Remind Myself

After he finished speaking, Zhang Pa was silent for a moment, then clapped his hands. "That's all I wanted to say. Let me repeat my main point: hand your children over to me, and allow me to discipline them as I see fit; otherwise, please take your child to another class. I'll give you ten minutes to think it over. After ten minutes, if anyone doesn't want their child to stay in Class Eighteen, just write down your child's name and hand it to me. Thank you."

Though his words had been rather harsh, at this moment he finally appeared somewhat dignified. After speaking, he bowed deeply before straightening up and leaving the room.

Principal Qin was waiting by the door, shaking his head. "I really don't know if hiring you was right or wrong."

"For six thousand yuan, for this job, I’ll prove to you just how right your decision was," Zhang Pa replied softly.

The principal looked puzzled. "You care about money?" Then he added, "Well, who doesn’t?"

Zhang Pa smiled but didn’t explain.

The ten minutes passed quickly. The classroom buzzed with discussion; some parents stepped out, such as Yunyun, who assured Zhang Pa, "Even if you beat my child to death, I’ll accept it."

"So it's settled," Zhang Pa replied gravely.

Yunyun was taken aback, then smiled and returned to the classroom.

Ten minutes later, Zhang Pa returned; the room was still abuzz. He clapped his hands for silence and asked, "Have you made up your minds?"

"I support you," Yunyun was the first to stand. Several other parents of the more troublesome students followed suit, expressing trust and willingness to put their children in Zhang Pa’s care.

With these four leading the way, the remaining parents were bewildered—were these people really pushing their children into the fire? Could they really be their own flesh and blood?

Some hesitated, but others voiced their support. A few had completely given up on their children—so much so that whenever they heard a siren outside, they suspected it was the police coming for their kid. They declared in unison, "We’ll leave our children to you. As long as you don’t kill them, do as you please." One parent was even harsher: "Even if you do kill him, I’ll accept it, and just pretend I never had a child."

That remark chilled even Zhang Pa—how bad could a student be to make their own parent so despairing?

Another parent added, "Don’t hold back—if you injure him, I’ll take responsibility. I’ll pay the medical bills, you don’t have to worry."

Zhang Pa was deeply moved. What admirable parents.

Their clear-cut stances made some of the more hesitant, still hopeful parents waver. These were the majority. One raised a hand and asked, "Suppose—just suppose—we later feel you’re not doing a good job. Can we transfer our child out?"

"Of course. Anytime," Zhang Pa replied.

Another asked, "You’re not really going to hit the students, are you?"

"I absolutely will. Otherwise, what's the point?" Zhang Pa said.

The parent persisted: "How badly? What’s the worst injury you’d cause?"

Zhang Pa laughed. "How do you measure that? Don’t worry, I guarantee there’ll be no serious problems—nothing that will affect their development or appearance." He paused, then went on. "Judging by your ages, you probably grew up getting spanked. Tell me, who here never got hit by their parents? Didn’t you all turn out just fine?"

The parents looked at each other, then gradually nodded, agreeing to leave their children in Class Eighteen.

Thus, the parent-teacher meeting was more than half a success.

Of course, there were still a few doting parents who immediately stood up, named their children, and said they wanted a transfer—refusing to let their kids suffer under Zhang Pa’s hand. There were five such parents in total.

So their children transferred out. Zhang Pa harbored no illusions and made no attempts to persuade them—he let them all go.

The meeting lasted only forty minutes and ended quickly. Before finishing, Zhang Pa read out a list of names—the six truancy masters and five students intent on a life of crime. Then he announced, "Those whose names I called are basically always skipping class. So, tomorrow morning, I’ll need to trouble you parents one more time. If your child is prone to truancy, please bring them to class yourselves. Don’t worry, just this once—I’ll make sure they never dare skip school again. Thank you all. The meeting is over. Goodbye."

With a final farewell, he smiled and stood at the door, sending the parents off.

Though no one knew what the future would bring, the parents were, for now, cooperative; they shook hands and exchanged a few words as they left.

When the room was empty, the principal asked, "Are you really confident?"

"I’ll show them what discipline means." Zhang Pa picked up his notebook. "Work’s over. See you."

"Good luck," the principal said, turning away.

Zhang Pa grabbed his crutch and headed out, where he found Yun Zheng waiting for him. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

Yun Zheng eyed his leg. "I knew you were faking."

"Faking, my foot. Here, feel it—it’s all wrapped in bandages, it’s stifling hot," Zhang Pa retorted.

"I don’t believe you," Yun Zheng said.

"Believe what you want. Why aren’t you going home?"

"Nothing to do at home. Might as well hang out with you," Yun Zheng replied.

"Haven’t you been to the hospital?"

"I went," Yun Zheng said. "Those four punks started whining as soon as they saw me, begging for cigarettes. Like I’d fall for that." He added, "Bro, I’ve quit smoking and I’m on edge. Fancy a drink?"

