"In the northern darkness, there is a fish, and its name is Kun. The Kun is so big, no one knows how many thousands of miles it measures..."
During the morning reading session the next day, Li Huangxuan loudly recited the classical text. Zhuang Zi'ang, on the other hand, unfolded a piece of paper and quietly began writing a letter of self-criticism. He had enjoyed his moment of freedom yesterday, but when you do something wrong, you should accept the consequences.
Sure enough, before the class ended, the homeroom teacher, Zhang Zhiyuan, arrived.
"Zhuang Zi'ang, come with me to the office."
The teachers' office was very quiet, with only two or three teachers hunched over their desks, preparing lessons.
Zhang Zhiyuan unscrewed his thermos and took a sip of his goji berry tea. Before he could even speak, Zhuang Zi'ang proactively handed him the letter of self-criticism.
A full thousand words, freshly written, the ink still wet. The writing was eloquent, filled with literary quotations.
"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 desk.
"I'm sorry, Mr. 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 outrageous. As your homeroom teacher, I am deeply disappointed."
"Your actions are not only irresponsible to yourself but also to your parents and teachers. You've set a terrible example for your classmates."
"Don't think that writing a letter of self-criticism will make everything okay. I don't think you've realized the severity of your mistake."
...
Zhang Zhiyuan lectured Zhuang Zi'ang, his words sharp and to the point. He was strict because he cared. He didn't want the best student in his class to go astray.
Although he was being scolded, Zhuang Zi'ang felt a sense of relief. He could clearly feel his teacher's concern and care for him. It's a pity he might not be able to repay this kindness from his teacher.
Finally, when Zhang Zhiyuan tired himself out and started drinking his tea again, Zhuang Zi'ang found an opening to speak. Since he couldn't confide in his parents for the time being, his homeroom teacher became the best person to talk to.
At this point, the other teachers had also left. The office was left with only the two of them, teacher and student.
"Mr. Zhang, I took a sick leave the day before yesterday. You were the one who approved my leave request," Zhuang Zi'ang said, his eyes reddening.
Zhang Zhiyuan's brow furrowed. "Is there something wrong with your health?"
"Mr. Zhang, you are the teacher I respect the most. I don't want to hide anything from you. I have a very serious illness," Zhuang Zi'ang said, his lower lip trembling violently.
"What... what do you mean?" Zhang Zhiyuan sensed that something was wrong.
Zhuang Zi'ang steadied himself, then took out the diagnosis report from his pocket, unfolded it, and placed it in front of Zhang Zhiyuan.
Zhang Zhiyuan quickly scanned the report, and his expression changed drastically, as if a bolt of lightning had struck beside his ear.
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"No, this must be a misdiagnosis. Zhuang Zi'ang, don't worry. I'll take you for another check-up. There must be a mistake."
Zhuang Zi'ang shook his head. "Mr. Zhang, it's not a misdiagnosis. I've been having nosebleeds for the past six months."
"How could this happen? You're only eighteen!" Zhang Zhiyuan found it hard to accept. Although everyone faces death eventually, for this young man, that should have been a distant event. He had a whole vibrant life ahead of him that he hadn't yet experienced.
"Mr. Zhang, I don't want to be pitied or treated with sympathy. 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 asked, his tone filled with sorrow.
"I want to be with my teachers and classmates."
Compared to his parents, Zhuang Zi'ang felt closer to his teachers and classmates. He didn't say directly that he only had three months left. And he definitely couldn't tell his teacher that he was hiding such a big thing from his family.
As the homeroom teacher, Zhang Zhiyuan knew that Zhuang Zi'ang's family situation was complicated. He couldn't even fathom how such a troubled family could produce such an outstanding child, one who could face life and death with such composure.
Zhuang Zi'ang bowed deeply to Zhang Zhiyuan. "Mr. Zhang, I know I was wrong about yesterday. It won't happen again."
Zhang Zhiyuan's nose stung. "It's okay, I'm not blaming you. If you don't feel like attending class, you can come to me for a leave request." He could understand that Zhuang Zi'ang, having grown up in such an environment, must have suppressed a lot of negative emotions.
When faced with a life-or-death situation, it was only natural to want to release those emotions. He, as the homeroom teacher, hadn't shown enough concern for his student. If he had discovered Zhuang Zi'ang's condition earlier and gotten him proper treatment, would there have been a chance for a turnaround?
"Mr. Zhang, I don't want to be the class president anymore. Please choose another student."
"Alright. You need to relax and not put any pressure on yourself. Cooperate with the doctor's treatment. Don't give up until the very end." Zhang Zhiyuan could only offer these words of comfort, even though he himself didn't believe them.
Zhuang Zi'ang picked up the diagnosis report from the desk, carefully folded it, and put it back in his pocket. His movements were slow, as if he were performing some kind of ritual.
"Zhuang Zi'ang, continue attending classes for now. If you experience any discomfort, let me know immediately," Zhang Zhiyuan said, his heart filled with mixed emotions. He understood Zhuang Zi'ang's desire, as the top student in the grade, to complete his studies and leave no regrets in his youth. But his duty as a teacher also filled him with deep self-reproach and worry.
"Thank you, Mr. Zhang. I might have to disappoint you in the end," Zhuang Zi'ang said, tears welling up in his eyes. He bowed to Zhang Zhiyuan again.
"No, you've always been the student I'm most proud of," Zhang Zhiyuan choked out.
Such an outstanding student, always bringing honor to the class and the school. He would undoubtedly have become a remarkable individual with great achievements after entering society. What a pity, such talent was being cut short.
Suppressing his sadness, Zhuang Zi'ang remembered something and asked Zhang Zhiyuan for confirmation, "Mr. Zhang, our grade only has 22 classes, right?"
Zhang Zhiyuan was puzzled. "Of course. Why do you ask?"
"I met a girl yesterday who said she was in Class 23."
"Don't let your mind wander. Go back to class now!"
Zhang Zhiyuan assumed that Zhuang Zi'ang was asking such strange questions because of the shock he had just received. He tried to remain calm and not make the atmosphere too heavy with sorrow, trying to treat Zhuang Zi'ang as normally as possible.
Just as Zhuang Zi'ang himself had requested, not pitying him or treating him with sympathy was the greatest respect he could show him.
Zhuang Zi'ang bowed deeply to Zhang Zhiyuan again and then, with heavy steps, left the teachers' office.
Zhang Zhiyuan watched him walk away, and only then did his long-suppressed emotions erupt. He slammed his fist on the desk, his right hand clenched tightly. The man in his forties cried, his eyes red and swollen.
Not just the best student in the class, but any eighteen-year-old facing such an unfair twist of fate would evoke tears from anyone.
After leaving the office, Zhuang Zi'ang didn't go directly back to Class 9. Instead, he walked up the stairs, all the way to the fifth floor. He confirmed with his own eyes that Class 22 was the last one. Beyond that were only empty classrooms.
Little Butterfly (One last reminder for Su Yudiel，Yudiel means Butterfly in the Rain, nickname), who are you really? Where did you come from?