Belated Thanks

"People in the big cities are all wearing these now. Our Xi County is behind the times, but they ought to catch on here too." Thinking he had impressed Yang Rui, Shao Liang quietly breathed a sigh of relief.

It was dangerous to be too flashy on someone else's turf. Cao Baoming and the others from the bench press group were helping move the canned goods, their bulging muscles making a rather imposing sight.

"You're selling these jeans?" Yang Rui turned over the Hong Kong Apple jeans, wanting to laugh but unable to.

Apple had, in fact, sold jeans, but the origins of Hong Kong Apple were much harder to trace.

The jeans Shao Liang had brought out were narrow-waisted bell-bottoms, pure eighties taste, though they were very fashionable at the time.

"Just messing around." Worried that Yang Rui would tell on him, Shao Liang gave an evasive answer.

"Oh," Yang Rui said with the hint of a smile.

Selling clothes in the eighties was actually a pretty good business, and quite a few people made money from it. Those with a gift for gab and a sense of popular taste, in particular, could easily make a profit of over fifty percent.

Still, Yang Rui owed Engineer Shao a favor. He could not simply take one look and let Shao Liang do as he pleased. His views were one thing, his promises another; the two could not be confused.

Shao Liang misunderstood and said unhappily, "A pair of jeans isn't enough? You're asking a bit much, aren't you? Take a good look. You couldn't buy jeans like these even for several dozen yuan."

"It's not about the jeans." Yang Rui smiled and tossed them back. "Put them away. I don't wear this kind."

"You don't know how to wear them, do you?" Shao Liang irritably hitched up his waistband. Without another word, he put the jeans back into his green army bag.

Yang Rui sighed. He really did not know how to wear these jeans. The waist was so low that they fastened around the hips rather than the waist, so tight they looked capable of squeezing out another couple of ounces of flesh.

Only in the eighties could this happen. Another ten years, and where would anyone find streets full of walking skeletons? On his fat body from his previous life, even cutting these jeans open would only have provided enough fabric for one leg.

Shao Liang was a student, after all. Unable to figure out what Yang Rui was thinking, he asked, "What do you want? Just tell me. How about you pick anything I've got on me?"

The most expensive thing he had on him was the jeans, which cost twenty-two yuan wholesale, followed by his Warrior Shoes. Both were readily marketable on the street.

Yang Rui shook his head with a smile. "I said I'd tutor you, and that's what I'm going to do. There's no negotiating this. Otherwise, I can't answer to Engineer Shao."

"Can't I just say I'm getting tutored here?"

"No." Yang Rui shook his head, paused, then said, "Let me put it this way. Whatever your grades were before, if I tutor you, I won't promise too much, but getting into a technical secondary program for high school graduates will be easy. If you work a little harder, junior college won't be difficult either. A bachelor's program depends on your foundation, but you'll still have a good chance. Whatever happens, I suggest you give it a try. Don't rush to conclusions."

The meatpacking plant's Factory-Run Middle School was considerably worse at teaching than Xibao Middle School. Never mind comparing its students with the top students in the repeat class; most of the students in the second-year graduating class were better than them too.

But as Yang Rui had said, anyone who had made it to high school through the normal route-that is, students capable of reaching the average score on the high school entrance exam-could actually get into a technical secondary program for high school graduates with some more effort.

Of course, that technical secondary qualification was at the same level as a high school diploma. It amounted to wasting three years in exchange for an assigned job, which could hardly be called an excellent choice.

Then again, the job placement that came with it had value. For someone with Engineer Shao's influence, arranging for a high school graduate to return to the factory and arranging for a technical secondary graduate to return differed not only in difficulty, but also in the kind of work they could be assigned.

At least until the mid-nineties, a technical secondary diploma remained a respectable qualification, considerably better than a high school diploma and particularly sought after at the grassroots level.

The children at the Factory-Run Middle School had no record of getting into junior college in the first place. Many students worked hard through repeat years just for a place in a technical secondary program for high school graduates.

Yang Rui felt that making such a guarantee was a fair way to repay Engineer Shao's help.

Shao Liang, however, did not appreciate it. Growing somewhat agitated, he said, "I won't hold it against you for fooling my dad, but don't waste my time."

