Nearly twenty minutes later, the desk lamp inside went out, and the door opened. A man wearing a white shirt and black-rimmed glasses walked out, holding an old-fashioned thermos as if heading out to fetch hot water.
“Teacher Xu!” Song Huaiyan greeted him.
The man froze and came to a halt.
“Are you… students’ parents?” He sized up the newcomers, seemingly unsure, as both looked relatively young, though if they had married early, having a child old enough for elementary school was certainly possible.
“Teacher Xu,” Song Huaiyan stepped forward a few steps and extended his hand toward him, “I suppose you could call me your junior schoolmate. I’m also a graduate of this school; my name is Song Huaiyan.”
“Song Huaiyan…” Xu Jiachen shook his hand out of politeness, frowning in contemplation.
“Haha, a small fry like me naturally wouldn’t leave much of an impression on senior,” Song Huaiyan laughed. “Senior’s name, however, is something I’ve heard spoken of since I was a child!”
“Is there something you need me for?” Xu Jiachen seemed accustomed to such pleasantries.
“I have some items here that I need to pass on to you.” Song Huaiyan looked at him, his voice gentle and calm.
Xu Jiachen’s posture stiffened noticeably, and his expression grew dazed.
“He…” He opened his mouth, his lips already pale. “How… how did those end up with you?”
“That’s a rather long story. My master used to be the owner of Liangbuyi, the medicine shop in town, and she had a friend who was the owner of the Hall of Affairs,” Song Huaiyan explained. “Zhao Bin had no other immediate family members left, so his funeral was handled collectively by a few relatives. Fearing that many of his belongings might be ‘unclean,’ they had Uncle Ping from the Hall of Affairs take them away to dispose of. Uncle Ping passed away many years ago as well, and most of his leftover possessions were stored at Liangbuyi. I only saw them recently when sorting through old items.”
Shen Yu turned his head slightly to look at him. Of course, what Song Huaiyan said wasn’t the truth—the fountain pen had been dug up by them from the roadside near the school, while the wallet had been found just that morning from the abandoned old homestead site of Zhao Bin’s family.
Xu Jiachen stood there quietly listening to him recount this, then slowly and rather stiffly reached out to accept the two items. He suppressed the slight trembling in his fingers as they lightly stroked the surface of the fountain pen.
The fountain pen had been carefully wiped clean by Song Huaiyan, leaving no trace of soil behind, though the rusted parts could not be restored.
“This is a fountain pen my mother gave me; she used to be a Chinese teacher,” Xu Jiachen looked at the pen in his hands with a soft gaze. “Brother Bin… Zhao Bin back then… pulled me out of the abyss when I was at my most despairing. This pen once meant a great deal to me, but gradually I stopped needing to rely on it, as I had gained the courage to walk on by myself… Yet I never knew how I could help him. At that time, I truly hoped he could return to school, even if it were only a hazy, illusory hope.”
Though he maintained a detached and calm outward appearance, his speech was halting and he paused several times.
“I think, to Zhao Bin, this was also an extremely important item,” Song Huaiyan said softly. “He always carried it with him.”
Xu Jiachen set the pen down, his gaze falling upon the black leather wallet with the character “Bin” stamped in the bottom right corner—a custom-name style popular back in those years.
Opening the wallet, the corners of several old-version banknotes inside were already moldy. Tucked into the transparent pocket on the right were a few name cards, with a photograph pressed beneath the very bottom.
Xu Jiachen stood frozen for a long time, his breathing seeming to stall right along with him. He sluggishly raised a hand to wipe his face, touching a streak of dampness.
It was a three-inch wallet photograph, long since faded and yellowed.
It was a selfie that Zhao Bin had taken with his phone back in the day.
In the photo, Xu Jiachen was caught glancing up just in time to face the lens, a look of surprise and helplessness in his eyes. Taller than him by half a head, Zhao Bin was tilting his chin upward; the scar across his brow gave him a somewhat cold and hardened look, yet the grin exposing his canine teeth radiated a youthful, untamed, and flamboyant spirit.
