When Zhang Yingcai left the house with his bags, some of the other kids from the village came to talk him out of leaving.
"Jieling is as far behind our village as our village is behind a real city," they said. "It's full of sweet potatoes up there. Nobody has ever been to university; only a handful have even made it to high school."
They also told him that the salary for a community teacher was only thirty-five yuan a month, barely enough for anything. Station-Head Wan overheard this and said, "Thirty-five yuan is the pay provided by the education station. The village will provide a second pay of thirty-five yuan. Anyway, when I was a community teacher in Jieling, I only took home four yuan a month."
"It's easier to ask a village head for his wife's milk than it is to get money out him. Just look at our village," his friends added scandalously.
Yingcai ignored them. "We all have our own dreams, and our own destinies."
His father was pleased by this. He felt that his son had made progress in school and, perhaps, that repeated year had not been for nothing. Yingcai's mother cried when she said goodbye to him; her husband scolded her.
"He's not joining the army, what are you crying for?"
On the way up to Jieling, Yingcai kept thinking about that question: if joining the army was something to cry about, why was everyone so desperate to sign up?
It was a hard, ten-kilometre climb up a mountain track to Jieling's school. Baffled by his new glasses, Yingcai found conversation difficult. When they stopped for a rest, he questioned his uncle about the school. The station head told him not to worry; he could judge for himself shortly. Yingcai also asked what things an elementary school teacher should know. The station head told him that if he could turn a blind eye when parents cried poverty over the school fees, and when the other teachers kicked the children, he would be fine. Then he asked, "What are you fiddling with?"
Yingcai gave him his lucky coin, shiny through use. Without looking at it, his uncle immediately threw it down into the valley. Yingcai didn't understand.
"That was mine, how could you throw it away like that?"
"You're always playing with that coin. You'll have to stop those childish games when you get to Jieling."
They didn't stop again, and carried straight on up into Jieling.
The national flag blew stiffly in the breeze. A row of large characters were printed on a blackboard outside an old building: Laying Solid Foundations To Bring About Success In The University Entrance Examinations For Jieling Village!
Yingcai thought the slogan was strange.
A middle-aged man came out of one of the buildings and called out to them loudly.
"You're here early, Station-Head Wan."
"Well, we thought we'd hurry so as not to miss lunch." Station-Head Wan smiled. "This is Principal Yu," he said to Yingcai. Then he said to the principal, "And this is Zhang Yingcai."
Principal Yu invited them into the office and poured them each a cup of tea. Two slightly younger men came in. He was introduced to the Deputy Principal, Deng Youmi, and the Director of Academic Affairs, Sun Sihai. Yingcai pretended to wipe his glasses so that he could take a better look at them, but got no clearer impression than that they were uncommonly thin.
Station-Head Wan finished his tea and wiped his mouth. "Great. Now all the teachers are here, I will say a few words."
Yingcai started at this. In the time he'd been here he hadn't seen any pupils taking a break from lessons, and he'd assumed there were other teachers in the classrooms.
Station-Head Wan's speech was nothing more than empty phrases, such as how the start of a new semester marked the start of new improvements and breakthroughs. He spoke earnestly and enthusiastically, but Yingcai found it all utterly boring. He pretended he needed the toilet and left the office, only to discover that there really were no teachers in any of the classrooms. He also couldn't understand which grades were in each classroom: how could only three classrooms hold all six grades of elementary school? It was not clear from the content of the blackboards: he could tell only that it was a Chinese lesson. He got back to the office just as Station-Head Wan was finishing; next to speak was Principal Yu. After only a few words, his voice grew hoarse.
"You should rest that sore throat. I'll present our report to the station head." Somewhat rudely, Deng Youmi opened a small notebook and began to read aloud mechanically. He had just finished reciting the school enrolment figures when Station-Head Wan interrupted.
"We already have your statistics. Tell me about something that's not in the report."
Deng Youmi blinked, then started describing how he'd motivated some school-age children to enroll, and how he had advanced dozens of yuan of his own money so that pupils who couldn't afford the school fees could buy exercise books. He spoke for a long time, but came to a tactful stop when he realised that the station head was paying no attention and taking no notes.
Next up, naturally, was Sun Sihai. After a long pause, he quietly uttered one sentence. "It has been nine months since the village paid us our wages."
The station head's expression did not change. He asked Sun Sihai no questions, instead requesting that the principal show him round the classrooms. When they came to the first room, Principal Yu said it was the fifth and sixth grade classroom. Yingcai noticed that the majority of the children had no textbooks, they were instead learning from mimeographed pamphlets.
"Are these textbooks your handiwork, Old Yu?" asked Station-Head Wan.
"Ah, these old hands of mine can't cut the stencils any more. The children make the books themselves."
The station head took hold of Principal Yu's swollen hands and gave a soft sigh.
