It was noon on September 17, 2013, and the air held a distinct chill.
On the first day of the Mid-Autumn Festival holiday, Gao Qingjian found himself awake much earlier than usual.
Principal Qiao Chunmu had arranged a lunch gathering for that very day, inviting several school administrators and long-serving teachers.
Gao Qingjian, a man nearing fifty, found his sleep increasingly elusive with age. A persistent, vague anxiety often gnawed at him, preventing him from resting soundly. Yet, each morning, the mundane rhythm of his life served as a stark reminder that there was, in fact, nothing truly pressing. As was his habit, he checked the fish tank’s oxygen pump, then proceeded to replace its filter cartridge. He then soaked the used cartridge in the murky water drained from the tank, using the nutrient-rich liquid to water the roses and orchids in his courtyard.
His roses, though small and somewhat shriveled, bloomed profusely, their blossoms appearing continuously from early summer right through to early winter. His orchids, on the other hand, grew remarkably lush and green, almost resembling celery stalks, yet they stubbornly refused to flower.
Gao Qingjian, however, remained unfazed. He had nurtured these plants for so long that their appearance no longer mattered. As long as they clung to life, he was content; their demise would be met with equal indifference.
His phone had been chiming incessantly since the previous evening. As the homeroom teacher of Nan Shilgao’s elite ‘Rocket Class’ and the Grade Director, Gao Qingjian, despite lacking a formal administrative title, commanded significant influence. Such a figure was far more valuable to flatter than many leaders holding mere ceremonial positions, and consequently, he was inundated with well wishes every holiday.
Yet, the worth of these mass-produced, copy-pasted greetings was, in his estimation, even less than that of a discarded fish tank filter. At least the latter was a tangible object, capable of making a sound when dropped.
Having finished watering his plants, he once again found himself adrift in a sea of idleness.
He served as the Grade One Director at Nanling Experimental High School. In Nanling, this title carried considerable weight, for every local knew Nan Shilgao was undeniably the premier institution—a deeply ingrained belief among the city’s older generation.
This held true even as Nanling No. 1 High School now rivaled Nan Shilgao in its top-tier university admission rates; even as the previous year’s top science student in Su Province had hailed from Nanling Normal University Affiliated High School; even as…
Yet, for the older residents of Nanling, these were mere trifles. In their collective consciousness, Nan Shilgao remained, without question, the city’s preeminent high school.
Gao Qingjian, however, harbored no such illusions. As an administrator himself, and a close confidant of Principal Qiao Chunmu, he had witnessed the principal’s weary sighs on more than one occasion.
Nothing, after all, remained immutable. Even the most esteemed institutions faced periods of decline, and Nan Shilgao, it seemed, was teetering precariously on the brink of losing its long-held supremacy.
While Nan Shilgao could easily outperform all neighboring schools in terms of student enrollment quality, its college entrance examination results had, over the years, been gradually matched by other institutions, particularly Nanling No. 1 High School and Nanling Normal University Affiliated High School.
In recent years, Nanling Normal University Affiliated High School consistently leveraged its resources to cultivate a handful of top students, enabling them to contend with Nan Shilgao for the city’s highest scores in both arts and sciences. Nanling No. 1 High School, on the other hand, boasted vast resources and a formidable principal, leading to an almost yearly escalation in its university admission rates. Since his former schoolmate, Kong Yucheng, assumed the principalship of Nanling No. 1 High School four years ago, the institution, despite earning the slightly derisive moniker ‘Money No. 1 High School,’ had seen its academic performance climb steadily, year after year. This relentless ascent placed immense pressure on Qiao Chunmu.
Should Nanling No. 1 High School’s average college entrance exam scores ever eclipse those of Nan Shilgao during Qiao Chunmu’s term, he feared he would be subjected to endless criticism from the school’s veteran staff long after his retirement.
When Qiao Chunmu served as the Dean of Studies, Gao Qingjian was merely a greenhorn teacher fresh out of training. Now, Qiao Chunmu had held the principal’s office for five years, while Gao Qingjian himself was finding it increasingly difficult to manage the demands of frontline teaching.
By regulation, a school principal’s tenure was limited to a maximum of six years, meaning that, under normal circumstances, a leadership transition was due next year. This impending change had stirred a noticeable unrest within Nan Shilgao, with several individuals already positioning themselves to vie for the principal’s seat.
