yan opened his eyes to find a dozen students staring at him, the rest watching curiously as if he were an alien.
"Why is everyone staring at me?" he asked, embarrassed. He'd only meant to rest his eyes. "Weren't you all supposed to be writing poems?"
"They're all done," Huang Haoran said, gesturing at a stack of papers on Fang Yan's chest. "You drooled on them."
"Poems, drool, whatever," Fang Yan muttered, picking up the soggy stack and noticing several pages were indeed damp.
"Gross," he said, his first reaction one of disgust. But, realizing it was his own drool, he shrugged it off.
"Let me take a look," he said. "Everyone, back to your seats."
"Are you alright, Mr. Fang?" Huang Haoran asked with concern.
"I just closed my eyes to think." Fang Yan chuckled. "I was so tired last night, I must have dozed off."
"Mr. Fang's been under a lot of pressure," Huang Haoran whispered to the others. "Let him rest."
"Got it," the students nodded, dispersing quietly.
To most, being expelled would've been too heavy to bear, but Fang Yan's resilience shone through. Watching his considerate students, he felt a sting of emotion.
"With students like you," he murmured, his eyes warm, "I'll cherish each one of you."
Flipping through the poems, his face darkened as he yelled, "Who's the genius who forgot to put their name on their poem? Do you think you're Li Bai or Du Fu, that I'd recognize you by style alone? Until you reach that level, put your name on it."
"—"
"Mr. Fang," a voice called from the doorway.
"Yes?" Fang Yan looked up to see Principal Zhang Shaofeng standing there.
Fang Yan was startled. For Zhang Shaofeng to come personally, something significant must be happening.
He quickly approached, smiling warmly. "Principal Zhang, you wanted to see me?"
He wanted his students to see that a man should know when to be soft and when to be firm.
"Busy, Mr. Fang?" Zhang Shaofeng asked, smiling. "Settling in well at Suzaku?"
"Very much so. Suzaku's the kind of place you don't want to leave once you arrive."
"Then don't leave. Put down roots here and help us nurture more outstanding students."
"Of course, Principal. As long as you want me here, I won't go anywhere," Fang Yan replied. Inside, Zhang chuckled to himself, thinking, As if you'd leave even if I let you.
"I brought a new student for you," Zhang said.
"If you personally brought her, she must be exceptional," Fang Yan replied with a smile, glancing behind the principal—only to be captivated.
Fang Yan had seen beautiful women before, but this was different. She possessed a kind of beauty that seemed ethereal: a smile that could captivate the heavens, a presence that was almost otherworldly. A single glance was mesmerizing.
Wearing a simple white shirt and a blue skirt that reached just below her knees, her elegance was effortlessly breathtaking. Her smooth, ivory legs were bare, and her long hair cascaded casually, catching the sunlight. Her understated grace captured everyone's attention.
"This is Mr. Fang," Zhang Shaofeng said, introducing him.
"Fang Yan," she said, extending a delicate hand. "I'm Qin Yitian."
"Yitian, you should address him as 'Mr. Fang,'" Zhang reminded her.
She smiled and said nothing.
Zhang didn't press the matter. "Yitian, I'm entrusting you to Mr. Fang. If you need anything, just let me know."
"Thank you, Principal." Qin Yitian smiled sweetly.
"Call me Uncle Zhang," he corrected. "Alright, get to class. I won't keep you any longer."
Turning to Fang Yan, Zhang said, "Mr. Fang, I'm entrusting Qin Yitian to you. She's a treasure to our school, so please… take care of her."
"Rest assured, Principal. I'll treat her… like my own daughter," Fang Yan replied, inwardly thinking, Of course, I have my principles.
There's a saying: Once a teacher, forever a father. Fang Yan's intent was pure.
"Ah, you," Zhang chuckled, shaking his head as he walked away.
"I'm definitely not your daughter," Qin Yitian said with a mischievous smile.
"It was just a comparison," Fang Yan replied.
"Then how about this one?" She looked at him intently. "How about treating me like… your woman?"
"—" Fang Yan's eyes widened in shock. Was she… flirting with him?