Chapter One: Old He’s English Class

From the moment the class bell rang until now, Zhao Zejun had been in a daze.

An old-fashioned ceiling fan whirred above, fifty-eight teenagers in blue school uniforms filled the classroom, desks were draped in blue tablecloths, and on his own desk sat a bottle of correction fluid with a sticker of Chan Ho Nam on it. Everything pointed to one irrefutable fact: he had traveled through time.

He had journeyed from 2016 back to his high school days in 2001, at Yijiang City No. 4 High School, Class 1 of the third year, from his thirties back to the age of seventeen.

Could fate be so coincidental?

He recalled last week, accompanying a client to Wudang Mountain, where an old Taoist priest at the summit had insisted on reading his fortune.

“A pearl buried in earth, dim and unlit for years. Suddenly a great wind sweeps the dust away, and it shines anew.”

The meaning was obvious: a midlife crisis, hidden talents obscured, all that was needed was a “great wind.” If he seized the opportunity, perhaps in his next life he could leap from carp to dragon, and find prosperity.

Whether the old priest had guessed right by chance, or whether the heavens truly wove fate, the “great wind” had indeed come!

But it had come with a vengeance.

The price of traveling through time was all the achievements and relationships painstakingly accumulated over more than thirty years of his former life—exchanged for a second chance. With fifteen years of foresight, he was back to the emptiness of being seventeen.

If given the choice, Zhao Zejun wasn't sure whether he would pick the chance to relive with foreknowledge or reclaim everything from his previous life. But fate did not offer options; he could only face the present.

Suddenly, a line from Jeff Chang's song drifted through his mind: “We can never go back again…”

A flash of white—a piece of chalk flew across half the classroom and struck Zhao Zejun's head with precision. His homeroom teacher, Old He, pulled him back to reality with a cold voice.

“Zhao Zejun, you've been daydreaming since class started. Do you think the college entrance exam won't be a problem for you? Get up here and write the dictation words!”

In high school, seats were arranged mostly by height. Nearly one meter eighty, Zhao Zejun was in the second-to-last row. Several rows of classmates turned to look, their gazes a blend of sympathy and schadenfreude.

Old He was infamous for her temper. The atmosphere in her English classes was always oppressive. Some of the meaner students whispered that she must be menopausal, her body and mind both warped.

From an adult's perspective, Zhao Zejun could now understand Old He. With the college entrance exam looming in several months, the pressure on a graduating homeroom teacher was immense, and menopause could only make it worse. Her harshness was, in a way, understandable.

In fact, without Old He's strict guidance during those high school years, he doubted he would have sailed through the college English exams as smoothly as he did.

The required vocabulary for the entrance exam was over two thousand words. Old He had organized them alphabetically, and from the second semester of sophomore year, she forced everyone to memorize them; each class she would call students up for dictation.

With the mind of a thirty-year-old, Zhao Zejun was no delicate flower to be wounded by a single “get up here” from Old He. Of course, he didn’t literally roll up to the blackboard—such acrobatics were beyond him.

He wasn't the only one summoned. Four students could stand at the blackboard at once—he was the first, and Old He continued to call names.

“Xia Yubing…”

At the sound of the name, Zhao Zejun instinctively turned his head.

So did the other thirty-three boys in Class 1.

Compared to her peers, the seventeen or eighteen-year-old girls still budding, Xia Yubing was already in full bloom. A simple white short-sleeved shirt, one button undone at the collar, revealed a slender neck and the faint outline of a collarbone. The shirt was tucked into the most ordinary pair of jeans, naturally accentuating her narrow waist and the smooth S-curve of her hips, her long legs taut and straight. If circumstances allowed, many would not tire of her for a whole year.

It was clear this girl knew how to create allure through the simplest of outfits.

From Zhao Zejun’s experience, such girls either entered society early or had a mother equally feminine and stylish.

He had secretly fantasized about Xia Yubing for a while back then, but he was so ordinary, they’d barely spoken a few words, and with the pressures of senior year, those little infatuations quickly faded.

One must know one’s place—not to provoke those best left alone, not to force what cannot be gained. As long as you don’t seek trouble, most people can live contentedly.

After the college entrance exam, the two had never crossed paths again, but Xia Yubing’s legend lingered in the school’s folklore.

He’d heard bits and pieces from old classmates over the years: university belle, provincial Latin dance champion, graduate school admission without exams, straight into the provincial branch of the People’s Bank after graduation, marriage to the student union president who was already a deputy director in a government department, husband exposed for keeping a mistress, divorced, resigned, went abroad, and was never heard from again.

“Broadcast…”

“Data…”

“Accountant…”

“Acquaintance…”

The dictation began: Old He read the Chinese words, and those called up wrote the English with chalk.

