34: Chapter 34 Back to the Classroom! The Ultimate Tenderness Behind the Sharp Tongue

Fang Jiming handed her the keys.

"There was some trouble at home, but I've already figured out a solution. He'll be back within three days."

Teacher Wen Ruyan took the keys, her fingers flinching when they brushed against his palm.

"Why are your hands so cold?"

Fang Jiming shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie.

"It's just from the wind while riding my bike, it's nothing."

Teacher Wen Ruyan glanced at him, her mouth opening slightly, but in the end, she just clutched the keys in her palm and turned to go upstairs.

She walked three steps then stopped, without turning back.

"There's a cup of hot water on the table, I just poured it. Drink it to warm up."

Fang Jiming: ( º ̩ ̩ ́ ⌓ º ̩ ̩ ̀ )

He stood at the stairwell, watching Teacher Wen Ruyan's back disappear around the corner on the fourth floor, and smiled to himself as he looked down.

"Hot water."

He touched his genuinely cold fingers, "Teacher Wen, are you returning the favor for the coffee, or are you genuinely concerned about me?"

He shook his head and walked into the office. Sure enough, there was a stainless steel thermos on the table. The lid wasn't screwed on tight, and steam was still rising from it.

He picked it up and took a big gulp, hissing at the heat, but his whole body, from his stomach to his limbs, warmed up.

He put down the cup and took out his phone to check his bank account.

Ten million was gone, but a family's world wouldn't collapse.

Fang Jiming locked the screen, leaned back in his chair, and stared blankly at the water stain on the ceiling for a while.

"Wang Tiezhu."

He murmured the name to himself.

"You'd better behave and come back to class."

"I'll handle your father's wheelchair, I'll handle your mother's medical expenses, and I'll handle your sister's tuition."

"The only thing you need to handle is getting your math score from a nine to a passing grade."

"Do you hear me?"

No one answered him.

In the office, there was only the clicking sound of the radiator and the sound of whistles from a P.E. class on the distant playground.

Fang Jiming closed his eyes and twitched the corner of his mouth, unsure if he was smiling or sighing.

His phone vibrated on the table.

The message came from a student named Zhao Lei in the class group chat. He had sent a photo with the caption: Brother Tiezhu.

In the photo, Wang Tiezhu was wearing a faded, military-green jacket, hunched over as he unloaded bags of cement from a truck. The veins in his neck were bulging, and his forehead was covered in sweat.

Standing next to him were two strong men in their thirties; each was carrying one bag, but Wang Tiezhu was carrying two.

Fang Jiming stared at the photo for five seconds, locked his phone screen, flipped it face down on the table, stood up, and grabbed his jacket.

The three-day countdown.

Starts from now.

Two days later.

At 7:15 in the morning, Fang Jiming stood on the podium of Class 18 for the routine roll call.

Everything in the classroom was as usual; Qian Duoduo was comparing his phone case with Zhang Ming to see whose was flashier, Zhao Dazhuang was snoring with his head on the desk, and Lin Xiaoxi was quietly Drawing in the corner.

When he turned the roll sheet to Wang Tiezhu's entry, Fang Jiming's pen tip hovered over the paper for a second.

He hadn't gone to Wang Tiezhu's home in the past two days.

But yesterday afternoon, he received a WeChat message from Chen Jianhua of Xinghuo Public Welfare, with three photos attached.

The first photo showed a brand-new electric wheelchair being delivered through the dilapidated wooden door at No. 23-4 Qiaonan Road.

The second photo was of Wang Jianjun sitting in the new wheelchair; the image was a bit blurry, but you could see his eyes were red.

The third photo showed a staff member from the Disabled Persons' Federation handing Li Xiulan a subsidy confirmation form; Li Xiulan's hands were shaking, and her fingers were still wrapped in adhesive bandages.

Chen Jianhua said in the WeChat message that the first rehabilitation subsidy of 5,000 yuan had already been deposited into Li Xiulan's bank account, and Wang Jianjun's daughter's tuition for the next semester had also been covered by the fund.

After reading it, Fang Jiming deleted the chat history entirely.

At this moment, he held the roll sheet and took a deep breath.

"Wang Tiezhu."

No one answered.

The empty seat was still clean; there weren't even any textbooks.

Just as Fang Jiming was about to mark an X on the roll sheet, a dull knocking sound came from the front door of the classroom.

Everyone's gaze was drawn to it.

A tall, thin boy stood at the door.

His gray school uniform jacket was covered in dust, his hair was messy as if he hadn't washed it in days, his eyes were bloodshot, and his lips were chapped and peeling.

He was carrying a plastic bag containing his textbooks and stationery, the corners of the books curled.

He stood at the door without coming in, head bowed, looking at the floor, his Adam's apple bobbing several times.

It was Wang Tiezhu.

