Breaking the Formation: The Night is Cold and the Wind is Clear
It was rare to see an ancient-style poem in the cultural newspaper. Duan Weiguo had read many works in the Cultural Report over the years, including excerpts from novels, essays, and modern poetry. But ancient poetry was an unusual guest on its pages.
Each issue of the Cultural Report featured two exceptional pieces prominently in the center spread of the provincial newspaper. These works were carefully selected from countless submissions by local writers' associations and readers from affiliated cultural publications. It was a significant honor for any writer to have their work showcased in this way.
Duan Weiguo himself had submitted a few of his own pieces in the past. Each one, however, had been met with rejection.
When he unfolded the paper this morning, his eyes caught a poem. At first glance, it seemed rather ordinary. Its title and content weren't particularly remarkable, yet he felt it deserved to be there—it had the gravitas required for a spot in the prestigious publication.
What made him pause and squint at the page wasn't the poem itself but the name of its author.
"Ancheng No. 1 High School, Cheng Xing."
Duan Weiguo's eyes widened. If it had been just "Ancheng No. 1 High School," it might not have raised an eyebrow. Similarly, the name "Cheng Xing" could easily belong to someone else. But seeing the two together made his heart skip a beat.
He adjusted his glasses and stared at the name again, unwilling to believe what he was seeing. Just then, the office door creaked open, and Zheng Hua walked in.
"Old Zheng, come and take a look at this newspaper," Duan called out, his voice unusually animated.
"What's up? Did something big happen in the country again? Or did the Cultural Report publish some masterpiece?" Zheng Hua asked as he approached.
Duan Weiguo had a habit of buying the Cultural Report every morning. Whenever a notable article or an exceptional piece of writing caught his eye, he would share it with Zheng Hua.
Though the Cultural Report occasionally published literary works, it largely focused on major provincial, national, and even global events, much like any mainstream newspaper.
"Old Zheng, look here," Duan said, pointing to the poem.
"What's the matter? Are you talking about this 'Autumn in Luzhou' by Li Bo? This modern poem is quite good," Zheng Hua remarked. But as his eyes shifted down the page, he suddenly froze, his pupils narrowing.
Below Li Bo's work was the ancient-style poem. At first, Zheng Hua was captivated by the text itself. Its lines had left a deep impression on him, prompting him to glance at the author's name.
"Ancheng No. 1 High School, Cheng Xing."
His breath caught.
"Do you think this is a coincidence?" Duan asked, still grappling with disbelief.
The provincial Cultural Report only featured two works per issue, selected from thousands of entries. Having a piece published there was akin to being featured on television—it conferred a level of recognition that most aspiring writers only dreamed of.
But here, in black and white, was the name of his own student—a student he had long dismissed as a troublemaker. Cheng Xing was notorious for getting into fights and consistently underperformed in his classes. His math grades were, without question, the lowest among the two classes Duan taught.
"It's no coincidence," Zheng Hua said, his voice tinged with both amazement and pride. "I've seen this poem before. Cheng Xing wrote it. But I never imagined it would make its way into the Cultural Report."
Zheng Hua's initial shock gave way to a deep sense of honor. He had been teaching for decades and had seen many students go on to prestigious universities. But attending a renowned school wasn't the same as leaving a true mark. While many of his former students now held well-paying jobs or even ran successful businesses, this achievement felt different.
Zheng Hua was a teacher of Chinese, and to see his student's work recognized in such a significant way filled him with pride.
"Old Duan, can I borrow this newspaper?" Zheng Hua asked, already reaching for it.
Without waiting for an answer, he tucked the paper under his arm and hurried out of the office.
"What's gotten into Old Zheng? I've never seen him so flustered," remarked one of the other teachers who had just entered.
"If you had a student like that in your class, you'd be flustered too," Duan replied, still staring at the newspaper.
"What do you mean by 'a student like that'?" asked Yang Rumei, the head teacher of another class.
"I bought this morning's Cultural Report, and Cheng Xing's work was published in it," Duan said, his tone a mix of incredulity and resignation.
"Wait, who?"
"Cheng Xing," he repeated.
The room fell silent.
Meanwhile, Zheng Hua was rushing to the principal's office. Bursting through the door without so much as a knock, he startled Principal Chen Huai'an, who was sipping a cup of tea.
"Old Zheng, what's the matter?" Chen asked, setting down his cup.
"Principal, look at this newspaper," Zheng Hua said, handing it to him.
Chen Huai'an's eyes scanned the page. His brows furrowed as he read the poem and saw the name beneath it. "Cheng Xing? Is this really our Cheng Xing?"
As the school's principal, Chen was familiar with students who had unique circumstances. Cheng Xing's father had gone to considerable lengths to secure his admission to Ancheng No. 1 High School. While the boy had shown a surprising aptitude during a recent National Day blackboard design project, his overall academic performance was dismal.
The principal had always viewed him as one of the lowest-ranking students in the school.
How could such a student write a poem of this caliber—and have it published in the Cultural Report?
But before Chen could dwell on his doubts, the phone on his desk rang.
"Principal Chen, it's Tao Yong," came the voice of the district official on the other end.
"Ah, Director Tao," Chen greeted, trying to mask his lingering astonishment.
"I heard something yesterday but forgot to inform you," Tao Yong continued. "There's a student from your school—Cheng Xing—whose work was published in the provincial Cultural Report. This is a tremendous honor, both for Ancheng No. 1 High School and our district. You should commend him. When I was at the city meeting yesterday, the higher-ups were very pleased."
Chen Huai'an hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair, still holding the newspaper. His mind swirled with conflicting emotions.
Cheng Xing—a student whose father had practically begged for his admission, whose academic record was unimpressive, and whose name was often associated with trouble—had achieved something that many top students could only dream of.
It was a moment of reckoning for everyone who had underestimated the boy.