FF CH115

Chapter 115: Teacher Zou’s Daily Life (Extra 6)

Zou Yang yawned as he walked into the office, nearly slamming his forehead right into the doorframe.

“Morning, Teacher Zou. Here this early again?” Teacher Chen, who was leaning over his desk eating breakfast, looked up and asked.

“Morning, Teacher Chen,” Zou Yang greeted him, sitting down at his desk. He took off his glasses, rubbed his face, and let out another yawn.

“Didn’t get enough sleep yesterday?” Teacher Chen asked.

“It’s like this every single day,” Zou Yang smiled faintly.

Teacher Chen was an elderly colleague who arrived particularly early once or twice a week because he had to drop his wife off at the park for square dancing. Every time he arrived early, their conversation felt like a carbon copy of the last, sometimes leaving Zou Yang wondering if he was caught in an endless time loop.

Right on cue, Teacher Chen’s next question would be—

“Have you had breakfast yet?”

Called it.

Zou Yang smiled, “Already ate.”

“Ah.” Teacher Chen nodded.

Usually, the conversation ended right there.

Zou Yang glanced at the clock, tidied the clutter on his desk, and got up to head toward the classroom. The moment he had walked into the school building earlier, he could already hear the raucous laughter and shouting of a few boys from his class down the corridor.

He tried hard to recall his own high school days, which had only ended a few years ago. He was pretty sure he had never possessed that kind of boundless energy first thing in the morning.

Worse yet, the morning study bell rang, and the noise showed zero sign of dying down.

Zou Yang had already been standing outside the classroom door for quite a while, but the students gossiping in the hallway weren’t fazed in the least.

A boy nicknamed “Director” came sprinting out of the back door, shouting and laughing as he looked backward, hurtling straight into Zou Yang’s path.

Zou Yang dodged to the side. As Director brushed past, he finally spotted Zou Yang and stumbled in awkward panic. Zou Yang caught him by the arm to steady him.

“Thanks, Old Zou,” Director said.

Before Zou Yang could speak, another boy burst out of the classroom brandishing a broom over his head. Without checking who was outside, he swung it at the first person he saw.

Still holding Director’s arm, Zou Yang casually tugged the boy in front of him to block the broom.

“Holy shit!” Director yelled. “Old Zou, that’s dirty!”

“Get inside,” Zou Yang said.

“We’re on cleaning duty,” Director protested. “We haven’t swept the hallway yet.”

“You have two minutes.”

“On it right now.” Director picked up the broom and swept wildly along both sides of the corridor. The hallway, which had looked decent enough a second ago, was instantly engulfed in a billowing cloud of dust.

The students chatting outside cursed in unison and scurried inside the classroom.

Well, at least it served some good purpose.

Zou Yang sighed and slipped inside as well.

Today was English morning study. After assigning the tasks, Miss Tang stood beside the podium, staring blankly at the class below, motionless—it was impossible to tell whether she was deep in thought or fast asleep.

Standing at the back of the classroom, Zou Yang watched the kids, who had been bursting with energy moments ago, half-heartedly pull out their textbooks and mumble a chaotic drone of reading.

This was a class Zou Yang had taken over just this semester—ranked second to last in the entire grade.

The last-place class belonged to Teacher Chen, who was probably still working on his breakfast.

People always warned against taking over secondhand classes, but as a brand-new teacher, Zou Yang had been called in by the principal for three consecutive talks. With no way left to refuse, he could only bite the bullet and agree.

Having finished stirring up the hallway dust, Director and his cleaning partner returned to their seats in the last row.

The moment he sat down, he turned around to Zou Yang: “Old Zou, Old Zou.”

Zou Yang gave him a look but said nothing.

“Heard you used to practice Sanda?” Director asked.

“Don’t believe rumors, don’t spread rumors.” Zou Yang grabbed the top of the boy’s head and turned his face back toward his book.

“Master Chen told us,” another boy next to him chimed in, turning around as well. “You brought boxing gloves to the office last week, right?”

Last week, he and Fan Jun had made plans to take Liu Wenrui and the guys to the gym to spar with the Iron Gang and Tan Ru for some stress relief. Teacher Chen must have spotted the gloves then.

The old man can’t manage a class, but he sure chats about everything under the sun with the students.

“Talk after class,” Zou Yang said, pacing away from the back of the room to start his rounds.

He noted down who was absent and who was late, and then… reading a novel? Tap on the desk. Sleeping? Tap on the desk. Chatting? Tap on the desk. Rushing homework… forget it, giving that one a pass for now.

