I remember those things very clearly.
They once planned to send me to live with a couple in the countryside.
When my little brother was born, I wanted to hold him, but they pushed me away.
They bought a two-bedroom apartment: one room for my parents, one for my little brother.
They once wanted to name me Zhaodi, Xidi, Niandi, or Yindi, but Grandma fiercely objected.
Throughout those long, painful eighteen years, if they had remembered my birthday just once, reached out to me just once, or answered my longing for a loving family just once, we wouldn’t have ended up here.
Grandma gave me so much love, but sadly, some kinds of love can’t be replaced, and you can’t do without them.
Through all those stormy days, no one held an umbrella over me. I made it through on my own.
The tree longs for stillness, but the wind won’t stop; the child longs to repay their parents, but the parents are gone.
Song Ha passed the exam. But what about the Song Ha who didn’t?
Would she have collapsed at the train station, where she lost all her dignity?
Would she have made it through those long eighteen years?
Would she have waited forever for an apology that never came?
I didn’t know, and I didn’t want to know anymore.
Memories rushed back, making my nose sting bit by bit.
I clenched my teeth on my hand and ordered myself: Don’t cry. Don’t be weak.
“Song Ha… We’re all family. There’s no need for you to act this way…” He tried to defuse the situation and reach for my grandmother’s hand.
Without hesitation, she knocked his hand away and gave him a cold look.
I took a deep breath, raised my head, and looked straight at the two people in front of me.
“I despise you.”
Because he wasn’t a good son or a good father.
“I’ll always remind myself never to become someone like you.”
I didn’t want to judge her as a mother or say she was unfit for the role.
But I would never let myself become like her: ignorant, narrow-minded, selfish, and greedy.
“I suggest you stop claiming to be my relatives. Don’t tell anyone we’re a family. I’ll make that perfectly clear.”
“And give me back the 5,000 yuan in my old bankbook.”
She looked at me in fear, and I smiled back.
“Besides, Song Zheming still has to take the high school entrance exam. He has a bright future ahead of him.”
I didn’t care what expressions they wore or what the crowd around us was saying.
All the paperwork was done.
I straightened my back and walked straight toward the door, where the sunlight poured in. I passed them without looking back.
Only after I went outside did I realize I’d dug my nails into my hand hard enough to draw blood.
It really hurt.
But I didn’t cry.
And I didn’t look back even once.
8
“Let me touch your Peking University acceptance letter.”
“Let me borrow it so I can post it on my social feed.”
“Nobody touch it! Let me see it first!”
The acceptance letter was set on the dining table and passed around from hand to hand.
…Oh, this.
…This isn’t a menu.
“Waiter, this…” Teacher Baldy coughed softly as he picked up the letter, then smacked his forehead. “Oh, I’m such a fool! This is the Peking University acceptance letter, not a menu. Good grief, look at me—my student got into Peking University, and I’m so happy I’ve lost my head. Peking University, huh…”
…Teacher, could your acting be any more obviously fake?
At the words “Peking University,” all the nearby tables turned to look.
“Dear guests, our boss says your entire table is on the house. He wishes top-scoring student Song Ha a brilliant future.”
“Oh, my! Oh, my! How embarrassing. Please thank your boss for us!”
…That seems to have worked.
“Come on, this toast is for our homeroom teacher!”
“Come on, this toast is for Song Ha!”
“Come on, this toast is for our bright future!”
Glasses of all sizes clinked together, glowing a brilliant amber.
Along with the joy and congratulations, a lingering sadness at our impending separation settled in our hearts.
But we just kept raising our glasses one after another, and no one mentioned saying goodbye.
“You kids, take it easy! There’ll be plenty of chances to drink later.”
Our homeroom teacher laid down the law: no pressuring the girls to drink. They could drink as much as they wanted, and there was always plenty of juice, anyway.
After a few rounds, the boys had spilled all their secrets.
I couldn’t believe our homeroom teacher could drink without turning red, and still calmly call rides for everyone.
“Teacher, I had no idea you could really hold your liquor.”
“What’s so funny? You think I haven’t taught enough students to know?”
As the lights came on beneath the bright moon and sparse stars, the cool evening breeze swept away some of the warmth from the alcohol on my face.
