That spring, Teacher Wang, their homeroom teacher, came to visit her home.
Teacher Wang was a man in his forties, wearing reading glasses and speaking slowly and deliberately.
He visited each household one by one, eventually reaching the eastern edge of Bianjia’wa Village, where he entered Feifei’s earthen hut.
Not knowing why he had come, Feifei returned from school and, upon entering, saw a stranger sitting in the main room.
Startled, she quickly turned and hid behind the kitchen door.
“Feifei, the teacher’s here—why are you running?” Her father called out as Guying wasn’t home.
“Come sit down.”
Feifei didn’t dare.
She stayed hidden behind the kitchen door, peering out with only half her face visible.
Her father sat on the kang bed beside Teacher Wang, talking.
There was only a bowl of plain water on the table.
Embarrassed, her father rubbed his hands nervously.
“Teacher, our place is humble—don’t mind us.”
“It’s not humble,” Teacher Wang waved a hand.
“Shoutian, I came today to talk about your daughter Feifei.”
Feifei’s heart leapt into her throat.
“This girl is bright,” said Teacher Wang.
Feifei froze.
“The last math problem on the final exam—out of over twenty students in class, only she got it right.
Her handwriting may be messy, but there’s real thought behind it.” Teacher Wang paused.
“But she…
she’s too quiet.”
Her father murmured, “Hmm.”
“She never raises her hand in class.
I know she knows the answers—I can tell—but when I call on her, she just looks down, speaks so softly it’s like a mosquito buzzing.
Boys tease her in class, and she doesn’t say a word.
Shoutian, does she act this way at home too?”
Her father fell silent for a moment.
“She’s always been timid.”
“Timidity isn’t bad,” said Teacher Wang.
“But if she stays this way, she’ll suffer later.
This child isn’t stupid—she just hides too deeply.
I know what’s going on in your family.
But education requires her to step forward herself.
If she could open up more, she’d have real potential.”
Her father nodded again, his voice trembling slightly.
“Teacher, you… you’ve been so kind.”
“That’s exactly why I’m here,” said Teacher Wang, standing up and putting on his glasses.
“If she wants to, she can come ask me after class whenever she has questions.
Behind the door, Feifei stood so still her feet went numb.
She listened without moving.
She heard “bright,” heard “has potential,” heard “too quiet,” heard “hides too deeply.” A taut string inside her heart suddenly vibrated.
The teacher had seen her.
She wasn’t invisible.
As Teacher Wang left, her father walked him to the courtyard gate.
Feifei stepped out from behind the door and stood in the middle of the main room, staring at the bowl of water on the table—it was still full, untouched.
She bent down, picked up the bowl, then carefully placed it back exactly where it had been.
That night, lying on the kang bed, she couldn’t sleep.
Memories flooded her: her father limping through the rain; her mother sewing shoe pads by lamplight; Liu Xiaojun drawing that crutch; the two steamed buns under the locust tree.
Suddenly, she sat up.
In the dark, she whispered something to herself—very softly, yet every word clear.
“I’m not stupid.
From now on, I will…
step forward.”
After speaking, she lay back down, pulling the blanket up to her chin.
Outside, the wind rattled the window paper.
That room without windows seemed to have cracked open a tiny slit because of those words.
She didn’t know that the next day, when she entered the classroom, she still hadn’t dared raise her hand.
But that seed—the desire to “step forward”—had already been planted.