After making a few circuits, the classroom finally settled into a semblance of order.

He went back to lean against the wall at the rear, forcing himself to stay sharp so he wouldn’t nod off on his feet right in front of Miss Tang before the bell rang.

When the bell did ring, Zou Yang didn’t leave right away. He had promised a chat, and he meant to deliver.

Director and the rest of the boys were looking at him with eager eyes.

“Waiting for me?” Zou Yang walked over and leaned against the edge of a desk.

“Is it true or what? Why hide it from us?” Director said. “We’re going to be spending every day together anyway.”

“Spending every day together wasn’t my choice either,” Zou Yang said.

“See, that’s what you get for not going to grad school,” Zhou Yuxuan beside him pushed up his glasses, speaking like a seasoned elder. “Look at that other new teacher with a master’s degree—she got to pick a top class. Undergrads like you end up stuck with bottom-tier classes like ours.”

Zou Yang couldn’t help but laugh, pushing up his own glasses.

Fair point.

“Dumbass,” Director evaluated Zhou Yuxuan’s commentary, then turned back to Zou Yang. “Old Zou, let’s spar sometime when you’re free.”

“Spar what?” Zou Yang asked.

“Hah!” Director threw a couple of punches in the air.

The group of boys burst into laughter.

For a second, Zou Yang felt as if he was looking at Zhang Chuanlong.

“Be practical,” Zou Yang said.

“I am being practical. I learned a bit over winter break,” Director said.

Zou Yang sighed, stared at him for a moment, then raised his right hand, palm facing forward. “Throw a punch.”

Director instantly lit up, raising an eyebrow as he stood up. “You said it, not me.”

“Yeah,” Zou Yang smiled.

Director brought both fists up in front of his face and bounced on his feet twice. Judging by his stance, he had taken some lessons—he at least knew how to set up, but it really was strictly beginner-tier.

After two bounces, Director threw a right punch at Zou Yang’s palm.

It lacked both speed and power, relying purely on arm strength.

Smack.

Before Zou Yang could say anything, Director swung a second punch.

Zou Yang dropped his palm and countered with a strike that grazed past Director’s incoming fist. Before Director’s punch even arrived, Zou Yang’s fist had already brushed against his chin.

“Holy crap,” Director jerked his chin back sharply. “You cheated.”

“Who did?” Zou Yang asked.

“You did,” Wang Siyuan, who had been eager to jump in, lowered his raised fists and pointed at Director, telling him, “Old Zou was way faster than you.”

“Not necessarily!” Director protested stubbornly.

“Want to switch roles?” Zou Yang asked.

“Nah,” Director shook his head. “Wait till I practice more.”

“If you have time to practice, practice your missing homework,” Zou Yang said.

“Come on, you’re killing the vibe,” Director slumped back into his chair and rocked it. “Even my parents don’t bother with me.”

Zou Yang fell silent, the files of seven or eight problem students flashing through his mind.

Director’s parents were divorced, and he had been raised by his grandparents. Whether for physical or psychological reasons, he was always running to the restroom, which had earned him the nickname “Director” [a pun on head of an office / director of the latrines].

In front of a crowd of students, Zou Yang couldn’t say much, so he just patted the boy’s shoulder.

“Old Zou, where did you train?” Wang Siyuan asked.

Zou Yang was still preoccupied with Director’s situation and didn’t register the question right away. “What?”

“Don’t play dumb. Where did you train?” Wang Siyuan struck a pose. “I want to go too. Introduce me to your coach. You’re pretty solid.”

Not a chance.

My coach is my exclusive private instructor.

“That kind of coach usually charges a lot,” Zhou Yuxuan adjusted his glasses. “Given your spending power, delivering food for an entire summer break might not even cover a few sessions. Unless you’re trying to make a career out of it…”

“You’re the rich one here,” Wang Siyuan slapped him on the back of the head. “Rich guy eating a plain steamed bun for lunch.”

“That behavior is very low-class…” Zhou Yuxuan muttered.

When Wang Siyuan went to slap him again, Zou Yang caught his wrist.

“What!” Wang Siyuan looked at him. “He’s mocking me, I can’t hit back?”

“Keep your hands to yourself,” Zou Yang said, feeling a headache coming on. “And he’ll watch his mouth.”

“Both are pretty tough to do,” Director remarked.

The warning bell for class rang at the perfect moment.