Xu Jiachen sat down by the window. The steady, composed demeanor he had spent years layering onto himself peeled away like painted stucco on a rocky cliff under a gentle breeze, scattering down in flurries.
He pulled out an old kraft paper envelope and slowly placed the wallet and fountain pen inside.
“Xu Jiachen,” Song Huaiyan suddenly called his name. “Do you know how Zhao Bin died?”
Xu Jiachen’s movements paused, his fingers pressing against the opening of the envelope as he spoke slowly, “Back then, news of this reached our school a full week later.”
His gaze lowered, as if sinking into distant memories.
“It was said that at the time, he had a girlfriend gentle, pretty, and from a good family background. He intended to quit the gang and live a proper life with her. But during that period, one of his old gang brothers had his girlfriend bullied by members of another rival gang, so he asked Zhao Bin for help. The two gangs arranged a fight and clashed, and as a result…”
“He didn’t have a girlfriend,” Song Huaiyan interrupted abruptly. “That was just an excuse he made up to quit the gang.”
Xu Jiachen looked up in a daze.
“How do you… know?”
Song Huaiyan smiled without answering, merely asking him, “Why did you choose to become a math teacher?”
Xu Jiachen placed the envelope into the drawer.
“My mother was a Chinese teacher…” he repeated his earlier words, “but I never wanted to be a teacher when I was young, because my mother passed away due to an illness contracted from overwork in teaching.”
“I never would have imagined either that I, who desperately tried to flee this place when I was a child, would return to school once again after graduation.”
Xu Jiachen let out a slow breath and smiled.
“In high school, I had a roommate from the same village as Zhao Bin. It was from him that I learned Zhao Bin used to have great academic results and was very smart. But in the fifth grade, he fell terribly ill… and fell too far behind in his coursework. Coupled with an affected memory, his grades could no longer keep up.”
“His math teacher once held him in high regard because he won math olympiad awards year after year. But after falling ill, he couldn’t even complete the problems taught in class. At first, the teacher tutored him privately, but later, feeling increasingly overwhelmed, she advised him to take a leave of absence for self-study. Zhao Bin took a semester off, changed classes and teachers, but still couldn’t catch up with the fifth-grade curriculum, so he took another semester off, after which he was held back a grade.”
“He was actually… very smart,” Xu Jiachen paused, his voice sounding choked by something. “Even after that severe illness, he wasn’t much worse than ordinary people. But those who once held expectations for him couldn’t bear to see a genius turn into an ordinary mortal; they grew disappointed in him first. No one was willing to spend time on a mediocre person, and in the end, even he gave up on himself. He gave up on studying, gave up on himself.”
“His physical fitness was quite good too, and he originally wanted to switch to being a sports major. But the P.E. teacher became the only person who urged him to study hard… Later on, he ended up joining a gang.”
“He ought to have been skilled in both literate and martial arts.”
Xu Jiachen lowered his head. His eye rims were red, though no more tears fell.
“It’s too late, I knew it all too late. I couldn’t help him with anything.”
Song Huaiyan turned sideways, looking out the window: “So, you came back to become a math teacher to make up for the regret?”
“No matter what, things of the past cannot be made right…” Xu Jiachen said lowly. “Once a person dies, nothing can ever be changed.”
“Do you believe in the reincarnation of souls?” Song Huaiyan asked.
“I don’t know,” Xu Jiachen replied. “If there were reincarnation, after all these years, he should have long since… attained rebirth, right?”
“Mhm,” Song Huaiyan responded softly. “He should have a good dream and bid farewell to this human world. He will have a brand-new life.”
He noticed a glass vase on the windowsill containing a bunch of paper-folded lilies white and pure, serving as the sole decoration in this bleak, monotonous room.
Every year on this day, a bunch of such paper lilies would appear before Zhao Bin’s grave.
He had died on this exact day thirteen years ago.
When they returned to the Hall of Affairs, Song Aiguo was busy splitting his ninety-fifth strip of bamboo.