"Drink?" Zhang Pa hobbled to a nearby store. "Got any liquor-filled chocolates? Give me two, and a pack of gum." He paid, tossed them to Yun Zheng. "There you go—booze and snacks. Take your time, I’m heading home."

"Bro, which leg is actually hurt?" Yun Zheng stared at his right leg—the limp seemed off.

"What do you think?" Zhang Pa replied coldly.

"Both legs are injured, so let’s go home," Yun Zheng said wisely, flagging down a cab.

With no other choice, Zhang Pa, wanting to keep up appearances, splurged on a taxi home. Only when he reached his door did he remember he’d already moved. He sighed bitterly—what luck. Then he set about his work.

That evening, he got a call from Fatty, who was furious. "The pool hall’s screwing you over. You were the champion, but you’re not even listed for the provincial competition. Let’s go raise hell!"

"They asked me, offered two thousand as an appearance fee. I turned it down," said Zhang Pa.

"Come on, man. Two grand and you didn’t invite us out to celebrate?" Fatty cursed.

"I already donated it to the class fund. You’re too late," Zhang Pa replied.

"Bastard," Fatty growled and hung up.

Zhang Pa set down his phone and went back to work.

But for some reason, as he wrote, he suddenly felt cold, shivering. He touched his forehead and cursed under his breath.

His forehead was hot. At this rate, he’d definitely come down with a fever. He quickly pulled on clothes and went out for medicine.

On his way out, he came across a real estate employee arguing with the infamous old lady from the Jiang family.

The old lady was a well-known scammer in Xingfuli. Her son, Jiang Zhen, was watching coldly from the side, leaving the battlefield to his mother.

She was fierce, gripping the real estate worker’s arm. "No way—your figures are off. How can my house be only thirty-eight square meters? The yard, the kitchen, the living room, plus a second floor—how could it be thirty-eight?"

The employee replied, "That’s what’s on record at the housing bureau. We’re just here to document residents and living conditions, nothing more. Besides, all those additions are illegal."

"Absolutely not. You have to fix it," the old lady insisted, refusing to let go.

Zhang Pa shook his head and hurried on his way.

After buying and taking the medicine, he went home and resumed work. Unfortunately, it didn’t help. An hour later, his forehead and face were burning, his body felt increasingly cold, and his head grew fuzzy.

He checked the time, considered for a moment, and kept typing.

His mind dulled, his work slowed. It was eight by the time he finished, and he went straight to bed, quickly falling ill.

He was woken by chills in the middle of the night, clutching his quilt tight as he tried to sleep. Later, he was woken by heat and had to throw off the covers. Gritting his teeth, he got up, took more medicine, doubling the dose. During that short time, he shivered uncontrollably.

He was soon back in bed, trying to sleep.

The next day, Yun Zheng had to wake him. Zhang Pa opened his eyes groggily—the world spinning. If it weren’t for his teaching job, he would have stayed in bed.

But after finally building some rapport with those kids, and with today being the first day after the parent-teacher meeting, he couldn’t slack off now.

Clenching his teeth, he forced himself up. No appetite for breakfast, he swallowed medicine on an empty stomach, grabbed his laptop, and headed out.

Yun Zheng was waiting outside. "Your crutch," he reminded him.

Zhang Pa turned back, picked it up, and found it comforting to lean on. For the first time since he’d gotten it, it proved useful, and he made his way slowly downstairs.

Yun Zheng studied him. "Bro, you’re sick, aren’t you?"

Zhang Pa insisted he was fine, recalling how he’d been feeling unwell for days but ignored it, leading to this sudden flare-up.

This time, he had to take a taxi to school. After arriving, he hobbled into the classroom, head spinning, vision swimming.

Three father-son pairs were already waiting in the hallway and greeted him politely. They were clearly more experienced than Yun Zheng. "Not feeling well? Need to see a doctor?" they asked.

Zhang Pa forced a smile and said he was fine. He repeated it to himself, I must be fine! I still have updates to finish today!

The parents were still concerned, but he kept smiling. "Trust me," he told them, and then to the three students, "Go inside."

Two of the kids had fought alongside him before and respectfully assured their fathers they’d go in, then entered the classroom.

The third was a wannabe gangster, who sneered at Zhang Pa and swaggered in with a crooked nose.

Zhang Pa told the parents, "Don’t worry, just this once—you won’t have to bring them again."

"Take care of yourself, teacher," the three parents said, taking their leave.

Zhang Pa entered the classroom and called a student over. "Bring me a chair."

The student obediently placed a chair by the door. Zhang Pa handed him his laptop. "Put it on my desk." Then he sat down slowly.

Despite having taken plenty of medicine, he still felt dizzy and weak, although the worst had eased.

He sat, eyes closed, trying to gather his strength, greeting any parent who brought in a child.

Experience showed that adults with social experience were caring—almost every parent asked if he was ill, showed concern, suggested seeing a doctor, then left.

Soon, it was seven-thirty. Zhang Pa waited another ten minutes, then closed the door and carried his chair to the podium.

Seated, he opened the attendance book. It was time for the first roll call.