Fang Jiming: ( ˊ ̥ ̥ ̥ ̥ ̥ ³ ˋ ̥ ̥ ̥ ̥ ̥ )

The classroom was so quiet that you could hear the birds chirping outside the window.

Qian Duoduo stopped comparing phone cases, Zhang Ming's mouth hung open for a long time without closing, and even Lin Xiaoxi, who usually kept to herself in the corner, looked up.

Fang Jiming slapped the roll sheet onto the podium, shoved his hands into his pockets, and looked at the disheveled boy at the door with a calm expression.

He didn't ask, "Why are you here?" or "Have you thought it through?" and he certainly didn't say, "Welcome back."

He tapped the podium with his pointer, making two crisp sounds.

"Go wash your face before coming in. Look at you, covered in dust, what kind of appearance is that?"

He paused, his tone cold as if scolding someone.

"From now on, for every math problem you get wrong, you'll be punished by doing ten more. Do you hear me?"

Wang Tiezhu stood at the door, his shoulders trembling slightly.

He looked up at Fang Jiming.

That pair of bloodshot eyes held many things: the fatigue from hauling goods at the building materials market for two days, only to be dragged back by his mother's tears.

There was the shock of seeing his father crying loudly after spinning around in his new wheelchair yesterday, and the dazed feeling when his mother shoved 500 yuan into his hand this morning and said, "Go to school, everything is fine at home."

He didn't know how all of this had happened.

The people from the Disabled Persons' Federation said it was a special poverty alleviation program from the city, and his mom said it was the government's good policy.

But standing at the classroom door and looking at Fang Jiming's cold face, something clicked in his heart.

Two days ago, this substitute teacher had ridden an electric scooter to the urban village alley where he lived, a place where even sunlight couldn't reach, and squatted down beside his father's wheelchair to say, "Give me three days."

And it had been exactly three days.

The sky of his family had been held up by someone.

Wang Tiezhu's eyes turned red instantly.

He set the plastic bag containing his textbooks aside and bowed deeply to Fang Jiming on the podium.

Ninety degrees.

He bent his waist all the way down.

His forehead was almost touching his knees.

Several gasps came from the classroom.

Qian Duoduo's mouth opened into a perfect O shape.

Zhao Dazhuang, startled awake from his sleep by the strange silence, lifted his head groggily. Seeing Wang Tiezhu bowing, he rubbed his eyes to confirm he wasn't dreaming.

Lu Zihao sat in the back row with his arms crossed, watching Wang Tiezhu's hunched back. His brows twitched, and a flash of something he hadn't even noticed himself passed through his eyes.

Wang Tiezhu's tears splattered onto the dusty floor tiles with an extremely faint pattering sound.

He wanted to say, "Thank you, Teacher Fang."

He wanted to ask, "Was it you who helped my family?"

He had too much to say, but his throat was so choked up that he couldn't squeeze out a single word.

Fang Jiming stood on the podium, watching Wang Tiezhu, who remained bowed, his fingers clenching and then relaxing in his pockets.

He swallowed hard to suppress the sour feeling in his throat.

"Alright, alright, what are you bowing for? It's not like you're receiving an award."

He tapped the blackboard with his pointer, his tone returning to his usual, annoying cadence.

"I told you to go wash your face. Standing at the door all dirty is blocking my teaching progress."

"And your textbooks are all crumpled up. Go borrow some tape from Zhang Ming later to fix them. You don't even cherish your books and you still want to get into college?"

Wang Tiezhu slowly straightened up and wiped the tears and snot off his face with the sleeve of his school uniform.

He said one word in a hoarse voice.

"Okay."

Then he picked up the plastic bag and turned to go to the washroom at the end of the corridor.

Fang Jiming: ( ᇂ _ ᇂ )

He looked down, opened the roll sheet, and slowly drew a checkmark in the empty space after Wang Tiezhu's name.

The pen tip lingered on the paper for an extra second.

Qian Duoduo poked Zhang Ming's arm from below and lowered his voice.

"Damn, Brother Tiezhu is crying."

Zhang Ming rolled his eyes at him.

"No kidding, didn't you see that bow? His waist was almost snapped in half."

Qian Duoduo scratched his neck, where he wore a large gold chain, and for once, he didn't reply. Instead, he turned his head to look at Fang Jiming.

This substitute teacher, who spent all day calling them useless, seemed different from all the teachers they had encountered before.

He couldn't quite put his finger on what was different.

It was just a feeling—even though this guy had a sharp tongue, it seemed like he was genuinely looking out for them.

Wang Tiezhu returned after washing his face and sat in his seat.

The tall, thin boy next to him silently pushed his spare pen over, and Wang Tiezhu took it and whispered a thank you.

Fang Jiming opened his math textbook on the podium, said nothing more, and started the lesson immediately.

"Last lesson we covered the geometric meaning of derivatives. Who can tell me how to find the slope of a tangent line?"

There was silence below.

Fang Jiming: ( 눈 _ 눈 )

"Zhao Dazhuang, you go."