The sun shone brightly overhead, and the children smiled at me. The common folk were in high spirits today.
Early in the morning, Zhou You cheerfully got up to head to class. Half the credit for his good mood went to Fangfang. Exercise morning and night keeps you healthy for a hundred years. Class is a necessity for students, But for Zhou You, it’s a spice of life, a source of joy. Especially his favorite part: roll call.
Zhou You had grown quite mischievous. Sometimes he wouldn’t call everyone’s name; he’d pick names at random, without even knowing his own pattern, let alone the students’. This kept his class on edge all day long. If he hadn’t let everyone pass last semester, the nickname “Smiling Tiger” would’ve stuck for sure. This behavior was mostly seen as a twisted little hobby. Especially for guys like Huang Zhenkai, who were tormented to the point of agony. If you skipped class, he’d call your name. If you didn’t skip, you didn’t want to go anyway. And if you didn’t show up, he’d wait for you and tell you to come. Huang Zhenkai thought, “If I could get up and wanted to go to class, why would I bother with all this?”
Zhou You was sly too—he’d been through that phase himself. Seeing those boys absent, he’d often call on them. When they did show up, he never called them. It has to be said, a teacher with such a lack of ethics and style as Zhou You was rare. This guy wasn’t there to teach or educate; he was just there to have fun. Luckily, the course itself was fluff, or else wouldn’t he be leading students astray?
After half a year of college life, many students had learned to dress up. The ugly ducklings from freshman year, with some effort, turned into swans. But some really did become uglier ducklings—the uglier, the more they acted out. Still, looking at the youthful, vibrant, and pretty students overall made one’s mood much better.
Zhou You’s happiness was built on others’ misery.
After class, Huang Jiankai walked over, looking at Zhou You with sincere eyes: “Thanks, Teacher Zhou, for not failing me last semester. Last time I invited you to dinner, you were busy. Tonight should be fine, right? More importantly, I want to pick your brain as a senior.” “Alright, since you put it that way, send me the details tonight,” Zhou You said, eyeing the smooth-talking Huang Jiankai. “Already booked—Xu Family Restaurant at the school gate. You know it well, Teacher?” “How could I not? I’ve eaten there for years.” That place had great business. When Zhou You first started college, it was just one shop. By the time he became a teacher, it had opened three on the same street. Cheap, affordable, and tasty, it suited most palates. A few nearby competitors couldn’t keep up and went under.
After class, Zhou You strolled around campus without biking, just wandering between buildings. He stopped between two teaching blocks to watch a few carp swimming in the pond—white ones, red ones, and red-and-white ones. They’d grown so big without him noticing. He’d once tried to catch the ornamental fish in the pond but failed. Though they looked dumb, without tools, you couldn’t grab them with just your hands.
On the way, he saw a couple of young guys biking fast ahead, probably running late. There was also a young couple hiding under a tree, poking and slapping each other. Zhou You thought, “What’s there to grope in this cold winter?”
Taking his time, Zhou You made his way to his advisor’s office to chat about recent events. His advisor was quite satisfied with Zhou You’s performance—after all, as long as he didn’t cause classroom disasters, he was considered a good teacher in their field. Library science was all about stability, stability, stability. He’d also heard about Zhou You’s random roll-call trick and could only smile wryly at how it boosted attendance. “Fortresses are breached from within,” he thought. Zhou You, fresh out of school, knew exactly how much students feared and hated roll calls, and how to game the system. This tactic would keep him happy for at least a year or two.
While chatting with his advisor, other teachers came by. The library science department had few faculty, and many were former students-turned-colleagues, like Zhou You. When he saw his old instructors, he respectfully stood up. But the other teachers were laid-back, telling him to sit: “We were teacher and student before; now we’re colleagues. Our field’s small, so no fuss. Take care of us old folks if we ever need your help.” Zhou You quickly agreed—it was only right.
As more teachers gathered, Zhou You felt out of place and made an excuse to leave. The campus environment was soothing. When things got rough, you could look at the lake, the trees, or the young students. Many things that felt like the end of the world in student days turned out to be trivial in the real world. As people age, they see through more. What mattered in youth often fades with time— Like fake friendships, others’ approval, or public opinion. They increasingly lean toward exploring life’s meaning and essence.
That evening, Zhou You arrived at Xu Family Restaurant and went straight to the second-floor private room. The first floor was a hall with scattered tables of three or four people. The second floor was bigger, with several large rooms that could seat up to twenty. For students, these rooms were plenty spacious.
As Zhou You entered, the students stood up and greeted him. He scanned the room—good, they were all the ones he’d focused on last semester, all given passing grades. The seat facing the door in the middle was left for him, and Zhou You didn’t stand on ceremony. Huang Jiankai lowered his head and pulled out a pack of Yuxi cigarettes from his pocket. “Teacher, do you smoke?” “No, and I’d advise you to cut back too. It yellows your teeth—ugly. You can’t wash it off, and when you smile, those big yellow teeth show. Disgusting, isn’t it?” Zhou You sneered, mocking them. Besides, smoking Yuxi as a student—wasn’t that a bit high-end? “Teacher, it’s just after New Year’s. I’ve got some left over.” “I start with Yuxi, then switch to Puwan, and when things get tight, I’m down to Hongmei,” another student said, grinning to reveal yellowed teeth.
It’s not that kids who got into a 211 university were dumb, but laziness was strong. Once you got lazy, getting motivated again was tough. The other students seemed less slick than Huang Jiankai, more the straight-and-narrow type.
The restaurant had its familiar flavors. His favorite was the vinegar-shredded potatoes—thin strips with a hint of sourness, perfect for whetting the appetite. Zhou You had tried making it many times but could never match the restaurant’s taste. It wasn’t until the internet took off that he found the secret. To get the vinegar into the potatoes, you had to add a bit while soaking them. A single true tip made all the difference.
If the readership holds up, I’ll try for two updates a day from now on, testing my typing speed.