Gao Qingjian, however, harbored no such aspirations.
He felt he had reached the zenith of his career. Any further ascent seemed unlikely, especially without the offer of a less demanding role like Vice Principal and Dean of Studies. He half-jokingly thought they might as well relegate him to the school’s finance department. As arranged, Gao Qingjian arrived at the lunch venue alone, as Qiao Chunmu had explicitly requested that no family members be brought along for this rather private discussion.
These aging men, long past their prime, ordered only a few simple dishes, knowing their appetites had dwindled. The restaurant, bustling with Mid-Autumn Festival revelers, echoed with boisterous noise. From the adjoining private room, the incessant shouts and cheers of a finger-guessing game permeated the air.
In stark contrast, the private room occupied by Gao Qingjian and his companions remained notably quiet.
“Before the National Day holiday, we’re scheduled to host a school sports meet,” Qiao Chunmu began, taking a sip of the complimentary barley tea. “Normally, it would be held on campus, but this year, it’s a joint event involving three schools: us, Nanling No. 1 High School, and Ningjiang Middle School. All three are from the same district.”
Gao Qingjian was taken aback; this was the first he’d heard of such an arrangement.
“Principal Qiao,” Gao Qingjian asked, a piece of chicken dangling unconsumed from his chopsticks, “When was this decided, and where will it be held? Why has there been absolutely no word about it?”
“Kong Yucheng proposed it, and the Education Bureau gave their approval,” Qiao Chunmu explained. “They even said Nanling’s local TV station would broadcast it live. I suspect they’re trying to generate some political goodwill. While few truly care about such minor events, its successful execution would certainly benefit him. The principal of Ningjiang High School called me yesterday; a former classmate of his at the bureau informed him. A formal notice should be issued tomorrow, I expect.”
Kong Yucheng, the principal of Nanling No. 1 High School, had been Qiao Chunmu’s schoolmate, and they had enjoyed an excellent relationship during their university days. However, their divergent philosophies led to an acrimonious parting shortly after graduation. Kong Yucheng’s decision to involve the television station in this joint sports meet clearly signaled his ulterior motives. When students from all three schools stood together, it was inevitable that attention would gravitate towards Nanling No. 1 High School, with its decidedly more fashionable uniforms.
Even if the local broadcast garnered no viewers, careful curation of photographs—featuring only those that flattered Nanling No. 1 High School—would ensure that the lasting impression was one of its clear superiority over the other two institutions.
After all, both Ningjiang and Nan Shilgao still sported the most classic, and frankly, unappealing, sportswear-style uniforms—so drab they made prison jumpsuits look stylish by comparison.
“Nanling No. 1 High School recently constructed a new stadium,” offered Ma Chenwu, the head of the finance department. “Kong Yucheng is likely planning to use it as a promotional tool. That man has always been one for grand gestures, pouring all the funds he’s acquired over the years into those new buildings. Getting the TV station to broadcast is almost certainly part of that scheme.”
Ma Chenwu, the head of the finance department, was the youngest among them, barely in his early thirties, and widely considered a ‘connected’ individual. As he spoke, he was wrestling with a crab shell, grimacing slightly as the freshly steamed crustacean proved scorching hot to the touch.
“I heard that building alone cost over two hundred million to construct, with the government subsidizing the vast majority,” another voice chimed in. “And it’s truly magnificent! They say it’s even going to be open to the public, otherwise, how could he have pocketed so many kickbacks?!”
“Over two hundred million in subsidies? That sounds incredibly exaggerated,” Gao Qingjian interjected, having long heard rumors about the impressive stadium. “The one Nan Shilgao built, which was the largest among Nanling high schools at the time, only cost a little over twenty million.”
“His stadium even has an indoor swimming pool; how can that compare to ours?” Ma Chenwu retorted. “He also used funds to upgrade all the equipment, opting for essentially the most expensive domestic brands, and pocketed a substantial amount in kickbacks. Dammit, Old Gao, you should see the car he drives—a top-of-the-line Lexus LX570! With taxes, it’s nearly two million. Old Qiao, you’re both principals, so why don’t you even own a car?”
