There was nothing much left to do in the afternoon, and the ward was already too crowded.

Now that his mind had cleared, Ye Yuncheng felt deeply embarrassed at having put so many people to such trouble, mobilizing them all on his account. He propped himself halfway up and urged everyone to go home and rest — he was perfectly safe in the hospital on his own.

Liu Qiaohong smiled and said, “Homeroom teacher, why don’t you head back to school for your classes? And you two young ones can go as well. I’ve taken the afternoon off — I can keep an eye on things for half a day.”

Fang Zhuo shook her head.

Once Ye Yuncheng recovered a bit, he would need to be helped out of bed and moving around. Post-operative care was fairly demanding, and Liu Qiaohong was already stretched thin — being a rural poverty-alleviation official was an exhausting posting, and Fang Zhuo had no wish to add to his burdens.

Ye Yuncheng also suggested that Liu Qiaohong take Xiao Mu back with him — it would be best for Xiao Mu to stay in Li Village for a while. The tense atmosphere of the hospital might be unsettling for him, and Ye Yuncheng’s food stall wasn’t likely to be up and running again for some time.

Xiao Mu was in good spirits today, though. Liu Qiaohong had lent him his phone to play games, and Xiao Mu had been at a star-clearing puzzle for over an hour without showing any sign of tiring. He sat on the little blue stool outside, quiet and well-behaved.

The homeroom teacher was concerned about every aspect of this family’s situation, and asked under her breath, “Is that child autistic? Is he part of your household?”

“He’s not autistic — he has a mild intellectual disability. He’s actually Ye Yuncheng’s neighbor.” Liu Qiaohong faced the doorway, though from his angle he couldn’t see Xiao Mu.

“The truth is, when Xiao Mu was first born, if he had received timely treatment, there was a very good chance he could have developed normally. But back then, no one understood these things — and his family situation was complicated. They weren’t willing to spend money on him. Not only did they miss the optimal window for treatment, they never gave him any appropriate intervention either.”

“Oh,” said the homeroom teacher with a sigh of regret. “What a shame.”

Such situations were not uncommon in rural areas. Liu Qiaohong had seen many.

“Indeed. But Xiao Mu is one of the luckier ones — his is only a mild intellectual disability, and he’s a boy. He didn’t go to school as a child, and had a difficult time for a while, which left him with psychological scars around social interaction. After government agencies took over his case, he was enrolled in a specialist school for educational intervention. Now he can basically take care of himself, and he has no violent tendencies.”

The homeroom teacher nodded thoughtfully.

“His ability to organize language is quite poor, and he doesn’t like participating in social interactions — but he can understand what you say, and he’s capable of simple tasks.” Liu Qiaohong had a fair idea of what her concern was, and explained, “He wasn’t happy at his previous workplace — people bullied him there. Ye Yuncheng is paying him a wage now and running the stall together with him, and our team is keeping a close eye on the situation. Xiao Mu does go back to his uncle’s home during holidays, so he won’t have too much of an impact on Fang Zhuo’s life.”

The homeroom teacher laughed a little awkwardly, as he had seen straight through her. “I don’t mean anything by it. I just think Fang Zhuo’s situation right now is particularly delicate. She absolutely must focus on her studies and give the university entrance examination everything she’s got.”

In her eyes, both Ye Yuncheng and Xiao Mu were people who still needed looking after.

“I understand completely.” Liu Qiaohong said sincerely, “You’re a truly dedicated teacher.”

The homeroom teacher was unexpectedly flustered and quickly returned the compliment: “And you’re a truly dedicated public servant.”

Liu Qiaohong scratched the back of his head bashfully. “We’re all doing our bit — what I do really isn’t anything special.”

Ye Yuncheng broke in at an odd moment: “Get married already.”

Liu Qiaohong shot him a sideways glare. “And what right do you have to tell me that?”

“You’re not married?” The homeroom teacher burst out laughing. “Would you like me to introduce someone? I’m telling you — teachers may not have much, but we know a lot of people. I guarantee I’ll find you someone reliable.”

