54: Using death to write about healing

"Teacher Shen? What is this..."

The Mediterranean-haired teacher beside her noticed Shen Qingqiu's strange behavior and leaned over, surprised.

"Are those troublemakers in grade 11, class 3 writing bad clichés in their essays again? Oh, students these days are all like this; don't take it to heart."

Shen Qingqiu took a deep breath, trying hard to calm her turbulent emotions, but her voice was tinged with a hint of hoarseness.

"No."

She gently pushed the exam paper, one corner of which had been dampened by tears, toward her colleague.

"You all... take a look at this."

The Mediterranean-haired teacher pushed up his glasses and took the exam paper suspiciously.

"Teacher Shen, don't be fooled by those flashy writing styles. For this kind of essay prompt, the thing to fear most is being sentimental just for the sake of being sentimental."

He scanned the beginning nonchalantly.

"Whoa, someone dies right from the start? This student is quite bold."

However, as he read further, the playful expression on his face gradually faded.

He adjusted his glasses, sat up straight unconsciously, and the leg he had been bouncing stopped moving.

Seeing this, the other teachers in the office gathered around curiously.

Three minutes later.

The entire office fell into a dead silence.

No one spoke; there were only the sounds of deeply suppressed gasps occasionally coming from the room.

The female teacher who had just been complaining that the students' essays were as bland as plain water was now holding a tissue, wiping the corners of her eyes with red-rimmed lids.

"This..."

The Mediterranean-haired teacher put down the exam paper, his voice trembling slightly.

"Which student wrote this? Is this... is this really something a high school student can write?"

"It's... it's too heavy."

Another teacher sighed.

"This isn't just writing an essay; it's like tearing out one's heart. It makes my chest feel tight; I want to call my mom."

"Especially that line, 'In the next life, it'll be my turn to be the father.' My god, what has this child been through? How could he have such deep feelings?"

Everyone's gaze turned in unison toward Shen Qingqiu.

Shen Qingqiu looked at the exam paper, and Lin Que's face, always carrying a hint of laziness and nonchalance, appeared in her mind.

She remembered what he said at the book signing: "Tearing open a wound is to stitch it back up."

She remembered what he said in the office: "Teacher, you don't understand hope."

So, this was his "stitching."

He didn't use sweet words to gloss over the peace; instead, he used the most cruel death to contrast the preciousness of life.

He used a nearly masochistic method to tear regret apart and show it to others, and then told everyone—while there is still time, go love.

"It's Lin Que."

Shen Qingqiu said softly.

"Lin Que?!"

A chorus of exclamations rang out in the office.

"The same Lin Que who wrote 'firefly'?"

The Mediterranean-haired teacher looked incredulous: "Doesn't he only write in a dark style? How... how could he write something like this?"

Shen Qingqiu gave a bitter smile and looked out the window with complicated eyes.

"Perhaps we have always misunderstood him."

"People who can see light in the darkness often understand the meaning of warmth better than those who stand in the sunlight."

She picked up a red pen and solemnly drew a bright red number at the end of the essay.

Not 60 points. But 59 points.

"Teacher Shen, this..."

The teacher next to her was stunned.

"This essay deserves full marks; why deduct a point?"

Shen Qingqiu looked at the score, her eyes becoming exceptionally gentle.

"I deducted a point because..."

She pointed to the details in the essay about "eating instant noodles" and "saving private money."

"This child lied too realistically. If I don't deduct this point, I'm afraid he will truly think that death is something that can be joked about."

She paused, a helpless yet gratified smile on her lips.

"Besides, if I give him full marks, this kid's tail will go straight to the sky. It's better to let him... have a little bit of regret."

On Monday, the results were announced.

In the classroom of grade 11, class 3, the atmosphere was as lively as the New Year.

"Holy crap! Brother Que! You're a god!"

Wu Di held the report card, his eyes nearly popping out.

"149 in Chinese? 59 on the essay? Are you even human? Did you cast a spell on the grader?"