Qiao Chunmu, exasperated by Ma Chenwu’s remarks, bristled with indignation.
“Damn it, I live in the community right behind the school!” Qiao Chunmu shot back. “It’s only a few minutes’ walk! What the hell do I need a car for?!”
“Isn’t it just because you don’t have any money?” Ma Chenwu said, picking at his crab. “You’re too timid to take kickbacks, and now you’re blaming me for it?”
Ma Chenwu continued to dismantle his crab, his tone laced with sarcasm. Qiao Chunmu was, after all, a distant relative on his mother’s side, and despite the age gap, they maintained a casual familiarity.
“Kong Yucheng is genuinely wealthy, it’s true,” Li Jingxin chimed in. “I’ve heard that many parents also contribute funds.”
“It’s all thanks to those ‘innovation classes’ he set up,” Ma Lisheng grumbled, slurping a crab leg. “Nanling is full of wealthy second-generation students with dismal grades. Kong Yucheng spearheads the initiative, sending those who can’t get into good universities through conventional means here in China off to prestigious schools in Britain, America, and Australia to secure a business degree. Naturally, these affluent parents are more than willing to open their wallets. With so many students, can you imagine the annual revenue? Even a tiny spill from his coffers would be enough to feed a multitude. Just look at the amenities in their new teaching building—tsk, the multimedia classrooms are fully loaded!”
“I’ve already spoken with Ningjiang about it,” Zhang Wei said, focusing on piling food onto his plate. He hadn’t eaten breakfast and was quite hungry, showing little interest in the joint sports meet, though he’d heard Ma Lisheng mention it. “We’ll all be ordering new uniforms. Section Chief Ma says he’s already found a manufacturer—full polyester sets, top and bottom, long-sleeved shirts with casual pants, in grass green. They’ll cost seventy yuan a set, and we just need to issue a notice at the start of the semester.”
“The next principal.”
Qiao Chunmu abruptly shifted the topic to the principal’s succession. Immediately, the others stopped eating, their gazes fixed expectantly on him. Qiao Chunmu, made slightly uncomfortable by their intense scrutiny, paused without elaborating further.
“Principal Qiao, is there news about the succession?” Sun Tianliu pressed, his eyes wide. “Who is it? Director Sun or Vice Principal Kang? Those two are the most likely, aren’t they?”
“Don’t, it’s not me! I haven’t heard a single thing! Don’t mention me, damn it, Zhang Wei, who told you it was me?” Sun Tianliu, the Grade Two Director, bristled. Rumors had been circulating that he and Vice Principal Kang Tong were the most probable candidates for the next term, but he knew neither of them stood a chance. Such rumors were merely smokescreens, with those mentioned usually acting as decoys.
“Huh?” Zhang Wei looked bewildered; he had merely repeated what he’d heard, without knowing its source.
“I have no information whatsoever, damn it, Zhang Wei, don’t put me on the spot! I think you want to be a homeroom teacher for Grade Three!” Kang Tong snapped, equally annoyed. Both he and Sun Tianliu felt unjustly implicated. While they might have a chance, many others did too, and this wasn’t decided by election.
“What? No, Old Kang, I thought…”
“Don’t think.”
Zhang Wei looked utterly clueless, and Gao Qingjian, too, stopped eating, realizing he was even more out of the loop than Zhang Wei. He genuinely knew nothing.
“I heard the next principal is Kong Yucheng,” Ma Chenwu interjected coolly, having finished his crab. Everyone at the table turned to stare at him. Ma Chenwu, unfazed by their scrutiny, remained perfectly calm.
“I have a classmate in the Education Bureau, and he told me,” Ma Chenwu continued. “Kong Yucheng at Nanling No. 1 High School has also reached his six-year limit, so he’s coming over. Old Qiao, your former schoolmate might be here soon; aren’t you going to do something to welcome him?”
Qiao Chunmu scoffed. “Welcome him? Not a chance! He’s going to get into trouble sooner or later with the way he operates. If I were to associate with him, I’d be afraid of getting dragged in myself one day.”
“What are you afraid of?” Ma Chenwu countered. “When so many people are involved in these kinds of things, they’re usually handled with kid gloves. Otherwise, that old fox Kong Yucheng would have been locked up long ago.”