Those heading the same way teamed up and took rides home one after another.
Teacher Baldy and I lived near each other, so he said he’d walk me home.
The streets were crowded with pedestrians. When we reached the apartment building where I lived, I turned to wave goodbye, but Teacher Baldy suddenly called me back.
“Song Ha.”
“What is it, Teacher?”
I turned around. He had suddenly gone still, the streetlights stretching his shadow long behind him. Our politics teacher, who was always lecturing at length and backing up every point with example after example, now fell unexpectedly quiet and thoughtful.
“Song Ha, there are many things in this world you can’t explain or argue your way out of, like favoritism and prejudice.”
This was the first time he’d ever spoken to me about something unrelated to school.
He didn’t sound like a teacher, but like a father.
“Girls who start out facing the wind tend to grow stronger and more resilient, like wild grass. Like your name—you can take root and bloom even in the mud.”
“The teachers in the staff room have talked about this, too. Why do those girls work so hard? For money? A good job? A good husband?”
“In all our years as teachers, we’ve learned there aren’t that many reasons.”
“There’s only one reason: they have no way back.”
His expression held a seriousness and affection I’d never seen before.
“Song Ha, this is as far as I can take you.”
“I hope you’ll keep striving as you go forward. Don’t let society’s prejudices weigh on you, and don’t think about any fallback but yourself.”
“Baldy…” I immediately corrected myself. “You’re right, Teacher! But how did you see right through me?”
“You blocked me on WeChat, didn’t you?” Teacher Baldy shot me a glare.
“…”
Oh, that was back in tenth grade.
I was too embarrassed to answer.
I found out later that Teacher Baldy had an outstanding daughter, too. He posted about her on WeChat every day, but unfortunately, all of us mischievous students had blocked him.
Wait a minute!
Teacher Baldy’s daughter works in… Peking University’s admissions office?
No wonder the principal had hurriedly transferred our whole class into the honors class.
So the principal had been catching cicadas, while Teacher Baldy was the one pulling the strings behind him.
It was almost time to say goodbye.
The high school needed photos for its honor roll.
The top students stood in front of the camera, beaming.
“Top scorer Song! What are you spacing out for? Hurry up and get in the picture!” Tiểu Quang urged.
“Wait! I’m still putting lipstick on Song Ha!” Văn Văn wasn’t happy with the color yet.
“Oh, we can just brighten it up in the photo afterward!”
My classmates bustled around, and as I looked at last year’s solo portraits on the honor roll, an idea suddenly came to me.
“Wait!” I called the photographer back and pointed to my dormmates standing behind me with flowers. “I want to take a picture with them!”
“Us? On the honor roll too?”
Vi Vi and the others froze, then immediately smiled. Tiểu Quang pulled Teacher Baldy over.
“One more person, homeroom teacher! Get in the picture!”
“Good grief, three students admitted to regular universities—that’s the peak of a homeroom teacher’s career, isn’t it?”
“I have to stand next to the distinguished Peking University student!”
“All right, everyone, look at the camera! Smile!”
“One, two, three! Say ‘cheese’!” the photographer called.
“Wait! I don’t want to say ‘cheese’! It’s so cheesy!” Tiểu Quang cut in suddenly.
“Photographer, wait! We’re changing the slogan!” Văn Văn agreed.
The girls huddled together, chatting, occasionally glancing back at me with a smile.
“Are we settled on this one?”
“It has to be this one!”
I just stood there watching them, letting them laugh, letting them make all the noise they wanted.
Looking back on the eighteen years of my life, it had been filled with prejudice and darkness.
No rich prince had come to save me, no good fortune had fallen from the sky. All I had were the close friends by my side, teachers who refused to give up on me, and countless kindnesses from strangers.
On the days when sunlight couldn’t reach me, they held umbrellas over me.
They cried with me and laughed with me, wielding pens as swords and dreams as steeds, hacking through the brambles of exam papers to find our way forward.
“Song Ha! Come over here! Stop spacing out!”
They gathered around me, radiant beneath the August sun.
“All right, look at the camera! Three! Two! One!”
“Song Ha! Keep it up!”
—The End—