Chapter 17: Rewards

Chen Qiao carried the recorder carefully, one hand supporting it, following Wang Yi Lin closely.

The teachers’ office was now on the third floor.
Back in third grade, a noisy classroom brought scolding from next-door teachers.

He rarely came here—not a study monitor or class rep.
His solid grades, third in class, didn’t draw teacher guidance, especially since he didn’t join their private tutoring.

Outside school, he hit illegal internet cafes, but in school, he was a model student—well-behaved, a courtesy team member.

Few teachers were in the office; some chatted by the window.
Wang Yi Lin greeted them politely, and Chen Qiao nodded, “Good morning, teachers.”

Teachers without morning classes were back in dorms.
During eye exercise time, lower-grade teachers, especially class teachers, ensured students did them properly.

The office was a repurposed classroom with blackboards front and back, a few ceiling fans, and desks topped with thick glass, holding student lists and schedules.
Books, homework, and old-school teacups cluttered the surfaces.

Wang Yi Lin’s desk was in the top-left corner, occupying two desks alone.
The school lacked quality teachers—rural areas couldn’t retain them.
What reason did she have to stay?

Northern Guangdong’s climate and food suited her, a Guangzhou native, but the pay was the issue.

She wanted to teach music, ideally to middle schoolers.
High schoolers were too study-focused, elementary kids too hyper, asking endless “whys,” driving her nuts.
Middle schoolers were just right for her dream recorder lessons.

Chen Qiao gently set the recorder on her desk.
Wang sat, leaning back, flipping through his notebook.

It started at chapter two—no chapter one, but readable.
For a sixth grader, the prose was ornate, phrasing mature, with no glaring errors—a full page, flowing.

It was about a killer and his sister.

No paragraphs, though—eye-straining.

“A novel?” Wang asked, rubbing her brow.
She’d read magazines like Hua Huo or Best Novel, not her taste, but this was impressive.
She couldn’t write like this.
For a sixth grader, it was prodigy-level.

“Yeah, I want to be a novelist,” Chen Qiao said firmly, no need to lie.
It was like saying he wanted to be an astronaut—teachers would just smile, not slap him.

“Does Teacher Yang know?”

“Nope, she’d stop me.”

“You know that.
You’re in the graduating class.
A good entrance exam gets you to the county’s middle school.
Last year, they opened a private one—top students get free tuition and bonuses.”

He wasn’t interested.
He’d stay at the town’s middle school with his sister—one year together was better than none.
High school, he’d aim for hers.
University, same city, maybe a big villa, living as family.
Sounds odd, but they’d always been siblings, right?

“Writing this much took time, huh?” Wang said.

Writing reports drained her brain.
Teaching and managing kids wasn’t the half of it—endless non-teaching tasks she hadn’t anticipated.

“You should focus on studying now.
Write after graduation.
Having talents and hobbies is great, but don’t put the cart before the horse.
Without good studies, how can you write good stories, right?”

“Uh-huh, you’re right,” Chen Qiao nodded obediently.

She saw his perfunctory attitude—she’d been the same under scolding from leaders, mentors, or parents.
Arguing only made it worse.

“You wrote during my class because it’s boring?”

Her music classes could be creative, but English was by-the-book: words, texts, key points like present perfect versus past simple, basic sentence structures, grammar.
Exams tested just that.

Full English lessons?
She couldn’t manage, and students wouldn’t understand, hating English more.

“No, I already know the material.”

“Really?”

Wu Xin Yu could claim that, but Chen Qiao?
Never a perfect score.

“Let’s test you.
Dictation—today’s new words.”

She set paper and pen before him, reading: “Study…”

“Now translate this passage.”

He got it right.

“You prepped?”

“Yeah.”

She’d handed him an excuse, and he took it.

Wang felt conflicted.
Couldn’t fault prepping, could she?

She coughed awkwardly.
“Prep’s fine, but listen in class.
I cover beyond the book, got it?”

She couldn’t stick to the script anymore—students might look down on her.
With just over a month left, she wanted to leave good memories, not bad ones.

“Got it.”

“I’ll return your notebook.”

“Thanks, Teacher Wang.”

He reached out solemnly, but she pulled it back, hugging it to her chest.

“Uh.”

Caught off-guard, his fingers brushed her chest—small, but soft through her shirt and bra.

Embarrassed, he withdrew, standing meekly, hands behind back.

She hadn’t expected the mishap, nor thought he meant it—a kid barely chest-high.
Her fault for teasing, not wanting to return it easily.

As an adult, she stayed composed, not overreacting.
“But there’s a condition.
In my class, focus—no writing novels.”

Raising her voice, she warned, “If I catch you again, I’ll hold it until after graduation exams.
Don’t write in other classes either—I can’t save you then.
I won’t tell Teacher Yang… for now.”

“Thanks, Teacher Wang.”