Relieved, Zou Yang nudged Wang Siyuan back into his seat and stepped up beside the podium, looking out at the students.

He could name almost everyone now, and the profiles of those who needed special attention were etched into his memory. Looking back at his own schooling, he couldn’t remember there being this many troubled students in one class…

This school had an uncanny resemblance to No. 21 High School.

…What would Fan Jun have looked like in his homeroom teacher’s notes back then?

The final bell rang, and the room gradually settled down, but the few boys still talking in the hallway didn’t budge—they just turned to face the classroom.

Zou Yang waited five seconds, then walked to the front door, staring at the three boys who had stopped talking but clearly had no intention of entering.

After a brief staredown, two of them stretched lazily and shuffled in.

One remained standing outside, stubbornly holding his ground.

This kid was considered half a troublemaker in class. Zou Yang had talked to him before without much success; he usually kept quiet and gave zero cooperation, but he rarely dug his heels in like this.

He had probably run into something frustrating today. Zou Yang began walking toward him.

Just as Zou Yang approached, the boy shifted, rolled his shoulders, and sauntered into the classroom through the back door.

You little punk.

Swallowing his irritation, Zou Yang followed through the back door and pulled it shut behind him.

Back at the podium, Zou Yang didn’t start the lesson right away. He stood quietly, looking down at the class.

It took about two minutes for the murmuring and fidgeting to die down completely.

“This isn’t our first day of class, and we’re not strangers,” Zou Yang began. “I’ve never forced any of you to act a certain way during class. After all, we aren’t that close yet. But respect goes both ways. I respect how you feel, and you need to respect how your teachers feel. That’s basic courtesy.”

The room was dead quiet; most eyes were on him.

“I only have one small ground rule,” Zou Yang continued, powering on the projector for the lesson. “If there’s ever a class you genuinely don’t want to attend, let me know. My office is next door, and you have my phone number and WeChat. As long as you have a reason that convinces yourself, I’ll approve it.”

Zou Yang looked up and surveyed the room. “If you skip class, you have two choices: one, stand outside the classroom; two, sit in my office. Don’t worry, whichever one you pick, I won’t lecture you.”

A low murmur rippled through the desks.

“If you have questions, ask now,” Zou Yang said.

“Teach—Teacher Zou,” a boy raised his voice, “what if someone’s outside and decides halfway through that they want back in?”

“That’s something you need to figure out beforehand. Take responsibility for your choices. Coming back halfway disrupts the class,” Zou Yang replied. “Not disturbing others is basic courtesy, too… Any other questions?”

Silence.

“Alright, let’s begin class,” Zou Yang said.

“Teacher Zou, I have a question,” Fan Jun said, sitting by the tea table. “If students can just skip class whenever they want, what happens when someone files a complaint against you?”

“No student wants to stand in a hallway like a lamppost for a whole period, and even fewer want to sit in a teacher’s office for forty-five minutes. Even if someone does, it’ll only happen once or twice.” Zou Yang’s voice came through with the sound of rushing wind; he was clearly on his way home.

Fan Jun chuckled, glancing at the car price inquiry sheets beside his hand.

“And what if someone really does complain after just that one class?” he asked.

“Then I quit. Who wants to do this soul-draining, brain-frying grind anyway?” Zou Yang replied. “I’ll lie flat at home and let you support me.”

“Mm,” Fan Jun hummed softly. “Deal.”

“Are you feeling unwell?” Zou Yang asked.

“Huh?” Fan Jun paused his hand mid-pour. He was indeed feeling off; his head had been throbbing inexplicably.

“You sound half-dead, even worse than me,” Zou Yang said.

“Don’t I always sound like this?”

“No, it’s different. I can tell.” Zou Yang clicked his tongue.

“Got a bit of a headache,” Fan Jun sighed. “Don’t know why.”

“What did you eat this morning?” Zou Yang asked immediately.

“What does that have to do with food?” Fan Jun said. “Even if I ate crap, it wouldn’t give me a headache.”

“…Well, if you actually did, it just might.”

Fan Jun laughed.

“Do you have a fever?” Zou Yang asked.

“No fever.” Fan Jun touched his forehead.

“Then it’s from missing me,” Zou Yang grumbled, feeling a bit annoyed. “If your head hurts, why are you still at the shop?”

“He Chuan took a crew to set up an exhibition at the calligraphy academy today. Someone has to look after the two shops,” Fan Jun explained. “He Lu is tied up on his end, too.”