For Zhao Zejun, who had passed the English proficiency test in his previous life, these words were nothing. In fact, since his rebirth, he found his mind exceptionally clear—memories of the past vivid and sharp—so he wrote them all out effortlessly.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that Xia Yubing had misspelled the third word, “accountant,” omitting the “c.” For the fourth word, “acquaintance,” she wrote only “acqua” before stopping, biting her lip, clearly having forgotten the rest.

Of the four at the blackboard, only Xia Yubing was stuck. Old He, face stern, repeated “acquaintance.”

Xia Yubing tapped the chalk on the blackboard twice, but still couldn’t write it.

After a few more seconds, Old He snorted and, in her usual sarcastic tone, said, “What’s the use of being pretty, girls? If you don’t study hard and get into a good university, you’re destined for a beggar’s life! Not just you, Xia Yubing, all of you!”

To Old He, beauty in girls was a sin—the beautiful were bound to become homewreckers, doomed to seduce men. Even though Xia Yubing had excellent grades, she was never in Old He’s favor.

Xia Yubing bit her lip, her face pale. Whether from discomfort or humiliation, it was hard to say—perhaps both.

“Next word: civilization,” Old He continued.

This time Xia Yubing managed just the opening “c” before her hand stalled, chalk trembling as she prodded the blackboard, writing “civ,” then erasing it to try “cvi,” and then, still uncertain, erasing the “v.”

Zhao Zejun shook his head inwardly. Xia Yubing, though not a top scholar, was usually among the best in her year. Why was she off her game today? Was it that time of the month?

He wrote out “civilization” clearly on the board and cleared his throat softly.

Xia Yubing glanced left, instinctively.

Of course, peeking was forbidden, but if you wanted to cheat, it wasn’t hard. The students at the board were only twenty or thirty centimeters apart; a slight tilt of the head was enough. The key was boldness.

Besides, Zhao Zejun had deliberately written the word in large, block letters—each the size of a fist—like a blackboard headline. It was hard not to see.

Xia Yubing immediately caught on, casting him a grateful look, then quickly “copied” the word.

The dictation took less than ten minutes, twenty words in all. Judging by how often Xia Yubing glanced over, Zhao Zejun estimated she’d copied at least seven or eight.

He got them all correct, so Xia Yubing’s answers were also flawless. The other two made three mistakes each, several on words not in the textbook. Overall, Class 1’s English wasn’t bad.

Afterward, Old He sent Xia Yubing and the other two back to their seats, leaving only Zhao Zejun at the podium.

“You got them all right. Not bad,” Old He said with a half-smile.

“It’s all thanks to your teaching, Teacher,” Zhao Zejun replied with a grin.

“How could I have taught you so well?” Old He rolled her eyes, then pointed at the classroom door, her tone icy. “Go stand in the hallway.”

“Huh?” Zhao Zejun was momentarily stunned. The ones who made mistakes weren’t punished, but he, who got everything right, had to stand outside?

Old He cast a glance at Xia Yubing, now seated, and said unhurriedly, “Do you think I’m blind? Didn’t see your little tricks? Playing the hero, are you? Fine, go bask in the sun, hero.”

The whole class erupted in laughter. Who wouldn’t want to be a hero to a beauty like Xia Yubing? But standing outside as punishment? No, thank you. Early September’s heat meant you’d be drenched in sweat in no time.

Suddenly, Xia Yubing raised her hand. “Teacher He, I’m not feeling well today. I copied from him. I’ll go stand outside.”

“Not feeling well? Then sit quietly in class!” Old He glared.

Xia Yubing hesitated, biting her lip, then lifted her head and said earnestly, “Teacher He, this isn’t fair!”

The class was instantly abuzz. Old He stared at her as if she were an alien.

What was this? The hero saves the beauty, and now the beauty saves the hero?

Old He looked from Xia Yubing to Zhao Zejun, a flicker of suspicion—could these two be in a relationship?

“I’ll go now,” Zhao Zejun interjected. Xia Yubing could be stubborn, and the more she argued, the harder it would be for Old He to back down. A trivial matter could easily spiral into a big deal, dragging everyone down for no good reason.

His mind was a mess; he didn’t want to waste time on Old He, who was ultimately a minor figure in his life. This was a good opportunity to slip out, clear his head, and think about the path he should take in this new life.

Without waiting for Old He’s reply, he nodded slightly to Xia Yubing in thanks, flashed a grin, and left the classroom.

After the brief interlude, class continued.

Zhao Zejun stood against the wall for two minutes, then, when Old He wasn’t looking, slipped away to a quiet corner on the rooftop. He pulled out a Hongmei cigarette and lit up.

Skipping class, sneaking a smoke—the old high school life was coming back to him. All he needed now was to relieve himself into the wind.