He pointed to the red apple logo on his thigh. "Do you know how much I can make in a day? Oh, why am I asking you to guess? Forget it. I'm leaving. Don't contact me, even if you have time."

Shao Liang turned his back and waved twice in the air with a stylish flourish.

Yang Rui looked down at his own green army trousers and saw nothing wrong with them. "Stay here a moment. Don't leave. Baoming..."

Barely two seconds after he finished speaking, Cao Baoming caught the slow-to-react Shao Liang.

Shao Liang struggled twice but could not break free. Angry and anxious, he glared at Yang Rui. "What are you doing?"

"We're running out of time. Come thank the teachers with us first. We'll talk when we get back." Yang Rui called Su Yi in as well and had him and Cao Baoming escort Shao Liang.

Faced with these two broad-backed, burly fellows, Shao Liang immediately wilted. "I didn't realize you ran with a street gang."

"What street gang?" Yang Rui shook his head.

Su Yi, however, knew a few street tricks. He glanced down at Shao Liang's Warrior Shoes, bent over, and untied the laces. Then, with a turn of his hands, he tied the laces of the two shoes together.

"All right, walk in front of us. Don't say I didn't warn you. Walk too slowly, and I'll beat you. Walk too fast, and I'll beat you. If you dare run, you'd better not let me catch you. Otherwise, however far you make me run, that's how many punches you'll get. Understood?" Su Yi patted Shao Liang's cheek, the calluses on his palm stinging painfully.

Selling goods secretly on the street had brought Shao Liang into contact with plenty of people. He immediately assessed the situation and obediently lowered his head. "Understood."

Su Yi nodded in satisfaction, then suddenly kicked him sprawling. "What do you understand? Do you know how I beat people? And you say you understand?"

Yang Rui watched, dumbfounded. As a fat man born in the eighties, he had lived through the decade, but he had never been a young man in it. How could he have known that students back then were so fierce?

Shao Liang knew, though. He scrambled up and said even more meekly, "You're right. I was wrong."

"Don't do it again. All right, lead the way." Holding his head high, Su Yi gave him another light kick.

Shao Liang smiled as though nothing had happened.

This counts as school violence, doesn't it? Yang Rui considered it but said nothing more.

Although people in the twenty-first century regarded school violence as a very serious problem, in the eighties, "school violence" was not a meaningful term. It hardly counted as a term at all.

A student was beaten by a teacher, a student was beaten by another student, a student had a bloody nose, a student had a swollen face-to many people, none of that was a big deal.

Compared with the violence in society, schools still seemed simple and innocent.

On the other hand, violence really was the quickest way to impose one's will. No longer shouting, Shao Liang followed Yang Rui like a ghost, not daring to cause the slightest trouble.

Meanwhile, carrying a large quantity of goods, the members of the Rui Study Group made their way to the dormitory area in a grand procession.

Knock, knock.

Knock, knock, knock.

Yang Rui first knocked on Teacher Li Xiumei's door. She had been voted the "most popular female teacher," receiving more than half the votes.

With a click, the door opened.

A man poked his head out. He gave the students outside a puzzled look, nodded, and called over his shoulder, "Xiumei, your students."

Liu Shan and Huang Ren stood on either side of Yang Rui, gripping the things in their hands a little nervously.

Hurried footsteps sounded, and within seconds, Teacher Li Xiumei opened the door wide, looking surprised. "What's going on? Why are there so many of you?"

"Teacher Li, we've come to thank you for teaching us," Yang Rui said respectfully. He beckoned behind him, and the members of the second group, already prepared, immediately began beating the gong and drums and lit the firecrackers.

Gongs and drums were standard equipment in the school's Sports Room. Whether for a sports meet or an inspection by officials, things simply would not do without their thunderous accompaniment.

The firecrackers were a two-hundred-shot string of Big Earth Red bought at the foot of the mountain. Their reports were loud and sharp, and a few bursts were enough to rouse the teachers in the dormitory area.

In the eighties, there was no concept of commercial housing, and all land belonged to the state. Teachers whose homes were elsewhere lived in the school dormitories. The entire dormitory area was like a small community, with teachers, family members, and children. Before long, the crowd had packed the area outside Teacher Li Xiumei's home solid.