“No, no, no — I’m the unreliable one,” Liu Qiaohong said hastily, shaking his head. “I’m too busy these days, running around all over the place. I can’t look after a home. I shouldn’t waste any good woman’s time on that account.”

“Come now,” the homeroom teacher said. “Surely you won’t be in poverty alleviation work forever?”

Liu Qiaohong had indeed been stationed in the poverty-alleviation post for several years already. By all normal standards, he was long overdue for a reassignment — it was he himself who had asked to stay.

On this subject, his eyes lit up with undisguised excitement, animated and lively. “Once the country achieves full poverty alleviation across the board, I should be up for a promotion. If I push myself hard enough, I might even be transferred to City A eventually.”

The adults were chatting and laughing among themselves. Fang Zhuo and Yan Lie leaned side by side against the windowsill, doing mental arithmetic from math problems being sent through on someone’s phone.

Academic progress was a strange and unnerving thing.

When you were attending classes at school every day, the material the teacher covered always seemed like revision — nothing urgent. But the moment you missed a week, you found you had fallen behind by an astronomical amount.

“How did they get this far already? They’re reviewing this section already?” Yan Lie scrolled through the images, muttering, “Is the math teacher doing this on purpose?”

“All the more reason for you to get back as soon as possible,” Fang Zhuo said. “Once you’ve been there and listened, you can come back and tutor me.”

“I know, I know — I’ll be back for evening study!” Yan Lie said.

“Study hard,” Fang Zhuo said in a tone of someone twice her age. “Don’t let yourself fall behind at such a critical time. I’d feel terribly guilty.”

“I am studying hard!” Yan Lie said through gritted teeth.

The two of them leaned their heads together and talked in low voices. The homeroom teacher kept sending disapproving glances their way from across the room, but when she heard they were both talking about studying, she couldn’t very well say anything. The restrained frustration sat uncomfortably in her chest. She decided it was better to take Yan Lie — this particular source of disruption — back to school first.

She walked over and grabbed the back of Yan Lie’s collar, intending to drag him away. The two of them were still tussling when someone tapped lightly on the ward door.

Fang Yiming stood just inside the entrance, in the shadow with his back to the light, and called out, “Fang Zhuo.”

Fang Zhuo straightened her back and turned around slowly. She looked at Ye Yuncheng first — exchanging a glance with him for a few quiet seconds, warm and gentle — and only then turned to face Fang Yiming.

She suddenly realized she had achieved the calm she had once struggled long and hard to reach. She asked, “Is there something else?”

Fang Yiming looked somewhat embarrassed. His eyes shifted, and with Ye Yuncheng there in the room, he found it difficult to speak. Fang Zhuo, seeing this, walked out on her own initiative and gestured for him to find a quieter place to talk.

The homeroom teacher, worried, followed them out.

Fang Yiming handed over a piece of paper.

He had been clutching it in his palm for so long that all the corners were creased.

“This is a bank statement… Whether you believe me or not, I truly never touched your uncle’s money.” He explained quietly, “The card must have been taken by your grandmother. Every time money was deposited in, it would be withdrawn the next day. I haven’t used that card in a long time.”

Fang Zhuo neither took the paper nor looked at it closely. She only said, flatly, “I see.”

Her life up to this point had been a bitter fruit laced with thorns. Whether the money had ever been spent was something that could no longer be verified — and she had neither the energy nor the inclination to pursue it.

Fang Yiming was at a loss for words. He reached into his bag and produced twenty thousand yuan in cash. “Take this for now. I… owe you this, from before.”

“No need.” Fang Zhuo’s face was expressionless. “I will never again accept money from you. Not Grandmother, not me.”

The homeroom teacher walked over and asked, “What’s going on?”

Fang Zhuo gave a vague explanation: “My uncle used to transfer his own subsidy allowance to me. Over several years, it added up to about twenty thousand yuan or so.”

