A Teacher's Love Is Hard to Repay

"The northern sea has a fish, its name is Kun. The size of Kun is unknown, but it spans thousands of miles..."

The next morning, Li Huangxuan was loudly reciting his textbook during the early reading class.

Meanwhile, Zhuang Ziang unfolded a piece of paper and quietly began writing a letter of self-reflection.

Yesterday had been liberating, but he knew he had done wrong and deserved punishment.

Sure enough, before class ended, the homeroom teacher, Zhang Zhiyuan, appeared.

"Ziang, come with me to the office."

The office was very quiet, with only a few teachers preparing for their classes.

Zhiyuan took a sip of his goji berry tea.

Before he could speak, Ziang handed over his letter of self-reflection.

A freshly written thousand-word essay, ink still wet.

It was eloquently written, citing various references.

"Do you know what you're doing? Where did you go yesterday afternoon?" Zhiyuan pounded the table.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Zhang, I know I was wrong," Ziang sincerely admitted.

"You're the best student in the grade, and you pull a stunt like this? As your homeroom teacher, I'm very disappointed."

"What you did was irresponsible to yourself, your parents, and your teachers, setting a terrible example for your classmates."

"Don't think a letter of self-reflection can make up for it. I don't think you realize how serious your mistake was."

…

Zhiyuan berated Ziang passionately.

His deep care manifested in strict words.

He couldn't bear to see his best student go astray.

Despite being scolded, Ziang felt a sense of relief, recognizing his teacher's concern and love.

Sadly, he knew he might never repay this kindness.

When Zhiyuan finally paused to sip his tea, Ziang took the opportunity to speak.

Since he couldn't share his burden with his parents, his teacher seemed the best choice.

By then, the other teachers had left.

The office was now just the two of them.

"Mr. Zhang, you approved my sick leave the other day," Ziang's eyes reddened.

Zhiyuan's eyebrows knitted, "Are you okay?"

"Mr. Zhang, you're my most respected teacher. I don't want to hide this from you—I have a severe illness," Ziang's voice trembled.

"What do you mean?" Zhiyuan sensed something was wrong.

Gathering his courage, Ziang pulled out his diagnosis and laid it on the desk.

Zhiyuan glanced at it, his expression changing dramatically.

Like a thunderbolt striking his ears.

"This can't be right. It must be a misdiagnosis. Don't worry, I'll take you for a re-examination."

Ziang shook his head, "It's not a mistake, Mr. Zhang. I've been having nosebleeds for six months."

"How could this happen? You're only eighteen!" Zhiyuan struggled to accept it.

While everyone faces death eventually, it seemed so far off for this young student.

He had so much life left to experience.

"Mr. Zhang, I don't want pity or sympathy. I just want to live my remaining time freely," Ziang pleaded.

"What do your parents say? Are they still letting you attend school?" Zhiyuan asked sadly.

"I want to be with my teachers and classmates."

Ziang found more comfort among his teachers and classmates than with his parents.

He didn't mention having only three months left.

Nor did he dare tell Zhiyuan he hadn't informed his parents.

Zhiyuan knew Ziang's complicated family background.

He couldn't fathom how such an exceptional student emerged from such a difficult environment.

Facing life and death with such calm.

Bowing deeply, Ziang said, "Mr. Zhang, I'm sorry for yesterday. It won't happen again."

Zhiyuan's nose tingled, "It's okay, I'm not mad. If you don't want to attend class, you can come to me for leave."

He understood that growing up in such an environment, Ziang must have repressed many negative emotions.

Wanting to release them at a critical moment was only human.

As his teacher, he felt he hadn't paid enough attention.

Had he noticed Ziang's illness earlier, could better treatment have helped?

"Mr. Zhang, I don't want to be the class monitor anymore. Please choose someone else."

"Okay. Relax and take it easy. Follow the doctor's advice, and don't give up until the end."

Zhiyuan tried to comfort him, though even he didn't believe his own words.

Ziang slowly picked up the diagnosis, carefully folding it back into his pocket.

His movements were deliberate, as if performing a ritual.

"Mr. Zhang, I'll attend classes as usual. If I feel unwell, I'll let you know," Zhiyuan's emotions were complex.

He understood Ziang wanted to complete his education without regrets.

But his responsibility as a teacher filled him with guilt and worry.

"Thank you, Mr. Zhang. I might not fulfill your expectations," Ziang said, tears welling up as he bowed again.

"No, you'll always be my proudest student," Zhiyuan choked up.

Ziang had always brought honor to the class and the school.

In the future, he would have excelled in society, achieving great things.

Sadly, fate was cruel.

Suppressing his sorrow, Ziang remembered something and asked, "Mr. Zhang, we only have 22 classes, right?"

Zhiyuan was puzzled, "Of course. Why ask?"

"I met a girl yesterday who said she was in Class 23."

"Don't overthink it. Go back to class."

Zhiyuan assumed Ziang's distress caused him to ask such odd questions, trying to keep the atmosphere calm.

Respecting Ziang's wish not to be pitied or sympathized with, he treated him normally.

Bowing deeply once more, Ziang left the office with heavy steps.

Watching him go, Zhiyuan's pent-up emotions erupted.

He pounded his fist on the desk, tears streaming down his face.

No matter how excellent a student, or any eighteen-year-old facing such unfair fate, it would bring tears to anyone's eyes.

Instead of returning to Class 9, Ziang climbed the stairs to the fifth floor.

He confirmed with his own eyes that Class 22 was the last.

Beyond that were only empty classrooms.

Little Butterfly, who are you really?

Where did you come from?