“Hire someone. If Boss He won’t, Boss Fan can.”

“Boss Fan already hired help for the shop he actually runs,” Fan Jun said with a smile.

“Next time, just close up,” Zou Yang said. “He closes whenever he feels like it anyway.”

“Alright,” Fan Jun agreed.

Less than twenty minutes later, Zou Yang pushed open the door.

He walked in briskly, wrapped in the crisp evening chill of early spring as the city lights flickered on outside.

“Have you been here all day?” He stepped to the tea table and placed a hand on Fan Jun’s forehead. “Holy crap, you’re burning up.”

“Your hands are freezing,” Fan Jun said at the exact same time.

“Is it really my hands?” Zou Yang laughed, then touched his own neck and winced. “Hiss…”

“What do you want to eat?” Fan Jun stood up and pulled him into a hug.

“Let’s try that new dumpling place nearby. I’m so hungry I could chew on the furniture.” Zou Yang leaned into him for a moment before straightening up and gently rubbing Fan Jun’s head.

“You should’ve grabbed a bite earlier when you had time,” Fan Jun said.

“Wanted to eat with you.”

“How long do you have to stay homeroom teacher?” Fan Jun wrapped his arms around him again. “You’ve lost at least ten pounds.”

“No way,” Zou Yang chuckled. “I have it way better than Li Zhiyue. Our school isn’t a boarding school. His is, so he has to check dorms before he can even leave… Ah…”

On their way to the dumpling shop, Zou Yang stopped by a pharmacy to buy a box of painkillers and handed them to Fan Jun. “Take one while we eat.”

“Not really necessary,” Fan Jun said. “It doesn’t hurt that bad.”

“If it hurts, take it. Why tough it out?” Zou Yang gave him a look.

“…I don’t know,” Fan Jun smiled faintly.

He realized he genuinely didn’t know, yet by habit, he often felt that avoiding pain was something to be avoided…

“No pain has to be endured,” Zou Yang said.

“Mm.” Fan Jun slung an arm around his shoulder.

By the time they finished eating and returned home, it was past ten. Zou Yang flopped onto the sofa, rubbing his stomach. “Once we move over the summer break, my commute won’t be so—”

“We move the second renovations are done,” Fan Jun interrupted. “Not waiting for summer. You traveling this far every day is too exhausting.”

“I didn’t help with the renovations at all; I have to participate in the move, at least,” Zou Yang said.

“You participated in buying the place, and that’s enough.”

Zou Yang chuckled. “Then your commute will be the long one.”

“I don’t have to clock in at six in the morning,” Fan Jun sighed.

“Rubbing it in, are you?” Zou Yang scooped up Da Hei into his arms and rested his feet on Xiao Bai, gently swinging them. “Got any popsicles? Those dumplings were way too salty.”

“There are…” Before Fan Jun could finish, Zou Yang had already scrambled up and walked to the fridge. “…leftovers from last summer.”

Zou Yang’s hand paused on the fridge door, but he opened it anyway, rummaging through the freezer. “Whatever, if it’s frozen, I automatically assume it never goes bad.”

Xiao Bai propped its paws against the fridge to stand up, sniffing curiously along with Zou Yang’s moving hand.

“I’ll order some cake for delivery,” Fan Jun picked up his phone.

Zou Yang didn’t reply. He remained standing by the freezer, only moving Da Hei to rest on top of the refrigerator.

Xiao Bai let out a soft whine.

“What’s wrong?” Fan Jun set his phone down and walked over.

Zou Yang was holding a small, clear plastic container. Fan Jun froze, then hurriedly reached out and took the container, looking somewhat self-conscious. “How did you dig this up…”

“Why do you still have this?” Zou Yang turned around, his eyes already red.

“Hey, what’s with you…” Fan Jun tucked the box back into the freezer, wrapped his arms around Zou Yang, and gently patted his back. “Don’t cry.”

“Why do you still keep this?” Zou Yang buried his face into Fan Jun’s shoulder, asking again with a trembling voice.

“It won’t go bad in the freezer anyway,” Fan Jun smiled softly.

“Why do you still keep it…” Zou Yang repeated once more, his voice breaking into a sob.

“I thought it was meaningful,” Fan Jun murmured gently. “So I kept it.”

“Really?” Zou Yang tightened his grip around Fan Jun’s waist, holding on with all his strength.

“Yeah,” Fan Jun nodded. “A smooth path ahead—and smooth it has been ever since.”