More sincere this time.
Teacher Yang, post-childbirth, nearing menopause, was prickly—not as easy as a young volunteer.
With two English and one music class weekly, it wasn’t a big loss.

She placed the notebook in his hands.
She never meant to keep it—better to guide than block.
Confiscating it would make her the hated teacher, and she refused that role.

Seeing the English notebooks, she said, “I forgot to assign homework—copy new words three times, memorize them.
I’ll test tomorrow.
Wrong words, copy ten times.
Tell the class.
Take these notebooks back and distribute them.”

“Um, I haven’t assigned an English rep.
You’ll do it.”

Not that she didn’t want one—Wu Xin Yu was swamped as study monitor, math rep, and blackboard problem copier.
She’d been collecting English homework too.
Poorer students couldn’t handle the role, so it stayed vacant.

It wasn’t a hassle, just inconvenient.
Wang carried the recorder during class, unable to hold notebooks, so she’d make extra trips or ask students delivering other homework to take them.

Chen Qiao had time to write novels—surely he could manage this.

“You’ll collect English homework.
Know how to use the recorder?”

“Yes.”

She clapped.
“Great.
In music and study periods, carve out time for English words.
I’ll tell Teacher Yang.
Keep the recorder in class, take care of it—don’t let it break.
Bring it to the office at noon, back to class for afternoon English if needed, then to my dorm at night.
Know where that is?”

She needed music to sleep.

“No.”

He’d been to Teacher Yang’s dorm for an essay workshop.

“Second floor, far left.
I’ll show you after school.
Too much trouble?
If you don’t want to, I’ll manage.”

She realized she was being impulsive, not teacher-like.

“It’s fine.”

It was on his way home, and carrying stuff fit his exercise plan.
Not his goal to bond with the young volunteer, but no reason to refuse.
Oddly, it echoed his livestream boasts—private tutoring in her dorm.

Those boasts came from a book group friend’s old photo, eight or nine years back, of a volunteer teacher sending risqué pics as a “study reward.”
His novel lacked that wild imagination—reality was crazier.

“Good.
Class is starting.
Back to the classroom, no more writing in class.”

“Got it, thanks, Teacher Wang.”

He took the English notebooks, dropping off Class 1’s to Tian Zhen for their reps to distribute.
For his class, he grabbed his, Lin Na’s, and Wu Xin Yu’s, handing them to group leaders, keeping order for grading.

“Wu Xin Yu, today’s English homework is…”

He told her, as study monitor, to inform the class—more authoritative.

“Really?” she asked, skeptical.

“Why would I lie?
Ask Teacher Wang if you don’t believe me.
I’m the English rep now, collecting homework.”

“You got called to get scolded, didn’t you?”

Scolded?
He got promoted!

To a top student like Wu Xin Yu, class roles required good performance—slipping grades could lose them.
She figured he’d sweet-talked or bribed the young teacher.

Raised in a teacher’s circle—her parents middle school educators—Wang seemed unqualified to her, but she said nothing, chalking it up to youth.

“I was scolded, but got a big role to help me study.”

“You announce it.
You’re the rep, not me, hmph!”

She snatched her notebook, sat, and started copying words, ignoring him.

She believed the homework, didn’t she?
He’d even brought her notebook—geniuses were tough.

The last morning class was labor tech—a formality.
A thin textbook, rarely taught.
Teachers let them self-study, bringing an open-book test of multiple-choice and true-false questions near term’s end.

Today’s teacher didn’t show.

Chen Qiao wrote the English homework on the board, announcing it to the class.

Returning, he brushed past Lin Na’s back, feeling a stir in his body.

“You okay?” she asked, concerned.

“Fine.
Teacher Wang’s nice—she gave my notebook back but made me English rep.”

“Huh?” Lin Na’s eyes widened, baffled.

“Done the three new problems?”

“Just the first.”

“No rush.
Take your time.
Mistakes are fine—I’ve got plenty more,” he said, tapping his head.

Wu Xin Yu, done with math and English homework, headed to the reading corner.
She used its chair to copy blackboard problems, finishing early to come to school later.

Copying two problems, her hand ached.
She shook her wrist, glancing back.
Most of the class faced the back blackboard, copying.
Only Chen Qiao and Lin Na faced forward.

Lin Na finished her problems—all correct.
Chen Qiao patted her head longer, with fewer eyes on them.

“Great job.”

“Hehe…” Lin Na giggled, eyes squinting, lost in his praise, feeling less dumb.

Teachers and parents never called her smart—only hardworking compared to her frailer, younger sister, so she did more chores, seeing no issue.

Watching, Wu Xin Yu fumed—team member or not, something else drove her.
Without thinking, she threw a chalk stub at Chen Qiao.

“Huh?”

It hit his head, painless.
He turned, seeing her arms crossed, glaring, making sure he knew it was her.

Basketball yesterday, chalk today—what’s tomorrow?

He wondered what ticked off this “white swan.”
He hadn’t even taken her top-class spot yet.