By the time class was nearly over, Old He finally noticed Zhao Zejun was missing and turned green with anger.

That rascal—she’d told him to stand outside, and he’d used it as an excuse to skip class!

Zhao Zejun spent two periods alone on the rooftop, calming his thoughts. When school was out, he returned to the classroom for his bag, told the class monitor he wasn’t feeling well, and slipped away.

“Not feeling well? You and Xia Yubing both sick on the same day?” The earnest class monitor was baffled.

“Maybe so. I’d better leave before you catch it,” Zhao Zejun replied solemnly, and before the other could answer, he hurried to the bike shed, wheeled out his old bicycle, and left.

Just as he reached the school gate, someone blocked his path.

Xia Yubing, backpack slung over her shoulder, glided out from behind a flowerbed like Nie Xiaoqian, standing before his bike.

“Careful, no brakes!” Zhao Zejun quickly stopped with his feet.

It was the end of the school day; crowds streamed past the gate. Xia Yubing, always the center of attention, attracted countless eyes, but she ignored them and said, “Thank you for today. Let me treat you to some skewers.”

Without waiting for his reply, she headed straight for the “Delicious Skewer House” nearby.

By the time Zhao Zejun parked his bike, Xia Yubing had already ordered a pile of tofu rolls and rice cakes, two grilled sausages—which were a luxury in those days—and two bottles of cola, handing one to him after deftly popping the cap.

“Thanks for today. Old He was out of line—it was me who copied from you.”

Zhao Zejun took the cola, smiled, and said, “You know what Old He is like. Besides, does a woman need a reason to lose her temper?”

Xia Yubing stared at him for a couple of seconds, then asked seriously, “Doesn’t she?”

He blurted out, “Does she?”

Both paused, then burst out laughing.

The 1995 Hong Kong film “A Chinese Odyssey” only saw pirated DVDs in the mainland around 1998, long before it became a cult hit. Neither expected the other to recognize the lines.

In that moment, a shared joke brought them closer.

“No matter what, we have to survive another year under Old He. For our own comfort, it’s better to maintain good relations with her. Try to avoid conflicts like today whenever possible.”

“How do I maintain good relations?” Xia Yubing sighed. “My grades aren’t bad, but Old He always seems to have it in for me.”

That’s because you’re pretty, stylish, curvy—your looks remind her of her own plump, unfashionable self, fueling her resentment and jealousy…

He thought it, but said instead, “I’ll give you sixteen words as advice.”

“What is it?”

“Defy the teacher, face storms and tempests; obey the teacher, enjoy a warm spring. In short—play it safe.”

“You’re hardly playing it safe. She told you to stand outside, but you went off to smoke, cool as can be!” Xia Yubing exaggeratedly sniffed at him. “You reek of smoke.”

Then, resting her chin on her hand, she murmured, “From tomorrow on, I’ll be a happy person, feed horses, split wood, travel the world. From tomorrow on, I’ll care for food and vegetables. I have a house, facing the sea, with spring blossoms… You like Haizi’s poetry too?”

“Don’t look at me like that. Your eyes are big—it’s intimidating when you stare.”

Zhao Zejun chuckled and said casually, “I wouldn’t say I like it. It’s beautiful, but too desolate, too cold—not really for us… students our age. We’re seventeen or eighteen, the morning sun. His poem is full of twilight. He wrote it, then soon after took his own life—he never got to be a happy person.”

“So what do you think happiness is?” Xia Yubing pressed.

He thought for a few seconds, shook his cola bottle, and said, “Having a drink when you’re thirsty, skewers when you’re hungry, and someone to copy from when you don’t know a word—that’s happiness.”

“You’re just brushing me off.” Xia Yubing rolled her eyes.

With eyes as big as hers, the effect was especially lethal. Zhao Zejun sometimes thought she could play a beautiful ghost without any makeup—she had the aura for it.

“Just joking. Even adults don’t really understand happiness, or there wouldn’t be so many divorces. Maybe you need a lifetime to figure it out.”

At the word “divorce,” a shadow flickered in Xia Yubing’s bright eyes, but at the mention of “lifetime,” she nodded firmly.

Zhao Zejun glanced at the clock on the wall, finished his last bite of sausage, and stood up. “It’s late, I have things to do. Thanks for the food.”

“Oh.” Xia Yubing stood up as well and said naturally, “Then give me a ride. My bike was stolen last week.”

He remembered her home was in the opposite direction. Going out of his way would make him late, and his mind was now set on planning his future, not on romance. He shook his head apologetically. “Not today, I really have something urgent. How about Monday?”

“Tomorrow’s the weekend! There’s! No! School!” Xia Yubing enunciated each word, eyes narrowed.

“Then Monday.”