Fang Yiming said, “I didn’t know about it.”

The homeroom teacher looked down at the ground, thinking it over, and then said with sudden realization: “Then I may know where it is.”

She turned to face Fang Zhuo, and her expression grew abruptly serious. “That money was most likely never spent. Fang Zhuo — it’s the money your grandmother saved for you.”

Fang Zhuo looked at her in puzzled confusion.

“Before you transferred to our school,” the homeroom teacher said, “your grandmother came together with the academic affairs director from your previous school to complete the enrollment paperwork. Normally, by procedure, we don’t accept transfer students — but your grandmother kept pleading with the principal.”

At the time, the old woman had taken hold of the principal’s hands and gone down on her knees before a word had been spoken, tears already streaming down her face.

She had been gravely ill by then — thin as a bird, barely able to keep her footing. On her knees, her spine curved into a small, hunched shape, saturated with the sorrow of a hard life.

And it was precisely those hardships etched into her face that allowed everyone present to read, through her faltering, unclear speech, the tenacity in her bones.

“That child has lived a very hard life, but she’s willing to endure every hardship. Isn’t the whole point of equal access to education to give people like her a chance to change their lives? She never got that chance herself — please, give it to her.”

Over and over, the old woman told them what a life of poverty Fang Zhuo had grown up in. She herself had been unable to give the child any real help, nor had she given her the care she deserved.

Every time she saw Fang Zhuo lingering outside someone else’s window, she would think: if only this child had not been born into this family.

But what could be done? A bad lot in life was the one thing you couldn’t blame heaven or man for.

Now that she was nearly gone, all she wanted was for this child to receive just a little bit of kindness.

Fang Zhuo’s grades might not match those of children from wealthy cities, but her effort and her natural ability were certainly no less than theirs.

Fang Zhuo stood very still, startled out of her thoughts.

Her grandmother had always been a proud woman. Proud enough that, even with a hard life, she had gone through it all without taking a single yuan from the son she despised.

It was her grandmother who had first taught Fang Zhuo the meaning of dignity. A person could live in poverty, but must always keep their back straight. Only by standing tall could you look upward.

“She brought a red cloth bundle with her,” the homeroom teacher continued, “with twenty thousand yuan inside.”

Twenty thousand yuan was not a large sum to most people. But when the old woman tremblingly drew that red bundle from beneath her coat, unfolded it carefully, and pressed her forehead down against it, everyone in the room felt the full weight of that money.

The old woman said: this was the money the one family member who cared about Fang Zhuo had saved for her. No matter how poor, no matter how hard — she had never touched it. It was for Fang Zhuo to go to university.

This was Fang Zhuo’s lifeline.

“So we agreed to give you a chance to sit an entrance examination,” the homeroom teacher said. “Pass it, and we would take you.”

The homeroom teacher remembered that day with particular clarity. Fang Zhuo had been wearing a pair of faded cloth shoes, standing in front of the school’s display board, looking up at the activity photographs and competition certificates posted inside.

Her expression was composed, her gaze focused, reading through each piece carefully, pausing on every word.

Her arms hung at her sides, hands balled into tight fists. There was something in her expression — a kind of longing, held rigidly in check. Stubborn endurance and restraint held up against the indignity of a difficult life.

This was a good child.

In that moment, the homeroom teacher felt it with fierce clarity: the world was unequal, and unfair, and some people simply lacked the channel to climb upward. But give them even a single thread to grasp, and they would hold on with everything they had.

“We didn’t accept the money. I told her to deposit it in your name — it would even earn a little interest.” The homeroom teacher paused. “Go check with the bank and see if you have an account opened in your name. The money should be sitting there.”

Fang Zhuo could no longer hear clearly. She raised a hand and pressed it over her face, her shoulders trembling faintly.

“Your grandmother won this opportunity for you.” The homeroom teacher gripped Fang Zhuo’s shoulders, her voice weighty with conviction. “So you must get into a good university. Fang Zhuo — you must get into University A!”