“Why so slow?” The taskmaster, Song Huaiyan, squatted down to inspect the pile of bamboo strips, running his fingertips over the rough nodes with a deeply wrinkled brow. “Unqualified, do it over.”
“Evil capitalist! Look, my hands are all blistered!” Song Aiguo held out his claws and wailed loudly.
“My fault,” Song Huaiyan sighed. “My fault for not being sincere enough to beg the Buddha to keep you at school.”
Thinking Song Huaiyan still had a shred of worthless conscience left, Song Aiguo threw down the bamboo strips in his hands at those words, turning around in circles in fury.
“I’m done! Whoever wants to do it can do it!” He glanced at Shen Yu and stormed out angrily.
“There won’t be any dinner for you today if you don’t work!” Song Huaiyan called out lightly.
“I’m going to find Grandpa Xu! I won’t come back to eat,” Song Aiguo threw a look that said screw you guys, I’m out, and slammed the back door shut with a loud bang.
Song Huaiyan shook his head helplessly. Looking at the pile of bamboo pieces beside his feet that had already had their knots smoothed and been split down the middle, he sat down on the small wooden bench that still retained some warmth and picked up his bamboo knife to continue splitting strips.
The bamboo knife was heavy, yet it appeared nimble and flexible in his hands. With a slicing motion of the blade accompanied by a crisp swish, the bamboo split downward and divided into neat strips of uniform thickness.
Shen Yu stood by and watched for a moment, then asked, “This is used for making paper offerings?”
“Mhm.” Song Huaiyan didn’t stop moving his hands. By his side, three piles of bamboo strips and filaments of varying lengths and thicknesses had already been neatly stacked.
“Hard?” Shen Yu arched a brow.
“Perhaps… not hard for you.” Song Huaiyan stopped his blade, pondered for a moment, and handed it over to Shen Yu. “Want to try?”
Thus, he quickly acquired a free, exceptionally dexterous, and skilled laborer.
Though his junior brother couldn’t handle chores like washing clothes or cooking, he possessed genuine innate talent in certain areas such as sword practice or splitting bamboo, executing them with a steady hand, balanced force, and precise, clean efficiency.
Under the guise of offering guidance, Song Huaiyan stood by offering unsolicited comments for a while before deciding there was nothing left to worry about. He retrieved various colored papers from inside the house and placed them on the stone table in the courtyard, beginning to cut the paper.
In the afternoon, Song Aiguo returned in a flurry, clutching bags of all sizes in his arms.
“Here, this is what Grandpa Xu gave you—this year’s new tea, plus Grandma Zhang’s mung bean pastries.”
He placed a green jar and two paper-wrapped parcels onto the stone table, still holding a kraft paper bag stuffed so full it bulged round, emitting the fragrant aroma of roasted chestnuts from afar.
“Grandma Zhang only gives these roasted chestnuts to me alone.” He popped a chestnut into his mouth and chewed happily. “Oh right, Grandpa Xu said this year will be the same he wants a large boat.”
“Mhm, I’m already getting it ready,” Song Huaiyan replied. “Why didn’t Grandma Zhang keep you for dinner this time?”
“Grandpa Xu hasn’t been feeling well lately, so he needs to rest earlier.” Song Aiguo turned his head to glance at Shen Yu, who was shaving bamboo strips, and his eyes widened involuntarily upon seeing the several neatly arranged piles of bamboo on the ground.
“These… did he shave all of them?”
“Otherwise? Did a fairy help me instead?” Song Huaiyan deliberately dragged out his tone, mixing sarcasm with a hint of smugness. “Look at that thickness, that texture, that level of skill is he awesome or what?”
Looking at the bamboo filaments that had been split so thin, long, smooth, and uniform, Song Aiguo rolled his neck, sat down on the stone stool, and munched on his chestnuts with a loud crunch-crunch.
“Junior brother, stop shaving bamboo strips for a moment. Come help me cut some paper,” Song Huaiyan smiled and turned to Shen Yu.