Chapter 9

9

Wen Yan desperately wanted to stay in bed all day and just sleep through it.

But that wasn’t an option. Today was also Shen Po’s first day after transferring departments. If he skipped class again, Father Shen would probably beat someone when he returned tonight. Wen Yan wasn’t sure whether he or Shen Po himself would take the beating, but to spare his skin the suffering, he resignedly dragged himself out of bed. He dutifully washed up, ate, got into the car with the driver, Xiao Wu, and, under Madam Shen’s expectant gaze, set off on the joyless path to school.

In this era, worshipping foreign things wasn’t a derogatory term, as most intellectuals genuinely believed that only Western civilization could save a nation weakened and impoverished by history. Some had even proposed abolishing Chinese characters altogether, an idea that garnered considerable support.

Families with the means prioritized sending their children abroad to study, because returning from overseas was akin to being gilded in gold, guaranteeing far better prospects. Only those who couldn’t bear to send their children across the ocean, or whose circumstances were less prosperous, chose domestic education.

Shen Po clearly belonged to the latter category. He had no ambition, and his family probably didn’t want another Eldest Brother Shen, so they let him do as he pleased.

In the car, Wen Yan asked Xiao Wu quite a bit about the school.

He wasn’t afraid of blowing his cover, because the real Shen Po knew next to nothing about his own school anyway.

Even Xiao Wu knew more than Shen Po did.

“Young Master, the master already had someone handle your transfer paperwork. Your first class today is Chinese, taught by the department director, Mr. Qin Shan. The textbook is right beside you, so you can flip through it first. Word is that Mr. Qin is very strict, so make sure you don’t cross his path on your very first day,” Xiao Wu urged without looking back as he drove.

Wen Yan: … He had a bad feeling about this.

Having worked as a teacher for a semester, Wen Yan understood how a teacher’s mind worked.

An ignorant transfer student like Shen Po was the perfect tool to call on first and make an example of.

Without another word, he quickly took out the textbook.

Opening it, Wen Yan fell silent.

It was entirely traditional characters printed vertically.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t read them, but the unfamiliar layout doubled his reading time. By the time they arrived at their destination, Wen Yan had barely turned a few pages, his head still spinning.

Whatever, let it fall apart. If Shen Po embarrassed himself, what did that have to do with Wen Yan?

Even though the servants had woken Wen Yan early, by the time he arrived at school, he found he was still a little late. Director Qin had a habit of arriving early to take roll call, a quirk all the students knew about, meaning everyone arrived early whenever he taught. But Shen Po hadn’t known, and so the misfortune fell squarely on Wen Yan.

Seeing Wen Yan appear in the doorway, the students turned their gazes toward him one after another, eager to see what sort of blind fool dared to openly provoke Director Qin.

Wen Yan braced himself. “Good morning, Professor.”

Director Qin didn’t even turn his head, as if he hadn’t seen him at all.

“The piece I will be discussing today is a short story written thirteen years ago. Surely you all know what happened at that time. It was against that very backdrop that this story emerged, sending shockwaves through society. Those of you who enjoy reading have likely already read it, and I hope you will be able to answer my questions.”

Director Qin spoke to himself as he wrote a single character on the blackboard.

Medicine.

Standing by the door, Wen Yan felt as if he had returned to his elementary school days, forced to stand in punishment for causing trouble in class.

He hypnotized himself with the thought that this was Shen Po’s body, which eased his embarrassment enough that his mind even began to wander.

And then, Wen Yan was called on.

“You, the new student. Tell us: when Mr. Lu Xun wrote this story all those years ago, what was he trying to express?”

Director Qin pinched the chalk in his hand and pointed unerringly at Wen Yan.

Once again, every pair of eyes in the classroom snapped toward him in unison.

Wen Yan: …

He suspected that if he couldn’t answer, that piece of chalk would come flying straight at his head in the next second.

“Uh, the numbness of ordinary people toward the revolution?”

Fortunately, the question wasn’t about some obscure piece. After all, this short story had been part of Wen Yan’s nine-year compulsory education curriculum, and as a Chinese language teacher himself, he could recall some points even caught off guard.

Seeing Director Qin neither agree nor disagree, Wen Yan assumed his answer had been too superficial. He thought for a moment and continued.

“The revolutionaries were beheaded, yet the onlookers merely treated it as a spectacle, even scrambling over one another to take blood-soaked steamed buns home to cure illness. On one hand, this reflects their apathy and ignorance. On the other hand, it can also be seen as the divide between the revolutionaries and the common people. The common people didn’t know who the revolutionaries were fighting for, nor did they understand what the revolution had to do with them. They still saw no hope, and to them, the revolutionary was just an irrelevant stranger. Naturally, all they cared about was whether the blood bun could cure disease, as that was the immediate interest right in front of them.”

That ought to be long enough, Wen Yan thought.

Who would have thought that Director Qin still wouldn’t let him off the hook, pressing on with another question instead: “So you think the revolutionary died in vain?”

Wen Yan said, “His intentions were certainly noble, and he managed to shake a portion of the people awake; at the very least, the author, Mr. Lu Xun, was shaken. But touching only a small literate minority isn’t enough. If he wanted the revolution to succeed, millions upon millions of people had to understand its meaning and purpose as well.”

Director Qin said, “Yet among China’s four hundred million people today, many are still illiterate. They care only about the blood bun in their hands. How could they possibly care about the nation’s future and destiny?”

