In the afternoon, after wrapping up the evaluations with the judging panel, Zheng Hua called Cheng Xing and Jiang Luxi to his office.
Having reviewed over thirty classes across three schools, he was confident their class's bulletin board would perform well. As a judge in this round of the bulletin board competition, Zheng Hua noticed that while other classes had decent artwork, their themes and copywriting fell short in comparison. Most boards still centered solely on National Day celebrations, lacking the depth and creativity their class displayed.
Many teachers and school leaders praised their class's bulletin board after the evaluations concluded.
"Your presentation of the bulletin board was magnificent! Whose idea was it to use the begonia leaves?" Zheng Hua asked with a smile.
"We have Cheng Xing to thank for that. Aside from the lettering, which I did, everything else—the artwork, the copy, and the concept—was all Cheng Xing's work," Jiang Luxi explained.
"Helping each other is what classmates should do," Cheng Xing replied modestly, smiling.
"Cheng Xing, I remember you used to be responsible for our bulletin boards. Back then, they weren't as impressive as this!" Zheng Hua remarked, his tone light but sincere.
Cheng Xing laughed softly, scratching the back of his head.
"You've been doing well recently," Zheng Hua continued, his tone growing serious. "But you need to focus entirely on listening in class. My class is fine, but you should also pay attention in other teachers' classes. Don't just pretend to be studying English—that won't benefit you in the long run," he advised earnestly.
Zheng Hua often observed his students through the classroom windows or the gaps in the door, and he had a clear view of their behavior. Cheng Xing's recent progress was noticeable to all the teachers. However, outside of Chinese class, he always had an English book open, pretending to study, no matter the subject. While time was running out before the college entrance exams, there was still a chance for him to get into a regular university or a vocational college if he paid attention in class.
If Cheng Xing excelled in his essay during the exam, there was a slim possibility he could gain admission to a university based on an outstanding essay. But that would be extremely difficult. His essays were good, but they weren't at the level of a perfect score, the kind of essays universities might consider for special admission. Success in this area also involved a great deal of luck.
Many top-scoring essays in recent years were written in a unique classical Chinese style, requiring extensive reading and preparation.
"Understood, Teacher," Cheng Xing replied respectfully.
The teachers' offices were organized by floor, with all the teachers for that floor sharing one large office. Cheng Xing used to dread going there, knowing that a single teacher's criticism could spark a chain reaction, resulting in a barrage of reprimands from others.
"Teacher."
A female student entered the office, her voice soft but steady. Cheng Xing recognized her: Li Hong, the class president of Class 2.
Li Hong was a top student, consistently ranking in the top ten of their grade. The math teacher, who was also Class 2's homeroom teacher, favored her due to her academic excellence.
"You were responsible for the bulletin board this time. What were you thinking?" Duan Weiguo demanded sternly, his expression severe.
"I'm sorry, Teacher. I didn't know how to handle it," Li Hong responded, lowering her head.
"Couldn't you ask for help? You're the class president. With so many students in your class, surely someone can draw or write! Didn't you remember anything I told you?" Duan Weiguo scolded. His voice grew harsher with each sentence.
"Hold out your hand," Duan ordered, pulling a ruler from his desk drawer.
Li Hong extended her hand without protest. Duan Weiguo struck it several times without hesitation, each strike sharp and deliberate. Tears immediately welled up in her eyes, but she remained silent.
"Duan, that's enough. Li Hong doesn't deserve this," Zheng Hua interjected, his voice calm but firm.
At their school, homeroom teachers of major subjects like Chinese, math, and English often taught two classes. Zheng Hua and Duan Weiguo both taught Classes 2 and 3. Meanwhile, teachers of subjects like physics and chemistry, with fewer lessons per week, taught four or five classes and rarely served as homeroom teachers.
During the morning evaluations, the panel started with the back classes. When they reached Class 2's bulletin board, Zheng Hua already knew Duan Weiguo would be furious. Li Hong had worked alone on it, and while there was writing and artwork, neither was particularly impressive. Their board was, without a doubt, the weakest of all the classes.
Zheng Hua, who only taught two classes, wanted both to excel. Despite her strong academic performance, Li Hong was still his student, and he felt a responsibility to defend her.
"Cheng Xing, Jiang Luxi, you two can go eat now," Zheng Hua said, dismissing them with a wave of his hand.
The two students quietly left the office.
"In the past, walking into that office meant getting scolded or hit. Today's the first time I left unharmed," Cheng Xing murmured, still shaken after witnessing Li Hong's punishment.
Teachers liked to strike students' palms—it didn't cause lasting damage, but it hurt enough to leave a lasting impression.
Jiang Luxi remained silent, deep in thought. Given how seriously the school took the bulletin board competition, if their class had performed poorly, Zheng Hua might have hit her too. She doubted she could've done better than Li Hong if she'd been on her own.
And Li Hong, despite her excellent grades, had still failed to meet expectations. Their math teacher, typically calm and composed, had completely lost his temper.
"I'll treat you to some buns," Jiang Luxi offered, her voice quiet but sincere.
Cheng Xing had helped her a lot with the bulletin board, and she felt it was the least she could do.
"Forget the buns—how about being friends?" Cheng Xing teased, flashing a mischievous grin.
"No way," Jiang Luxi shook her head, smirking.
"Alright, buns it is then. But just so you know, I'm really hungry. I'll probably need five or six," Cheng Xing laughed, clearly joking.
Jiang Luxi paused, then turned back toward the office.
"Where are you going?" Cheng Xing called after her, puzzled.
"I only have one yuan. I'm going to ask the teacher for another," she explained.
"Relax, I was kidding. I'm not a pig! I can't eat that much," Cheng Xing assured her.
