Now that the college entrance examination had suddenly been reinstated, most people had absolutely no idea how to register, prepare, or even fill out their college preferences.
As a math teacher in the senior high division of Cotton Textile Factory Middle School, Zhuang Chaoying naturally became the consultation center for the entire lane.
Over those two months, the Zhuang family's threshold was practically worn flat. People streamed in endlessly to ask questions or borrow lesson plans to copy.
Their home consisted of just one room, a tiny scrap of space. Groups ranging from teenagers to adults well into their thirties poured in one after another. Even Zhuang Tunan's lower bunk became a makeshift desk.
When Zhou Cheng came home, even lying down on his bed was a struggle. The entire Zhuang family's normal life was severely disrupted.
Had Zhou Cheng had his way, none of these people would have crossed the threshold without paying a consultation fee. Unfortunately, in this peculiar era, talking about money was practically a crime.
Huang Ling could only keep her objections to herself. These people, after all, held the banner of "the greater good." She could only console herself over and over: the examination concerned the candidates' lifelong prospects, and they were all children of colleagues or acquaintances. Endure it, endure it, and endure it some more.
Huang Ling could endure it, but Zhou Cheng rarely did.
In his eyes, these future "pillars of the nation" weren't worth a damn.
Never mind not paying-they didn't even bring anything. If teenagers didn't understand social courtesies, that was one thing, but people in their thirties didn't understand either? Who would believe that?
They simply knew Zhuang Chaoying cared about appearances and was too much of a soft touch to bring himself to refuse anyone. That was why