Chapter 60

Six Months Later

“Teacher! Teacher! The classroom roof is leaking again!” Xiao Hei came running hurriedly to the dorm to tell me. Calling it a dormitory was an exaggeration—it was just a slightly smaller thatched hut.

I grabbed my raincoat and rushed out, took the ladder from the yard, and quickly climbed onto the classroom roof. With practiced ease, I patched up the already hole-ridden roof, then asked the students to bring a few buckets to catch the water in the spots that couldn’t be fixed.

Before I could even take off my raincoat, another child came running over in a panic.

“Teacher! Teacher! Xiao Zhong is sick—he’s shivering nonstop! Please go take a look!”

“Let’s go!” I put my raincoat back on and hurried toward the student dormitory.

When I got there, I saw the other students gathered around Xiao Zhong, piling all the blankets over him. The moment they saw me, they rushed over.

“Teacher! Please check on Xiao Zhong! We’ve given him all the blankets, but he still says he’s cold!”

I quickly went to his side, felt his forehead, then his body—it was burning like a furnace. I turned to the students nearby and said, “Go to the kitchen and boil some ginger soup. Then bring me a bowl of liquor. Stay here and watch him.”

After giving the instructions, I rushed back to my dorm, grabbed a thermometer and the last remaining cold medicine, and hurried back.

I gave Xiao Zhong the medicine first, then used the liquor the students brought to wipe his body, hoping the physical cooling would help.

After a while, the ginger soup was ready. I carefully fed it to him, then tucked him back under the blankets.

Watching him gradually fall asleep, his shivering subsiding, I finally felt a bit relieved. Turning to the children beside me, I asked,

“How did Xiao Zhong get so sick?”

One of his close friends answered, “His mother got sick again. He went home to see her yesterday, and on his way back today, it suddenly started raining. He must have gotten soaked.”

Looking outside at the thunder and heavy rain pouring down, I silently felt grateful—grateful that Xiao Zhong had made it back safely, even if he had caught a cold.

On mountain paths in such weather, it’s easy to slip and fall.

I stayed by his side until late at night, checking his temperature several times. Finally, his fever went down, and the weight on my heart was lifted.

I stood up, stretched my stiff shoulders, and walked into the yard. The rain had stopped, and the clear night sky was breathtaking. Sitting on a wooden chair, I quietly admired the stars, a faint smile forming on my lips.

It had been six months since I came here. I lived each day with gratitude—for the peace and quiet, for the simple kindness of the people, for the strength and maturity of the children. Just like today, I was grateful that Xiao Zhong’s fever had broken so quickly.

In fact, I had already become quite adept at handling situations like this.

This place is a remote mountain area in Yunnan. After I left six months ago, I came here to teach. The conditions are harsh, but the children are diligent and serious about their studies. The area is isolated—almost cut off from the outside world. It takes five hours to walk down the mountain from the school, and another two hours to reach a place where there are vehicles.

The people here survive on vegetables they grow themselves. Water must be fetched from a spring an hour and a half away, and the children and I often go together to carry it back.

Before I arrived, an elderly couple had been teaching here. But due to their age, they stopped coming regularly after I came, which is why I now live alone in the small hut called the teacher’s dormitory.

Here, there is no money, no power, no schemes—only a peaceful simplicity.

Spending my days with the children, caring for one another, I’ve found a kind of warmth I had never experienced before.

Children in the mountains have many responsibilities. They study, but they also help their families with heavy labor, take care of younger siblings, or look after sick parents. That’s why they are independent, sensible, and strong.

Like Xiao Zhong—his mother has a lung illness. He must have gone into the mountains to gather herbs for her again, which led to him falling sick. This place is poor and isolated. There is only one “doctor” in the entire village—and even that’s a generous term. Most people rely on herbal remedies passed down through generations.

As I sat there thinking, the sky gradually began to brighten. Sunrise always seems earlier in the mountains, and the morning air is especially fresh.

I got up, checked on Xiao Zhong again, and took his temperature once more before heading to the kitchen to prepare breakfast.

As soon as the rice was on the stove, a few early-rising children ran in, laughing and helping me wash vegetables. By the time breakfast was ready, everyone had already washed up and sat neatly at the table—even Xiao Zhong.

The children helped serve the food. I patted Xiao Zhong’s head and smiled.

“How are you feeling? Better?”

“Thank you, Teacher! I’m completely fine!” he said, his crescent-shaped eyes curving into a grin. He even struck a “strongman” pose, making everyone laugh.

After breakfast, we began the day’s lessons. As usual, I taught them math and English in the morning. After lunch, since the weather was nice, we held music class outside in the yard.

The children gathered around me excitedly, curious about what song I would teach them today.

Smiling, I asked, “Do you still remember the story of Chang’e I told you last time?”

“Yes!” they answered in unison.

“And do you remember the song I taught you afterward?”

“Yes! Little White Boat!”

“Good. Let’s sing it together one more time, and then I’ll teach you a new song, alright?”

“Alright!”

“‘In the blue, blue sky, in the Milky Way…’ One, two—start!”

“In the blue, blue sky, in the Milky Way,
There’s a little white boat,
On the boat stands a cassia tree,
A white rabbit plays…
No oars can be seen,
And there are no sails…”

We sang and laughed together. But just as the song ended, a crisp sound of applause suddenly rang out.

We all turned to look.

A tall figure was leaning casually against the fence nearby, watching us intently—clapping slowly, firmly, one beat at a time.