What a silly girl—offering to treat someone when she barely had enough money herself. Even if he didn't need five or six buns, he could easily eat three. What would she eat then?
Suddenly, Cheng Xing realized something: Jiang Luxi never seemed to eat in the evenings.
"Okay," Jiang Luxi replied, visibly relieved.
Zheng Hua had once mentioned that if her family was struggling financially, she could borrow money from him. While he couldn't lend large sums, he could cover basic meal expenses with no rush to repay. Yet Jiang Luxi had never borrowed money, even when she lost her wallet or forgot to bring money. She would rather go hungry than ask for help.
This time, since Cheng Xing had helped her so much, she wanted to repay the favor immediately. She figured she could borrow a yuan from the teacher now and return it tomorrow.
Downstairs, Jiang Luxi bought three buns.
"Here," she said, handing one to Cheng Xing.
After eating two buns, Cheng Xing handed the last one to her.
"The buns outside the school are bigger. Two buns filled me up. You can have the last one," he said casually before walking away.
Jiang Luxi stared at the bun in her hand, momentarily dazed, then began eating it in small bites.
She had always been hungry in the evenings, but since she ate in the morning and at noon, she refrained from eating at night. To avoid the temptation of seeing others eat, she wouldn't even go downstairs after school.
Today was different. She went downstairs to treat Cheng Xing to buns, and now she was eating too.
After finishing the bun, she threw the bag into a nearby trash can and returned upstairs.
That evening, after finishing work, Chen Shi joined a group of colleagues from the Culture and Education Bureaus for dinner. As the dishes were served, the conversation naturally shifted toward the day's events.
"Hey, Lao Tao, I heard your district organized a joint blackboard competition among three schools today. How did it go?" Chen Shi asked, directing his question to Tao Yong, who sat across the table.
Tao Yong smiled, setting down his chopsticks. "You know, we initially organized this event to foster team collaboration among students. We weren't expecting anything extraordinary from the blackboards—just the usual effort from the kids. But to our surprise, there was one that really stood out."
"Oh? Tell us more," one of the leaders from the Culture Bureau chimed in, clearly intrigued.
"Here, take a look at this." Tao Yong pulled out his phone and tapped on the screen before holding it up.
On display was a photo of the blackboard created by two students, Cheng Xing and Jiang Luxi. During the evaluations, all the blackboards had been photographed, but this was the only one Tao Yong had saved on his phone—it had left that much of an impression on him.
Chen Shi leaned in, narrowing his eyes as he examined the image. "Begonia leaves? This was drawn by students?"
Tao Yong grinned, clearly impressed with Chen Shi's recognition. "As expected from Ancheng's literary giant, you caught that right away. Yes, two students from Class 3 at Yizhong created it. And look at the accompanying text—it's remarkable."
Chen Shi scrutinized the blackboard more closely. The elegant strokes of the begonia leaves blended seamlessly with the script. "It's impressive. But do you really think this was entirely student work? The art and the script are both unusually sophisticated."
"I thought the same at first," Tao Yong admitted. "But I asked around afterward, and it's completely student-made."
Chen Shi frowned slightly, still skeptical. He decided to ask his daughter Chen Qing later. After all, Class 3 was under her supervision. While he appreciated the craftsmanship, he knew from years of experience that such high-level work was rare among students. The artwork could be explained by talent, but the writing? That was something else. Poetry could be a sudden burst of inspiration, but a well-crafted essay required depth and maturity—something most high school students lacked.
Still, he chose not to voice his doubts. There was no need to dampen Tao Yong's enthusiasm, especially when Tao had a bright future ahead of him.
After dinner, Chen Shi returned home, his thoughts still lingering on the blackboard. A little later, his daughter Chen Qing arrived, her backpack slung over one shoulder.
"Qingqing, I have a question for you," Chen Shi said, calling her over as she settled onto the sofa.
"What's up, Dad?" she asked, curiosity evident in her voice.
"That blackboard design and script from today—were they done by your teachers?"
Chen Qing paused, processing the question, then shook her head firmly. "No."
"It was done by Cheng Xing and another student. The other student mainly handled the text, while Cheng Xing took care of the design, music, and even the script," she explained.
Throughout the day, Chen Qing had found herself repeatedly drawn to that blackboard created by Cheng Xing and Jiang Luxi. Everything—the artwork, the text, and even the music—had been executed flawlessly.
"Music too? What kind of music?" Chen Shi asked, his interest piqued.
Chen Qing described the song Cheng Xing had suggested Jiang Luxi play: "Dream Camel Bell."
"Are you sure it was Cheng Xing?" Chen Shi's tone carried a mix of disbelief and curiosity.
"Positive," Chen Qing confirmed. "Even the teachers didn't know what Cheng Xing was planning until this morning. I only saw the map he was working on yesterday."
Initially, she hadn't even noticed Cheng Xing helping Jiang Luxi. But in hindsight, she realized he had stayed behind for days, quietly assisting her.
"If he wrote that essay himself, he could become a writer, even if he doesn't get into college," Chen Shi said with a chuckle.
"Is it really that good?" Chen Qing asked, surprised by her father's praise.
Chen Shi wasn't just anyone—he was the director of the Cultural Bureau, the chairman of the Ancheng Writers' Association, and a vice chairman of the provincial literary federation. If he admired Cheng Xing's writing, it meant something.
"Based on the text alone, he's better than many writers in Ancheng," Chen Shi said, his voice filled with conviction.
Chen Qing was stunned. That morning, watching Cheng Xing and Jiang Luxi stand together in the sunlight, they had seemed dazzling, so radiant she couldn't help but look away.