Without even thinking, Wen Yan replied, “That’s why we have to go down to the grassroots and tell the masses what the revolution means. A ‘better life’ sounds vague and elusive, and they might not understand it. But if you tell them that a successful revolution means they will be given land and no longer exploited by landlords, that they will be paid fairly for their labor instead of slaving day and night in factories for meager wages…”

The more he spoke, the smoother it came, but his heart skipped a beat when he caught Director Qin’s strange expression, and his voice dwindled before he realized it.

Director Qin’s look seemed to say: A capitalist’s young master lecturing on landlord exploitation is like a tiger berating a jackal for eating flesh.

“What is your name?” he asked Wen Yan.

Wen Yan said, “I’m Shen Po, the student who just transferred into the department today. I’m sorry, Professor. I won’t be late next time.”

Director Qin said, “Go take a seat.”

Wen Yan felt as if he had been granted an imperial pardon. He scurried inside and picked an empty seat far from the front row.

Someone was sitting next to him, a young man.

Seeing the young man looking at him, Wen Yan gave him a nod, opened his textbook, and focused on finding out which page Director Qin was on.

Seeing Wen Yan’s casual reaction, the other person could not resist speaking up first.

“You don’t remember me?”

Wen Yan turned his head with a puzzled look, but quickly realized that Shen Po must have known this person.

“I hit my head a few days ago, so things are still a bit hazy,” Wen Yan bluffed casually.

The other person nodded. “I thought as much. Otherwise, you’d never have said what you just did.”

Wen Yan: ?

“Shen Po,” Director Qin’s voice carried over from the front. “You answer this question.”

Wen Yan: ?

He looked up to find Director Qin glaring at them in displeasure.

Wen Yan: …Wait, this guy was the one who started talking, so why did he only call on me?!

He had not heard a single word of what Director Qin had asked, but he had no choice but to bite the bullet and stand up.

“Professor Qin, I didn’t catch that just now. Could you please repeat it?”

“I asked what you had for breakfast,” Director Qin repeated.

Wen Yan: “Huh?”

Director Qin: “See? That’s what happens when you don’t pay attention in class and whisper to your neighbor.”

The entire classroom burst into laughter.

Wen Yan: …

Director Qin: “What, you can’t even remember what you had for breakfast?”

Wen Yan: “…Eggs, milk, and an egg griddle pancake.”

Director Qin nodded. “Good, not bad, quite hearty. Then take your respective breakfasts as the topic and write a social survey or commentary on it. The style is up to you.”

With that, he dropped the topic and moved on to lecture on another text.

Wen Yan didn’t dare let his mind wander again, sitting attentively until class ended.

On his first day after transferring departments, Director Qin had made quite the impression on him.

Shen Po should have been the one enduring this “torture,” but now Wen Yan not only had to attend classes for him, but also had to worry about how Shen Po was managing to attend classes under his own identity back on the other side.

By the end of the morning, Wen Yan was utterly exhausted and just wanted to lie down. He didn’t have the energy to think about the Oriental Library, let alone getting close to Zhang Yuanji.

His desk neighbor, on the other hand, seemed to have quite an issue with him, turning his head repeatedly to stare at him.

Wen Yan was stared at so much he began to wonder if flowers were growing on his face. “Excuse me, classmate, why do you keep looking at me?”

The young man asked, “You really don’t remember me?”

Wen Yan: …Could this be one of Shen Po’s romantic entanglements?

“Sorry, you don’t look familiar.”

The young man said, “Makes sense. It’s been years since we last saw each other. I’m Zheng Sheng.”

Oh, Zheng Sheng.

Wen Yan’s hands froze as he packed his textbooks.

Zheng who again?

He snapped his head around and grabbed the other boy’s arm.

“You’re Zheng Sheng?! My grand-uncle’s grandson?”

Zheng Sheng: “…You finally remembered?”

You wear out iron shoes searching high and low, only to find it without any effort at all! Wen Yan was laughing wildly on the inside, while doing his best to contain his joy.

“Sorry, it’s really been too long, and it slipped my mind for a moment. How about I treat you to lunch? Or we could go to my place, my mom is always talking about you!”

Zheng Sheng: “I have class this afternoon.”

Wen Yan: “Tonight, then. We’ll have dinner together tonight. It’s settled!”

He grasped Zheng Sheng’s hand with easy familiarity, terrified the boy might slip away.

Zheng Sheng: “I need to use the restroom.”

Wen Yan: “I’ll go with you.”

Zheng Sheng: …

Under Wen Yan’s relentless pestering, this long-unseen distant relative finally agreed reluctantly to the dinner invitation. Had their next classes not been in different rooms, Wen Yan probably would have followed him right into the restroom.

Zheng Sheng was indeed a model student.

Unlike Shen Po, who treated dance halls like classrooms, Zheng Sheng treated the university like home. Outside of lectures, he practically lived in the library. Ever since his maternal grandfather built the Oriental Library, he often shuttled between the school and the Oriental Library, sometimes forgetting to eat and sleep as he lingered there late into the night. He and a playboy like Shen Po were people from two completely different worlds.

Just as Shen Po looked down on Zheng Sheng, Zheng Sheng had little respect for Shen Po.

In Zheng Sheng’s eyes, without his family, Shen Po wouldn’t have even graduated from middle school, let alone set foot on a university campus.

That was why, when Wen Yan spoke with such depth today, even Zheng Sheng was stunned.

While Wen Yan was busy building rapport with Zheng Sheng, he had no time to worry, nor could he imagine what was happening with Shen Po far away in the modern day.