The moment the firecrackers finished, Yang Rui called out, "Thank you, Teacher Li Xiumei, for your guidance. The students have voted you their most popular female teacher."

Then every member of the Rui Study Group, Yang Rui included, bowed straight down as though a trigger had been pulled.

Their synchronized movement gave the occasion a very formal air.

The gentle-tempered Li Xiumei froze, seemingly unable to make sense of the situation at all.

The onlookers froze too.

Yang Rui had not invented celebrations with gongs, drums, and firecrackers. Over the previous decade, activities such as sending educated youths to the countryside and supporting the frontier regions had all been accompanied by lively scenes like this.

But what was happening before them was clearly different.

Yang Rui smiled, took a gift box containing four cans from Wang Guohua, and handed it to Teacher Li Xiumei. Raising his voice, he said, "Teacher Li, these four cans are your prize for being the most popular female teacher. Please accept them. On behalf of the Rui Study Group, I would also like to thank you once again for your dedication."

The students bowed again, then dispersed.

Only then did Li Xiumei understand what was happening. A little embarrassed, she said, "You didn't need to go to all this trouble..."

"Being popular with most of the students isn't easy. For you to have achieved that, Teacher Li, I believe you must have given a great deal. Everyone simply wanted to express their thanks..." Yang Rui had spent several years as a tutor himself and knew very well how difficult it was to win students' affection.

Students were a sensitive group, especially secondary school students, whose values were being reshaped. Improving their grades did not necessarily make them like a teacher. Likewise, letting them do as they pleased was not the key to popularity either.

Satisfying students and winning their affection required patient, attentive communication, careful teaching, deep concern, and ample freedom... In short, getting a class of students to like you was much harder than getting your superiors to like you.

Precisely because of this, although Yang Rui had prepared his speech in advance, his tone was utterly sincere.

Moved by his words, Li Xiumei felt her eyes grow wet despite herself.

To keep giving light and warmth as an ordinary teacher in a rural township middle school was itself a form of dedication.

Working six days a week, more than ten hours a day, was the straightforward part of what she gave.

Marking endless homework, cutting stencils for all kinds of exam papers, constantly analyzing and understanding the students' needs-those were the complicated parts.

Talking heart-to-heart with students, helping them, protecting them, and supporting them financially-those were the difficult parts.

Li Xiumei did not need others to thank her for her dedication, but she did need her hard work and sacrifices to be recognized.

Recognition from her students was undoubtedly the most sincere and the most valuable.

Almost instantly, Li Xiumei's literary sensibilities were stirred, and two streams of tears slid down her cheeks.

"Mommy, why are you crying?" A little head peeked out from behind her father's calf, which she was clutching.

"Mommy isn't crying. I'm happy." Li Xiumei bent down and picked up her daughter.

The five-year-old girl, innocent and adorable, reached out to wipe away her mother's tears, only to bring forth more. She could not help looking bewildered.

Looking at her daughter's expression, Li Xiumei wanted both to cry and to laugh.

To make going to work easier, she had hardened her heart and weaned her daughter at nine months.

To prepare lessons, she often worked late into the night, disturbing her daughter's and husband's sleep.

To buy teaching materials, she had cut back not only on the food she and her husband ate, but on her daughter's food as well.

To visit students' homes, she had worn out her shoes and hurt her feet walking.

Even when money was tight, she still helped students in financial difficulty as much as possible, hoping they would not have to leave school because of poverty...

Occasionally, Li Xiumei wondered about rewards, about whether it was worth it. But in this era of surging passion, she preferred doing things to thinking about them.

Only when she woke from dreams at midnight did she imagine that one day, a former student might come to her and say, "Teacher, thank you."

Until today, that had remained a fantasy.

The children fortunate enough to leave the mountains rarely returned, while those who stayed were awkward and shy.

Li Xiumei always consoled herself: The students are still young. When they're older, they'll naturally understand.

But as time passed, she had gradually buried those thoughts deep in her heart.

Until this moment, when a slow, intense, surging happiness made her hold her daughter tightly and accept the red gift box without hesitation.

These thanks had come late, but they were not Yang Rui's alone.