Little Chang'an's Grand Ambition

The days of heavy rain finally stopped on the second, but with communication still so inconvenient these days, when the school changed the opening date on the first, they played it safe and announced the fifth as the start of term. As a result, Chang’an Fang stayed home for two more days, only heading to town with his parents on the morning of the fifth.

Yuxiu Wang had something to attend to at her family’s home, so this time Luyong Fang didn’t go with them.

Lujun Fang drove their own three-wheeler, which had been bought several years ago. It was a bit older than Luyong’s, but in terms of comfort, there was little difference—neither compared to a four-wheeler. This time there was no rain, just blazing sun, and the three-wheeler rattled and smoked as it carried the family of three into the southern end of town, entering through the underpass.

Above the underpass stretched the famous Longhai Railway, beginning in Lianyungang in the east and running west to Lanzhou, linking East China, Central China, and the Northwest—a crucial horizontal line among China’s key railway routes, with extraordinary significance.

Years ago, one could still cross the railway directly, but in recent years, wire fences were put up along the tracks to prevent passage, a testament to the railway’s importance and ongoing maintenance. Yet the underpass beneath had been neglected for years; though the rain had stopped days ago, water still pooled inside, and no one bothered to clear it.

Well, after all, trains don’t pass through underpasses.

Perhaps because the other three junior high schools in town had staggered their opening dates, or perhaps thanks to the fine weather today, there were actually fewer vehicles than on the rainy first. Lujun Fang, familiar with the roads, soon drove them to the northern outskirts of town, to No. 2 Middle School.

Huangnanji Town was once a stretch of saline-alkali wasteland. In the early Republican era, the Longhai Railway was laid here, and a station was built. Over time, itinerant traders settled, and as the crowd grew, the place slowly developed, boasting nearly a century of history now.

Only after graduation in his previous life did Chang’an Fang learn that this run-down little town he’d always thought so insignificant had, back in 1994, been listed among the five hundred comprehensive pilot towns for small-town reform, and in 1998 was named a “Famed Town of Huaihai.”

—So, perhaps his family’s poverty was simply their own misfortune, not the fault of the place.

He had heard his grandfather say that in the last century, Huangnanji had enjoyed a period of relative prosperity. Thanks to the convergence of the Longhai Railway, a national highway, and a provincial road, the location was excellent, traffic was heavy, and for a while, the town was actually livelier than the county seat.

But somehow, decline set in, and the town grew ever more dilapidated.

There were four junior high schools in town, and one high school—simply named Huangnanji No. 1 Middle School. It had both junior and senior divisions, and the senior division was a provincial key school. In its heyday last century, its reputation spread to neighboring cities. Chang’an’s grandfather, Fukang Fang, once trekked barefoot through snow to study here.

But things steadily declined. Though the title of “provincial key school” remained, its reputation and school spirit worsened year by year. Even in his previous life, Chang’an Fang had looked down on this school and sat for the entrance exam to the county’s top high school instead.

At that time, though No. 1 Middle School was already in decline, it still had some standing and sent twenty or thirty students a year to university. Later, while Chang’an was at university, a female student was assaulted by several young thugs in her dorm, causing a scandal that marked the school’s utter collapse.

As Lujun Fang drove past the gates of No. 1 Middle School, he glanced at the teaching buildings and, once they’d passed, turned to smile at Chang’an Fang. “Chang’an, try not to end up at No. 1, okay?”

He didn’t say this out of pure disdain—though there was some of that—but more so because, at this time, for all the parents in Qinglong County’s villages and towns, the brightest hope for their children was Qinglong No. 1 High School; the town high school was always a rung lower.

Chang’an was headed to No. 2 Middle School, which had only a junior division and lacked No. 1’s reputation. However, in recent years, its entrance exam results had outstripped No. 1’s, with the number of students gaining admission to Qinglong No. 1 High School—what most parents cared about, and what the school advertised—leading the way.

Last year, No. 2 sent nineteen students to Qinglong No. 1, a record high, far surpassing No. 1’s thirteen.

But Chang’an knew very well that No. 2’s glory was about to end. In his previous life, his cohort was the strongest in the school’s history, with twenty-three students admitted to Qinglong No. 1. The very next year, the number plummeted by half, and within a few years, the school became a haven for delinquents.

In his previous life, Chang’an scored 687 on the high school entrance exams (out of 795, with physical education and science labs included) and entered Qinglong No. 1 High School, fulfilling his mother’s dream.

But now, Chang’an was no longer content with that. He smiled and asked his mother, “Which school would you like me to attend?”

Her gentle laughter betrayed a rare pride and joy—her children’s academic achievements were her greatest pride, her deepest joy, and the pillar of her life.

He grinned, “County No. 1 High isn’t enough for me. I’m aiming for the City No. 1 High.”

Yunlong City No. 1 High was a national key school, and given the filters of both town and county schools, it had been years since anyone from Huangnanji had made it in; the level of difficulty was worlds apart.

His mother had never considered sending her child to high school in the city. She paused, then sighed, “Oh, if you can make it into County No. 1, your mother will be content!”

Chang’an smiled. “County No. 1 is my fallback. The city school is my goal.”

She looked at her son, her still young and beautiful face gradually breaking into a pleased smile. “Good! Mama believes in you!”

