Chapter Sixteen: Two Teachers

"Do you usually stay at home alone? How do you manage your meals?" Director Bai went into the kitchen to help Hongtao put the kettle on the stove, then watched as Hongtao, struggling, lifted an iron rod to open the stove door and adjusted the damper from the sealed position to the draft position.

"Sealing" and "drafting" the fire are technical terms used in the north, mainly referring to stove operation, and are less common in the south. In this era, whether for heating or cooking, ordinary people generally used coal-burning stoves; bottled gas was rare, and there was certainly no natural gas.

There were two main types of stoves at that time: those for honeycomb briquettes and those for coal balls. The household varieties looked much the same, but some internal parts differed. A stove meant for coal balls could burn honeycomb briquettes, but a honeycomb briquette stove couldn't burn coal balls without modification.

Northern and southern Chinese handled stoves quite differently. Southerners used small portable stoves which they would carry in and out of the house to avoid carbon monoxide poisoning. Northerners, on the other hand, used heavy, cast iron stoves that could not be moved at will. To prevent poisoning, they would attach a sheet metal chimney to vent all the smoke outside.

Northerners also kept their stoves burning all day. To save coal, they made use of adjustable air inlets and outlets to set the coals to a slow, smoldering state—this was called "sealing" the fire. When it was time to use the stove, they would simply open those vents and remove a small internal lid to quickly revive the flames—this was called "drafting" the fire.

"Don't worry, I always eat at my grandmother's. I never play with fire at home," Hongtao quickly interjected, knowing what Director Bai was about to say.

"What about your mother? She's a doctor, right? Does she come home late? On call often?" Director Bai, stymied by Hongtao's answer, didn't mind. Since meeting this child today, she'd been rendered speechless more than once and was almost getting used to it.

"My mother went to the countryside as a barefoot doctor. My father was sent down to the factory for labor reform. Life isn't easy for either of them—they're always out, working hard and tired. That's why, Director Bai, I hope you'll go a little easier on my dad. After all, you're colleagues. If he's not allowed to teach and is forced to do manual labor, it's hard for anyone to take. Don't you agree?" Hongtao sat on a small stool against the wall, looking up at Director Bai.

"You worry about your parents—a good child. But you seem to have a real bone to pick with teachers. Teachers don't come to your home just to complain, and you haven't done anything worth complaining about. I won't be telling your parents about the police bringing you home this afternoon, so rest assured." Director Bai was at the edge of losing her temper. This brat had schooled her several times, leaving her with nothing to say—it was infuriating.

"That's good, that's good. I don't have a problem with teachers. Quite the opposite—I trust you more than anyone. That's why I can have an equal, honest conversation with you. Maybe we just see things from different perspectives, which leads to friction. When my father comes home, I'll treat you as my teacher again, and you'll hear nothing but pleasant words," Hongtao reiterated, understanding that no matter how open-minded or upright Director Bai was, she couldn't be expected to adapt to this style of conversation overnight. It would take time.

"May I take a look at your father's books?" Director Bai finally managed to swallow her frustration after a long pause.

"Of course. You're a math teacher too, so you and my dad are not just colleagues, but in the same field," Hongtao said, picking up a newspaper. He had no worries about his father's books being perused by others—he knew his father well. Those were all professional books, utterly devoid of political content or commentary.

"Compared to your father, I'm much less accomplished. He teaches university students. These books on advanced mathematics and analytic geometry—I can hardly understand any of them," Director Bai said, leafing through a few books before quickly putting them back, seemingly unable to make sense of them.

"Each field has its experts. If you asked my dad to do high school algebra, he might not get it right either. In terms of contribution, you're greater than he is. You and he are like the builders of a skyscraper—you lay the foundation, he works on the higher floors. How high it goes depends entirely on how deep and solid your foundation is. No matter how capable my dad is, without that foundation, it's all for naught. So you're number one, and he can only be number two. In my opinion, primary school teachers should make the most, middle school teachers a bit less, and university teachers the least. Don't you think so?" Hongtao realized he'd spent the whole day making things difficult for Director Bai and wanted to cheer her up with some flattery—even if it was last-minute.

"Ha! You've got big ideas—reforming teachers' salaries. Maybe you shouldn't be a scientist, but head of the education bureau instead," Director Bai finally smiled. It's always pleasant to be praised.

"My dad's back! Teacher! My happiness for the rest of my life is in your hands now! Please, please, put in a good word for me! This stack of newspapers, I brought them back specially for my father, right?" Hongtao suddenly heard a bicycle in the hallway, stood up at once, put the newspaper back, made a respectful gesture to Director Bai, then sat back down on the stool, head lowered in silence.

"Hongtao! Why are you boiling water? Why not eat at your grandmother's... Oh, you must be Teacher Bai. Is... has Hongtao caused trouble again?" Hongtao's father's voice preceded him into the room. As soon as he saw Director Bai, he recognized her, and his previously cheerful tone immediately grew somber.

"Hello, Teacher Hong. Don't worry, Hongtao hasn't caused any trouble. I'm not here to complain, but to discuss his future education with you. Do you have some time today?" Director Bai, loyal to Hongtao, spoke up before he could defend himself.

"Oh... yes, I have time. Did he bother you when he sat in on your class? My child is a bit wild. It's my fault, really; I'm too busy at work to supervise him properly..." Hongtao's father was not completely reassured. He knew the teacher's script: first calm the parents, then slowly lay out the problems.

"Teacher Hong, we're both in this profession—no need for formalities. I'm truly not here to complain. Hongtao spent the entire day reading textbooks in my office and behaved very well. I just want to discuss his future with you. Hongtao, shouldn't you give us some privacy?" Director Bai, sensing Hongtao's father's doubts, stressed her purpose again, covered for Hongtao with a small lie, and then, with a glance, issued a polite dismissal.

"Dad, Teacher, I'll go to grandma's now. There's water on the stove—keep an eye on it." Hongtao mumbled, head down, obediently opened the door and left.

"Your son—what can I say!..." Director Bai looked at the subdued boy and remembered his feisty talk earlier in the day, sighing. She wasn't sure if she should have lied for him.

What Director Bai and his father discussed, Hongtao never knew—not a word. Their conversation lasted a long time. Even after Hongtao finished dinner at his grandmother's, his father hadn't come. It wasn't until after seven that his father arrived, ate the meal left for him, and then took Hongtao home under the pretext of checking his homework.

"Teacher Bai said you've been doing well with your homework and suggested you start primary school a year early. Would you like that?" His father didn't check his homework but picked up a newspaper and asked while flipping through it.

"I would. I love school!" Hongtao tried to smile brightly, but he was not happy. Although Director Bai hadn't insisted on immediate enrollment, she had still mentioned starting school early to his father. Early was still early! Sending his six-year-old self to compete with classmates already over seven felt unfair.

Given his talkative, meddlesome nature, he was bound to get into conflicts at school. His uncle couldn't stand guard at the classroom door every day; he'd be the first to get beaten. No matter how he retaliated afterward, the pain wouldn't diminish.

"That's good, son. Today is the happiest day I've had in years. I don't mind hard work—look at my fingers, all calloused from washing your diapers when you were little. After what Teacher Bai said today, it all feels worth it. You're still young, you might not understand, but I'll say this every year until you do: study hard, so you can have a future. You must be better than your father!" His father lifted the newspaper to shield his face, saying words Hongtao was supposed to be too young to understand.