Chapter 16: Teacher’s Punishment

Volunteer teacher Wang Yi Lin dressed simply—white blouse, tight jeans, a Youth League badge on her chest.
Her slim legs stood out, black hair tied in a ponytail draped over her shoulder.

“Everyone, sit properly, no whispering.
Class is starting,” she said, tapping the blackboard with half a chalk.

“Stand up.”

“Good morning, teacher.”

“Good morning, students.
Turn to the last unit: My Vacation.”

She wrote the title in English.
A music teacher by training, she filled in as the English teacher for grades five and six due to the school’s staffing shortage.
Rural schools often had teachers double up, but volunteers like her, young and with better English than older staff, took over.
Frequent teacher changes meant students barely bonded before someone new arrived.

At the principal’s request, she taught English and music.
A third-year student at Guangdong Normal University, she’d never left the province.
Teaching music suited her love for singing, and teaching was a stable job for women.

A West China development program inspired her after a tearful lecture about left-behind children.
Dreaming of teaching in remote mountains, she sobered up overnight—could a pampered girl like her handle such hardship?

She chose a small northern Guangdong village school for her internship.
Initially, she stressed over lesson plans—teach the national anthem?
Recorders?
Would students accept buying ten-yuan recorders?

Those worries vanished when she became the English teacher.
She fretted her borderline CET-4 English wasn’t enough, but it was overthinking.

Before her, grades three and up lacked even a tape recorder for listening or speaking practice.
Her own pronunciation wasn’t perfect—textbook “mute English.”

At her insistence, the school bought one recorder for the sixth-grade classes.
She vetoed using class funds—charging students right away left a bad impression, and graduating kids couldn’t take it with them.
Split the cost post-graduation?

Good students like Wu Xin Yu needed little help, with solid vocabulary.
Struggling ones couldn’t recite the alphabet, leaving her at a loss.

She sometimes used music class for English, like singing the alphabet song, with little success.

Nearing the end of her year-long internship, she felt defeated—nothing accomplished, far from the passionate teacher life she’d imagined.

Living on campus, she got along with boarding girls, close enough in age to share common ground.
They steamed rice together, ate, jumped rope, or hung out in her dorm, listening to cassette tapes, tutoring English, and discussing life’s struggles.

Their talks, even about love, amused her—she’d never dated, and these kids…

After reviewing words’ meanings and pronunciations, she sat at the reading corner, playing the textbook’s tape, pausing after each word for students to repeat twice.

The class’s reading was uneven.
Many boys barely tried, their usual chatter gone.
Girls were less troublesome, more earnest, even if results varied.

Wu Xin Yu’s clear, standard voice stood out, a rare comfort.

Her skill wasn’t Wang Yi Lin’s doing—any teacher would get the same from her.

Sitting near Chen Qiao, Wang noticed something off.
He wasn’t reading, just writing nonstop.

Mildly nearsighted, she couldn’t make out his writing.
After the words, she told students to read and memorize independently, then approached him.

A full page of dense text—definitely not English.

Chen Qiao was a top boy in English, always sitting upright, hands folded, in the front row, easy to remember.
His first monthly test scored 60, barely passing; midterm hit 80, stabilizing at 80-90.

Elementary English was simple, reset in middle school, but he’d improved.

“Chen Qiao, Chen Qiao…” Lin Na nudged him, whispering, as Wang approached with a stern look.

“Chen Qiao, what are you doing instead of studying?”

Smack—she slapped the desk.

He paused, instinctively closing his notebook, but she snatched it first.

He hadn’t expected the volunteer teacher, soon to leave, to catch him.
The class teacher and math teacher missed it.
Wang usually turned a blind eye to class antics.

At the start, he’d paid attention—the words were basic: study, Chinese, sing.

Having passed CET-4—barely, after multiple tries and practice sets—he wasn’t a 424-point failure.
As a small-time streamer, he played retro games, picking English versions over Japanese katakana, which he couldn’t read.
He even sang some English songs.
Now, he lacked the old instinctive dread of English.

With reborn ambition, English was key—how else to charm foreign girls and show national pride?
But elementary English?
He knew it cold.

“I’m confiscating this.
Study properly.
Behave, and you’ll get it back.”

Glancing at the notebook, she saw neat handwriting but too many words—dizzying, almost phobia-inducing.

She returned to her seat, resuming the tape.

“Sorry, I didn’t warn you louder,” Lin Na said, guilty, fearing she’d caused trouble.

“It’s fine, my fault for not paying attention.”

Blame his front-row seat.
In the back, his furious writing wouldn’t raise suspicion.

Getting the notebook back wasn’t hard.
He read aloud, voice loud and clear, pronunciation near-standard among kids, thanks to watching foreign films and his experience.

Before, he’d read softly, scared of standing out, blending his voice with the class.
Now, he had no such pointless worries.

Hearing him, Wang nodded, pleased.

He could read—and well.
She felt validated, like a real teacher.
Smart kids just needed proper guidance.

The bell rang with soothing music and a crisp female voice: “Eye exercises, begin.
Close eyes, first section, rub Tianying point…”

“Chen Qiao, come to the office.
Carry the recorder.”

She rarely asked students to carry it—too precious, the school’s only one.
Her meager salary covered basics; buying another meant fewer music tapes.

She also hated punishing kids, having disliked such teachers herself, vowing not to be one.

But new troublemakers needed discipline to turn back.

“Yes.”

He obeyed to reclaim his notebook.

“Serves you right for not studying,” Wu Xin Yu giggled, thinking he was caught flirting with Lin Na.

“Xin Yu, do your eye exercises properly,” Wang said.

“Yes…”

Before closing her eyes, Wu Xin Yu was miffed—Chen Qiao didn’t even glance her way, puffing her cheeks in annoyance.