This was the first time in twelve years that Chang’an had spoken such bold words, and the first time his mother had uttered the sort of encouragement she once thought belonged only in television dramas.

But the effect was excellent. The brief exchange lifted both their spirits. Lujun, who’d overheard some of it as he drove, said nothing—perhaps he didn’t really believe it, perhaps he was indifferent, but seeing his son’s newfound seriousness and ambition these days, he couldn’t help but feel hopeful about the future.

After passing No. 1 Middle School, they drove another two or three hundred meters, turned left and headed north, and at the very end of the road stood No. 2 Middle School.

No. 2 wasn’t as old as No. 1, but when it was built, the town was smaller, so now the school sat right in the center of town.

But for some reason, though the roads throughout town were paved, the final two or three hundred meters before No. 2’s gate were unpaved—a rutted, muddy track mixed with gravel and coal cinders, especially tough to traverse after the recent rains.

Worried about parking, his mother had them stop the three-wheeler on a patch of open ground as soon as they hit the gravel road.

Having already visited his uncle’s house a few days earlier, there was no plan to go again today; they headed straight to school to register.

Lujun carried the bedding, his wife brought the bags, and Chang’an slung his little cloth backpack—empty, not a single book inside—over his shoulder and walked with his parents toward the school.

The houses lining the road were all simple dwellings, redolent of another era. But Chang’an was used to it—twenty years later, the town would look much the same, and he’d just been here days before.

Several small shops near the school gate were open, with quite a few parents dropping their children off—one could see their figures in front of the stores.

In his previous life, Chang’an never set foot on this campus after graduation, but his memory was clear: the school was laid out east to west, and as one entered, the first thing that met the eye was the vast playground—no rubber, no grass, just dirt and coal ash, with puddles everywhere.

At the far end of the field were the toilets, divided into male, female, and teachers’ sections.

To the right of the toilets was the living area—dormitories, canteen, and a small shop—while to the right of the field stood the teaching building, a single four-storey block. The fourth floor was locked and off-limits; only the first three floors were used.

At the east end of the teaching building, near the school gate, was the administration office. A red notice on the first-floor board listed the class assignments, and a throng of parents crowded around it.

Lujun and his wife already knew their son’s class from his older brother Lugou, but still went to check, confirming that Chang’an was in Class 4 of the first year.

There were sixteen classes in the first year, about fifty students each. Classes 1 to 4 were “key” classes; 5 to 16 were “regular.” Much like how phone makers now call their base models “standard” instead of “lower-end.”

Chang’an was uninterested in the class list. He stood outside the crowd, hands on his mother’s cloth satchel, quietly observing his future classmates—none of whom seemed familiar.

In truth, he remembered very little from his junior high years, so even if he saw an old acquaintance, he might not recognize them—unless, of course, they were strikingly good-looking.

Once the class was confirmed, Lujun took the lead, guiding his wife and son to the dormitories. They entered the living quarters through a round gate. The canteen stood ahead, sheltered by a makeshift awning beneath which stood tables and benches—dirty and cramped. The presence of the awning suggested the building was too small to accommodate everyone.

To the left (west) were the student dormitories, again through a round gate. Next to the gate, facing the canteen, was a small shop.

Through the gate, boys’ dorms lay to the left, girls’ to the right—the boys’ dormitory a single-story building, the girls’ a two-story block.

Inside the boys’ dorm, to the left, was the security office. The guard, a man in his forties, stood with a baton, calling out, “First years? Which class? Class 3, room 107; Class 4, 108; Class 6, also 108; Class 11, 109… over there, over there.”

Lujun double-checked with the guard, then, carrying their hemp sack, found dorm 108 among the throng of parents. The door was small, but the room inside was vast, crammed with bunk beds.

“Goodness, so many people?”

A glance took in over a dozen bunks; five or six beds lined the right, another five or six the left, with two more crosswise at the end, blocking off the innermost beds.

“How will the kids inside get out?” his mother complained, while Lujun eyed the beds on the right—clearly the best spot—but all were already claimed, parents busily making beds for their children.

She pointed to a lower bunk near the door. “Here, it’s convenient for coming and going.”

Lujun agreed—though the best beds were taken, at least their son wouldn’t have to climb over others’ beds every day. He didn’t consider that, by taking a bed near the door, dozens of others would have to climb over his son’s bed instead.

As soon as he put down the sack, another couple arrived, carrying their own bedding. Clearly, they’d hoped for a prime spot, but, seeing none left, settled for the next best, anxious to avoid ending up in the farthest corner.

Seeing Lujun set down the bedding, the mother asked, “How many of you here?”

Chang’an’s mother sized up the other trio—both parents in their forties, their son about Chang’an’s age, round-faced, all looking honest and pleasant—then replied, “Just us.”

“Mind if our two boys share here?” the father asked, having likewise sized them up.

She smiled. “Of course, go ahead and put your things down.”

Lujun helped him set the bedding down. “Don’t make the beds yet—others might need to get through.”

“Yes, yes.”

Chang’an sighed inwardly. Indeed, not only did this huge dorm hold more than a dozen bunks, but each bunk was to be shared by two students!

In other words, one dormitory would house fifty or sixty students!