7: Chapter 7 Are you crazy?! A monthly salary of 3,000 can buy a chair worth 80,000.

When Fang Jiming rode his shared bike back to No. 19 Middle School, Old Zhang in the guardroom was sitting with his legs crossed, listening to opera on the radio.

Old Zhang had been guarding the gate at No. 19 Middle School for eighteen years and had seen every kind of monster and freak.

He had seen students climb walls to skip class, and he had seen parents storm in to beat up teachers; once, when a stray dog from the nearby shantytown ran past the school gate with a chicken in its mouth, he didn't even bother to lift an eyelid.

But today was different.

A box truck with the Jinding International Home Furnishings logo printed on it slowly stopped in front of the rusted iron gate of No. 19 Middle School.

Old Zhang stood up from his chair and turned down the volume of the radio by two notches.

The truck driver rolled down the window, stuck his head out, and shouted at him.

"Sir, is this Nanqiao No. 19 Middle School?"

"Yes."

Old Zhang walked to the gate and craned his neck to look toward the back of the truck.

"What are you delivering?"

"Furniture, a chair."

"A chair?"

Old Zhang frowned.

"Who bought it?"

"The recipient is listed as Fang Jiming."

Old Zhang ran through his memory, but he didn't have much of an impression of any teachers named Fang at No. 19 Middle School; it was probably that unlucky substitute teacher who had just arrived.

He waved his hand to signal the truck to enter.

The truck rumbled over the bumpy concrete road, wobbling as it drove into the campus and stopped under the faculty building. The back door of the truck banged open, and four delivery workers in matching uniforms jumped out, carrying a large box wrapped tightly in black protective foam and cardboard.

A label covered in English was stuck to the outside of the box.

Fang Jiming was already waiting downstairs.

He pointed to the office at the far end of the east side on the fifth floor. "Move it over there, the very last room on the fifth floor."

The four delivery workers carried the box upstairs. When they passed the corner on the fourth floor, Old Liu, who taught math, was carrying his enamel mug to get hot water and nearly collided with the box.

Old Liu stepped back, watching the four uniformed men carry the box, which was taller than a person, past him.

"What is this?"

No one answered him.

Old Liu followed them up to the fifth floor with his enamel mug, walking all the way to the door of Fang Jiming's office.

Sister Zhang, who taught English, also came out from the classroom next door, holding a stack of ungraded test papers in her hand.

The two of them stood at the office door watching the delivery workers unpack the box.

The black foam was peeled away layer by layer. The carbon fiber backrest shimmered with a matte metallic texture under the fluorescent lights, the mesh seat cushion was fine and uniform, the aluminum alloy base was so shiny it reflected their silhouettes, and the five universal wheels sat quietly on the floor. The entire chair exuded a sense of precision that was completely out of place in this office.

Old Liu nearly dropped his enamel mug.

Old Liu: (⊙ ᗜ ⊙)

"Mr. Fang, how much was this chair?"

Old Liu leaned over and reached out to touch the armrest.

Fang Jiming was squatting on the floor signing the delivery receipt without looking up.

"Not expensive, over eighty thousand."

Old Liu pulled his hand back, as quickly as if he'd been burned by the armrest.

"How much?"

"Eighty-two thousand."

Fang Jiming finished signing and handed the sheet back to the delivery worker.

"Thanks, guys."

Before leaving, the four delivery workers helped him adjust the position of the chair. As they walked out the door, one of the guys glanced back at the office—the water stains on the ceiling, the mold spots in the corners, the broken plastic cup on the desk catching the leaks—and then quickly headed downstairs.

After the delivery workers left, Old Liu and Sister Zhang were still standing at the door.

"Mr. Fang, you bought an eighty-thousand chair?"

Sister Zhang pushed up her reading glasses to confirm she hadn't misheard.

"Yes."

"How much is your monthly salary?"

"Three thousand seven hundred, after taxes."

Sister Zhang looked at the chair and then at Fang Jiming's wrinkled white short-sleeved shirt and forty-yuan canvas shoes.

Sister Zhang: (° ー ° 〃)

Her mouth moved, but she didn't say anything, then she turned and walked away with the test papers.

Old Liu stayed a bit longer; he circled the chair twice.

"Mr. Fang, what does your family do?"

"My dad is a retired middle school math teacher."

"Then where did you get eighty thousand?"

"I saved it."

Fang Jiming remained expressionless.