Lin Que was lying on his desk catching up on sleep; awakened by Wu Di's loud voice, he rubbed his eyes impatiently.

"How much?"

"149! First in the school! Only one point deducted from the essay!"

Wu Di excitedly slapped the report card onto his face.

"Let me see your masterpiece! What exactly did you write? Was it a love letter to Jian Shen?"

Zhang Ya, in the front row, sat in her seat with a pale face.

She clutched her own exam paper, and the bright red 52 in the essay column looked exceptionally glaring.

Although it was also a high score, in front of 59, it was completely annihilated, leaving nothing behind.

She turned her head, unconvinced, and stared fixedly at Lin Que: "Lin Que, what exactly did you write?"

Lin Que yawned, took the report card off his face, and shoved it into his desk drawer.

"Nothing much."

His eyes were a bit unfocused, as if he had returned to that afternoon when he wrote the letter.

"It was just... letting my family know I'm safe."

"Letting them know you're safe?"

Zhang Ya was stunned.

"You wrote a family letter for a prompt-based essay? And you can get a high score with that? Do you think I'll believe you?"

Just then, Shen Qingqiu walked into the classroom.

She was holding a thick stack of photocopies.

The classroom instantly went quiet.

Shen Qingqiu's gaze swept across the class, and finally, she looked deeply at the student who had just sat up.

In that gaze, there was no longer the previous scrutiny and suspicion; instead, it was replaced by a kind of near-equal respect.

"This class, we won't be going over the exam paper."

Shen Qingqiu's voice was somewhat low, yet it carried a sense of power.

"We are going to read a model essay."

She distributed the photocopies in her hand.

"This is Student Lin Que's essay, 'A reply letter Sent to Heaven'."

"I hope everyone will remain quiet while reading. If you want to cry..."

Shen Qingqiu paused, looking softly at the students below the podium.

"Then cry it out. Tears, sometimes, are also a kind of strength."

The exam papers were distributed to everyone.

Zhang Ya snatched the photocopy, gritting her teeth, her gaze landing on the paper like a judgment.

She wanted to find the flaws; she wanted to find the unreasonableness of this 59-point score.

However, after reading only two lines.

【Dad, Mom.】

【When you see these words, I am already dead.】

Zhang Ya's fingers trembled.

She wanted to mock the bad luck of such an opening, but it felt like a ball of cotton was stuck in her throat.

She continued reading.

【In this world, tears are the heaviest rain. Whenever you cry, it will pour rain here...】

Zhang Ya's vision blurred.

Her techniques, which she prided herself on, seemed so pale and powerless in front of these words that were so simple they were nearly plain descriptions.

She thought of her own essay, 'Letter to the Future,' which was piled with flowery words; it was written just to get points.

But this essay by Lin Que... was written by tearing out his heart.

Three minutes later.

Wu Di's sniffling sound broke the silence: "Wuwu... Brother Que, you died so miserably... No, you wrote it too miserably..."

Five minutes later.

The entire classroom was drowned in a wave of suppressed sobbing.

Looking at Shen Qingqiu, whose eyes were slightly red on the podium, he sighed helplessly.

He just wanted to say goodbye to his parents from his previous life.

How did he accidentally cause such a big stir again?

The bell rang for the end of class.

Shen Qingqiu packed up her lesson plan and specifically took a detour to pass by Lin Que's desk.

"Lin Que, come with me to my office."

The gossip fire of Wu Di and the surrounding classmates was instantly ignited, and they all cast concerned (spectating) glances.

Lin Que said, "Oh."

He knew that this Hongmen Banquet could not be avoided.

This icy teacher was clearly suffering from the aftereffects of being "depressed" by this essay and was preparing to get to the bottom of it.

Instead, a hint of mischievous anticipation rose in his heart.

Fine.

Let's talk then.

I'm just afraid that you, Teacher... will be even more confused after we talk.