"In the northern darkness there is a fish, and its name is Kun. The Kun is so large that no one knows how many thousands of li it measures…"
During the morning reading class the next day, Li Huangxuan loudly recited the text.
Zhuang Zi'ang, meanwhile, unfolded a piece of paper and silently began writing a letter of self-criticism.
Yesterday was enjoyable, but if you make a mistake, you should accept the punishment.
Sure enough, before class was even over, the homeroom teacher, Zhang Zhiyuan, arrived.
"Zhuang Zi'ang, come with me to the office."
The classroom office was very quiet, with only two or three teachers bent over their desks preparing lessons.
Zhang Zhiyuan unscrewed his cup and took a sip of goji berry tea.
Before he could speak, Zhuang Zi'ang proactively handed him the letter of self-criticism.
A full thousand characters, freshly written, the ink still wet.
It was filled with classical allusions and eloquent prose.
"Zhuang Zi'ang, do you even know what you're doing? Where did you run off to yesterday afternoon?" Zhang Zhiyuan slammed his hand on the table.
"I'm sorry, Teacher Zhang, I know I was wrong," Zhuang Zi'ang admitted sincerely.
"You are the most outstanding student in the entire grade, and now you've done something so out of line. As your homeroom teacher, I am extremely heartbroken."
"By doing this, you are not only being irresponsible to yourself, but also to your parents and teachers, and you've set a very bad example for your classmates."
"Don't think that writing a self-criticism can gloss things over. I don't think you've truly recognized the seriousness of your mistake."
…Zhang Zhiyuan's spittle flew as he lectured Zhuang Zi'ang.
The deeper the love, the harsher the criticism.
He certainly didn't want the best student in his class to go astray.
Although Zhuang Zi'ang was being scolded, he felt a sense of relief inside. He could clearly feel his teacher's concern and care for him.
Unfortunately, he might not be able to repay this kindness from his teacher.
Finally, when Zhang Zhiyuan grew tired of speaking and began to drink tea again, Zhuang Zi'ang found an opening to speak.
Since he couldn't confide in his parents about that matter for now, his homeroom teacher became the best choice.
At this moment, the other teachers had also left.
In the office, only the teacher and student remained.
"Teacher Zhang, I took sick leave the day before yesterday, and you approved my leave slip," Zhuang Zi'ang's eyes reddened.
Zhang Zhiyuan's eyebrows shot up: "Are you alright?"
"Teacher Zhang, you are the teacher I respect the most. I don't want to hide it from you. I have a very serious illness," Zhuang Zi'ang's lower lip trembled violently.
"You… what do you mean?" Zhang Zhiyuan realized something was wrong.
Zhuang Zi'ang composed himself, then took a diagnosis report from his pocket, unfolded it, and placed it in front of Zhang Zhiyuan.
Zhang Zhiyuan quickly scanned it, and his expression changed dramatically.
It was like a bolt from the blue, exploding in his ears.
"Impossible, this must be a misdiagnosis. Zhuang Zi'ang, don't worry, I'll take you for a re-examination. It must be a mistake."
Zhuang Zi'ang shook his head: "Teacher Zhang, it's not a misdiagnosis. I've been having nosebleeds since half a year ago."
"How could this be? You're only eighteen!" Zhang Zhiyuan found it hard to accept.
Although everyone faces death, for the young man in front of him, that should be a very distant matter.
He still had a long, brilliant life ahead of him to experience.
"Teacher Zhang, I don't want to be pitied or sympathized with. I just want to live out my remaining time as I please," Zhuang Zi'ang pleaded.
"What do your parents say? Are they still letting you go to school?" Zhang Zhiyuan's tone was sorrowful.
"I want to be with my teachers and classmates."
Compared to his parents, Zhuang Zi'ang felt a closer bond with his teachers and classmates.
He didn't directly say that he only had three months left.
Nor did he dare to tell his teacher that he was still hiding such a big matter from his family.
As a homeroom teacher, Zhang Zhiyuan knew that Zhuang Zi'ang's family situation was somewhat complicated.
He even couldn't understand how such a terrible family could raise such an outstanding child.
He could even face life and death with such composure.
Zhuang Zi'ang bowed deeply to Zhang Zhiyuan: "Teacher Zhang, I know I was wrong about yesterday's incident, and it won't happen again."
Zhang Zhiyuan's nose stung: "It's alright, I don't blame you anymore. If you don't want to attend class, you can come to me to ask for leave."
He could understand that growing up in such an environment, Zhuang Zi'ang must have suppressed too many negative emotions.
At the brink of life and death, wanting to release them was only human nature.
He, as the homeroom teacher, also hadn't shown enough care for his students.
If he had discovered Zhuang Zi'ang's illness earlier and allowed him to receive good treatment, would there still be a chance for recovery?
"Teacher Zhang, I don't want to be class monitor anymore. Please choose another classmate!"
"Okay, you need to relax and not have any pressure. Cooperate with the doctors for treatment. Do not give up until the very last moment."
Zhang Zhiyuan could only offer a few more words of comfort, but even he didn't believe them himself.
Zhuang Zi'ang picked up the diagnosis report from the table, refolded it, and put it back in his pocket.
His movements were slow, as if he were performing a ritual.
"Zhuang Zi'ang, you should attend classes normally for now. If you experience any discomfort, you must tell me immediately." Zhang Zhiyuan's feelings were very complex.
He could understand Zhuang Zi'ang, who, as the most outstanding student in the entire grade, wanted to complete his studies and have no regrets in his youth.
But his duty as a teacher plunged him into deep self-reproach and worry.
"Thank you, Teacher Zhang, I might have to let down your nurturing," Zhuang Zi'ang's eyes welled up with tears as he bowed to Zhang Zhiyuan again.
"No, you have always been the student I am most proud of," Zhang Zhiyuan choked up.
Zhuang Zi'ang, such an excellent student, had always brought honor to the class and the school.
In the future, when he entered society, he would definitely be an outstanding talent and achieve remarkable things.
What a pity, heaven envies talent.
Putting his sadness aside, Zhuang Zi'ang remembered something and confirmed with Zhang Zhiyuan: "Teacher Zhang, our grade only has 22 classes, right?"
Zhang Zhiyuan asked in confusion: "Of course, why do you ask?"
"I met a girl yesterday who said she was from Class 23."
"Don't overthink it, go back to class!"
Zhang Zhiyuan simply assumed that Zhuang Zi'ang was asking such strange questions because he had suffered a major blow, so he tried to remain calm, wanting to make the atmosphere less sad.
He tried to look at Zhuang Zi'ang with normal eyes.
Just as Zhuang Zi'ang himself requested, not pitying or sympathizing with him was the greatest respect.
Zhuang Zi'ang bowed deeply to Zhang Zhiyuan, then walked out of the classroom office with heavy steps.
Zhang Zhiyuan watched him go, and only then did the emotions he had suppressed for so long finally erupt.
He clenched his right fist and slammed it hard on the desk.
The forty-something-year-old man cried until his eyes were red.
Not to mention the best student in the class, even any eighteen-year-old boy who suffered such unfair treatment from fate would bring tears to anyone's eyes.
After Zhuang Zi'ang came out, he didn't go directly back to Class 9, but instead walked up the stairs, step by step.
He went all the way up to the fifth floor, confirming with his own eyes that Class 22 was the end.
Beyond that, there were only empty classrooms.
Xiao Hudie, who exactly are you?
Where did she come from?