Old Liu clearly didn't believe him, but he couldn't press further, so he shook his head and walked away with his enamel mug.

Fang Jiming dragged the broken iron chair into the corner and tossed it aside, then slowly sat into the eighty-two-thousand ergonomic chair.

The carbon fiber support of the backrest precisely contoured to his spine, the mesh seat cushion had absurdly good breathability, the lumbar support was just right, and the twelve-way adjustable armrests allowed his arms to find the most comfortable angle.

Fang Jiming leaned back, sinking into the backrest, staring at that damn water stain on the ceiling.

The corners of his mouth curled up uncontrollably.

Eighty-two thousand, worth it.

Even if the roof is leaking, what's under my butt has to be top-tier.

He spent at least ten hours a day in this office; rather than spending money on clothes to show off to others, it was better to spend money on a good chair for his own comfort.

Just as he was enjoying the ultimate experience brought by the new chair, footsteps echoed from the end of the hallway.

Teacher Wen Ruyan walked over carrying a stack of lesson plans, her head down as she flipped through the top document. When she passed by Fang Jiming's desk, her peripheral vision caught something, and she stopped.

She looked up.

Fang Jiming was lying back in that large black chair, which clearly didn't belong in this space, legs crossed, holding a cup of instant coffee in a paper cup, with an expression on his face like a CEO who had just secured a billion-dollar project and was reviewing the financial report.

But he was still wearing that white short-sleeved shirt that was wrinkled beyond belief.

The laces on the canvas shoes on his feet were still untied.

Teacher Wen Ruyan's gaze shifted from Fang Jiming's face to the chair, and then back to Fang Jiming's face.

"Where did this chair come from?"

"I bought it."

"How much?"

"Eighty-two thousand."

Teacher Wen Ruyan tightened her grip on the lesson plans.

She was silent for three seconds; her expression shifted from confusion to suspicion, and then from suspicion to an extremely complex scrutiny.

Teacher Wen Ruyan: ( - ᷅ _- ᷄)

"Teacher Fang, your monthly salary is three thousand seven hundred."

"Yes."

"You bought an eighty-two-thousand chair."

"Yes."

"Don't you think there's a problem with that math?"

Fang Jiming blew on the steam of his instant coffee and looked up at her.

"Teacher Wen, I do teach math, but my personal spending isn't under the jurisdiction of the Academic Affairs Office, is it?"

The corners of Teacher Wen Ruyan's mouth pressed into a straight line.

"I'm not trying to police your spending."

She paused, her voice dropping half a degree.

"There are three students in Class 18 who can't even afford twenty-yuan study materials; do you know that?"

Fang Jiming's hand holding the coffee paused for a moment.

Teacher Wen Ruyan said nothing more; she turned and walked to her desk, sat down, stacked her lesson plans neatly, and picked up the white ceramic cup printed with 'Education is one tree shaking another' to take a sip of water.

Throughout the whole process, her back was straight, and she didn't look back at Fang Jiming once.

But Fang Jiming noticed that when she set the cup down, she used a bit more force, the bottom of the cup hitting the desk with a louder sound than usual.

The smugness in Fang Jiming's heart was punctured by a small hole from that sentence.

It wasn't big, but it was leaking.

He looked down at his eighty-two-thousand chair, then at Teacher Wen Ruyan's straight back.

This Teacher Wen, her blades aren't long, but every one of them finds the right spot.

Over at the guardroom, Old Zhang was chatting with Chef Liu from the Cafeteria who had come over for a visit.

"You mean that new teacher, Mr. Fang?"

"Yes, yes, yes, that's him. This morning, a big furniture store truck delivered a chair for him. From a distance, I could tell that chair wasn't just any ordinary thing."

"What kind of good chair can a substitute teacher buy?"

"I just heard Teacher Liu from the fifth floor say it was eighty thousand."

The cigarette in Chef Liu's hand nearly fell to the ground.

Old Zhang: (⌐ ■ _ ■) → (⌐ ■ - ■)

"Eighty thousand? Is that kid out of his mind?"

"Don't ask me, who should I ask?"

Old Zhang leaned back in his chair and turned the radio volume back up.

"Anyway, I've been guarding the gate at No. 19 Middle School for eighteen years, and this is the first time I've seen someone bring an eighty-thousand-yuan item into this run-down school."

He paused and added one more sentence.

"Before, I only ever saw things being moved out."