Ancheng No. 1 High School was a place of rigorous discipline. Among the many substitute teachers who had graced the hallowed halls of Class 3, Zheng Hua stood out as the epitome of strictness.
Cheng Xing, having experienced the full force of Zheng Hua's authority during his sophomore and junior years, knew all too well the fearsome reputation of this man. Zheng Hua, ever vigilant, carried a half-meter-long wooden stick, a constant reminder of his authority. A single misstep, a minor infraction, was enough to warrant a stinging strike to the palm.
Ancheng, a city in the north, was known for its harsh climate and even harsher people. The young and often unruly children were subjected to the old-age practice of corporal punishment, a necessary evil in a region where gentle persuasion rarely yielded results. Yet, despite the strict discipline, a rebellious spirit persisted among a select group of students.
In schools with lax rules and lenient teachers, these individuals would openly defy authority, even resorting to physical violence. The level of chaos that could ensue in such environments was unimaginable to those who had grown up in more orderly times.
Zhou Yuan, faced with the daunting task of delivering Cheng Xing's love letter to Zheng Hua, was caught in a dilemma. Had it been another teacher, he might have hesitated, torn between his duty and his desire to avoid confrontation. But Zheng Hua was a different story.
To openly defy him would invite severe consequences, far worse than a few strikes to the palm. The memory of a fellow student, who had dared to challenge Zheng Hua's authority, being publicly humiliated was a stark reminder of the price of disobedience.
Zheng Hua, with his stern demeanor and unwavering gaze, seemed to exude an aura of authority. The students, fearful of his wrath, had bestowed upon him the nickname "warden," a fitting title for a man who ruled his classroom with an iron fist.
As Zheng Hua accepted the love letter from Zhou Yuan, his expression softened momentarily. A mischievous glint appeared in his eyes as he turned to the class.
"Are you guys curious to know what our young poet has penned?" he asked, his voice carrying a hint of amusement.
Cheng Xing, sensing the impending humiliation, quickly interjected, "Teacher, I was wrong." He knew that admitting his mistake was the only way to avoid further embarrassment.
The impulsive teenager of the past had given way to a more mature and cautious individual. He understood that public humiliation, especially for something as personal as a love letter, was not something to be taken lightly.
In the past, he had relished the opportunity to showcase his writing skills, even if it meant exposing his innermost thoughts to the entire class. But now, with a newfound sense of self-awareness, he realized the folly of such actions. A love letter, especially one written to someone he no longer cared about, was a private matter that should not be shared with the world.
"We want to see it!" There was always someone eager to join in and watch the fun.
Indeed, the students in the class were curious about what Cheng Xing had written in his love letter to Chen Qing. Chen Qing, however, sitting in the third row, blushed. She was more annoyed with Cheng Xing than anything else at that moment.
"It's nothing bad, just a self-composed poem titled 'Breaking the Formation,'" Zheng Hua said.
After Zheng Hua finished speaking, he began to recite:
Stars, like scattered jewels, pierce the thin night,
Below, a world of chill where cold winds bite.
A song rings out, startling a white crane's flight,
The mournful "Yang Pass," played thrice, ignites
A pang of parting as dawn paints the sky bright.
Your brush from Jiangnan, a touch so light,
Against my northern whip, a contrasting sight.
Life's path uncertain, a winding, twisting flight.
Let's seek solace in laughter, in shared, drunken night.
Only one wish, a yearning turned brief and bright,
Two souls entwined, forever out of night.
After Zheng Hua finished reading, the classroom fell silent. A few seconds later, exclamations of surprise arose.
"Chen Qing, Cheng Xing wrote such a beautiful poem!" Li Dan exclaimed in astonishment.
The blush on Chen Qing's face gradually faded as she nodded. "It's a very good poem."
"Could it be that Cheng Xing copied it from somewhere? After all, there are so many poems called 'Breaking the Formation' from ancient times. I don't believe that he could write such beautiful, self-composed poetry at our age," Wang Yan said, shaking her head.
Chen Qing shook her head, a delicate blush creeping across her cheeks. "No," she murmured. "I'm quite familiar with the 'Breaking the Formation' poems penned by renowned poets of antiquity, and this one doesn't align with any of them.
Besides, Cheng Xing's writing skills have always been very good. Almost all of his Chinese composition essays have been close to full marks, and many of them have been read aloud in class by the composition teacher. And..." She blushed again, "The second half of the poem is about love and longing."
"Let's seek solace in laughter, in shared, drunken night..." Li Dan teased. "Surely, Cheng Xing wants to go through life with our Chen Qing, doesn't he?" She covered her mouth and laughed.
"What are you talking about?" Chen Qing poked her and blushed even harder.
"Does anyone know what 'The mournful "Yang Pass," played thrice' in the poem means?" Zheng Hua suddenly asked.
Chen Qing raised her hand.
Zheng Hua said, "Chen Qing, you tell us."
Chen Qing stood up from her chair and explained:
"It's from Wang Wei's famous poem 'Seeing Off Yuan the Second On a Mission to Anxi' of the Tang Dynasty:
Weicheng morning rain moisten light dust
Visitor house green green willow color new
Urge gentleman further finish one cup alcohol
West outside Yang Pass no friend person
"A poem lamenting the bittersweet of friendship, farewells, and longing," Chen Qing added.
"Very good, please sit down," said Zheng Hua.
"As expected of Chen Qing, you're so amazing," Li Dan praised.
"You know this too?" Wang Yan was surprised.
"I told you to read more books," Chen Qing smiled.
Zheng Hua put the piece of paper back on Cheng Xing's desk and said, "In 2001, there was a candidate named Jiang Xinjie in Jiang Province. His overall score was not very good, but he wrote a full-mark composition that caused a sensation that year. It was because of this famous full-mark composition that he was exceptionally admitted to Nancheng University."
"You must have heard of that composition," Zheng Hua said.
"The Death of Red Hare," Cheng Xing replied.
"Yes," Zheng Hua nodded. "Use your pen and ink for the right purpose."
After saying that, Zheng Hua turned and left the classroom.
"Is that it?" Zhou Yuan asked in a daze.
Aside from the fact that Cheng Xing was not held accountable for writing the love letter, the mere fact that they were messing around during a designated study period would have been grounds for severe punishment in the past.