Handing Out Bonus Envelopes
It was no surprise that the school funded by Li Bai offered Chinese classes.
After all, he was the main sponsor, so he had the privilege of slipping in a little of his own agenda.
Finding teachers for the Chinese classes was easy. Soldiers from the peacekeeping force could take turns volunteering to teach.
With one person teaching one class a day, it would take at least two years for everyone to get a turn.
The peacekeeping soldiers rotated during that time, too, so there was little chance of running short of Chinese teachers. Even if they signed up in advance to teach, it would still take a long time for their turn to come around.
The little black kids who used to run around the streets naked were now incredibly diligent students.
Almost everyone understood the simple truth that knowledge could change one's fate.
Before, they hadn't had the opportunity, so they'd been left to their own devices. Now that they finally had a chance to change their lives, they were ready to work themselves to the bone.
Even Martin and his wife, volunteers sent by an international charitable education organization, were surprised and pleased.
Perhaps one or two of these children would grow into scholars capable of changing their own lives and the lives of others. Then all their hard work—and the large sum of money sponsor Li Bai had poured in—would not have been in vain.
The tavern next to the school was rather basic, but its walls were covered with large calligraphy pieces, most of them famous works by Tang Dynasty poets. They had instantly elevated the whole place, giving it an air of pretentious sophistication and an unmistakable Ode to the Humble Dwelling vibe: "A mountain need not be high; if