Actually, it’s not hard to understand. If a job requires an adult to repeat a simple arithmetic problem, a childish sentence, or even an unfunny joke for decades, then occasionally scaring people to let off some steam is understandable.

It’s just that most of them aren’t very good at controlling the degree. “Have you had too many PE classes? Getting out of hand, aren’t you? Gone wild? Did you use your brain when doing your homework? I’m asking you, Zoe Young!” Zoe Young jerked her head up in fright. The teacher finally called her name, finally looked at her, but while she had guessed the beginning, she hadn’t guessed the ending. Zoe Young lowered her head deeply, like a death row inmate before execution.

“What did I say when I assigned the homework? Didn’t I tell you to write the numbers 1 to 9 in the right half of the grid? Who told you to write them on the left? The first ten were on the right, how did they end up on the left as you went on? What were you thinking about when you did your homework? Your pinyin test was so bad too, did you use your brain at all?”

The homework notebook was thrown far away. The dark blue hard-cover binder was supposed to be held together with a rubber band to keep the exercise book inside, but now it fell apart in midair. The binder hit a boy in the third row on the head, and the white soft-cover book inside fluttered down, pages scattering, landing at Fiona James’s feet. Fiona James bent down to pick it up, stood up and walked over to Zoe Young, placing the homework and binder together on her desk.

The boy who got hit didn’t dare cry out, since it was the teacher who threw it. He could only cover his head with his right hand, rubbing it hurriedly in a symbolic gesture, then quickly put his hand down, pretending it didn’t hurt at all—but of course it hurt, so a few seconds later he couldn’t help rubbing it again. Teacher Yu naturally felt a bit guilty, glanced over twice, saw the boy was basically fine, then looked away, trying hard to keep an angry expression, and continued to glare at Zoe Young.

After a pause, all the students whose homework had been torn up were called by name one by one by the homeroom teacher. Exercise books flew around the classroom, fluttering like a flock of white doves.

The students who were called stood up one by one, heads bowed, just like Zoe Young. When the last name was called, the remaining students sitting down let out a sigh of relief. Emily Xavier looked up and shot Zoe Young a reproachful glance. Those beautiful big eyes were full of angry disappointment—You disobedient kids, making the teacher angry, wasting everyone’s time, disgracing the class, you’re just too much.

During PE class in the afternoon, Zoe Young wasn’t allowed to go out and play. She and the other ten students left behind sat at their desks making up homework, and also had to copy every pinyin mistake from the test twenty times for the teacher, or else they wouldn’t be allowed to go home after school—only when it was finished could they leave.

Zoe Young was anxious and flustered, and for the second time, she accidentally wrote the numbers in the left half of the grid again. Teacher Yu tore up her homework on the spot and tossed it to her, saying, “What were you thinking about when you did your homework? Just thinking about going out to play? This notebook is an eyesore, get a new one and rewrite it for me!”

She had no choice but to go downstairs, teary-eyed, to the school shop to buy a new grid notebook, but was caught by the student on duty. The fifth-grade girl on duty, wearing a red armband, grabbed her arm sternly: “School rules say first graders can’t go to the shop alone. You’re not even wearing your red scarf, so you must be a first grader, right? Which class? What’s your name?”

Zoe Young pleaded again and again to no avail, tears falling like golden beans. Just as she was about to give in and tell the student her name, she suddenly heard someone behind her say with a cheeky grin, “Sister Yao, she’s in our class, can you not write her name down? I’m the class monitor, I didn’t take care of my classmate, the teacher will scold me…”

The student on duty finally smiled, tapping the little boy on the head: “You’re always so much trouble!” Then she turned back, face stern again, and said, “You need to remember to follow school rules, don’t keep making trouble for your class monitor, understand?”

Zoe Young nodded, grabbed her new notebook, and fled past Andrew Lane. She heard Andrew Lane calling her name behind her, but she didn’t dare look back.

Back in the classroom, she had just written half a page of numbers when she suddenly heard Teacher Yu call her name. She walked to the door and saw her mom had arrived.

The teacher had called her parent.

Zoe Young’s mom was called over from a sales department meeting, thinking Zoe Young had gotten into big trouble, but it turned out to be just a forty-point test and a not-so-well-done homework. She was a bit angry, but couldn’t take it out on the teacher. She understood the hints in Teacher Yu’s words—about asking parents to “cooperate,” and the Saturday remedial classes at the teacher’s house for extra money… The more she listened, the more impatient she got, but could only smile and nod perfunctorily. After the teacher left, she and Zoe Young stood in silence in the hallway.

“Mom, I’m sorry.” Zoe Young choked out, her voice quieter than her sniffles. “Zoe,” her mom’s voice was tired, “Mom isn’t capable of giving gifts to the teacher like other parents.

Mom is busy and tired, and can’t watch you do your homework or help you with pinyin dictation every day. I know you’re a good kid, so can you try to focus a bit more, work a little harder, okay?”

Zoe Young hung her head in shame. Suddenly, she saw Duke Gregory tugging at her skirt, looking at her sadly, as if saying, Your Majesty, please don’t cry, okay?

But how could she not cry? Her Majesty’s castle had already fallen. She finally handed in her homework, and the children gradually returned to the classroom. Zoe Young went to the washroom to wash her face, then came back and sat in the gentle evening sunlight, lost in thought. Her mind was a gentle blank.

At dismissal, everyone stood on the playground, punished to stand for ten minutes—Teacher Yu said it took too long to line up, scolded the PE monitor, then made everyone stand in place for ten minutes without moving. Other classes were already filing out toward the gate, and the parents waiting to pick up their kids craned their necks at the entrance, searching for their little ones. Zoe Young felt a little bug crawling on her forehead, and just as she was about to brush it away, she remembered Teacher Yu’s cold expression and held back.

Teacher Yu finally nodded. With permission, all the students in Class 7 let out a sigh of relief and headed for the gate, not too fast or too slow, as if afraid that walking too quickly would anger the teacher, as if they could already hear a scolding: “So you’re in a hurry, huh? Fine, let’s just stand here and not go. I’ll let you be in a hurry!”—and then more punishment.

This calm, unhurried composure really is instilled from childhood. People have to learn bit by bit to hide their desires—if you want to take, you must first give. Killjoys call it hypocrisy.

Finally at the gate, the front rows began to scatter, and everyone turned into little birds returning to their nests, cheerful and lively again. Zoe Young stood in the crowd, watching everyone’s happy faces, smiled with an unclear meaning, then lowered her head and squeezed out of the crowd, feeling lonely.

The little street stalls lined up outside the school wall were still bustling, even though every so often the school office would crack down on them, but they’d be back the next day. Zoe Young didn’t rush home. She wandered along the school wall in a daze, carefully looking at each stall, buying nothing, not stopping, as if she were an official inspecting the grassroots, or a soulless outsider, watching the elementary students squat on the ground, carefully picking through things. Marbles and cards for the boys, origami paper and lucky star strips for the girls, little toys for the lower grades, celebrity photos and stamps for the older kids… The whole street was covered in colorful, cheap trinkets that made up a generation’s childhood.

Suddenly, she felt her ponytail get yanked hard from behind. She didn’t need to turn around to know it was Andrew Lane. She didn’t look back or stop, just kept walking slowly, unresponsive. Andrew Lane ran up beside her, panting as if he’d had a hard time catching up, but unlike before, he didn’t chatter away—he just walked with her, aimlessly circling the school wall.

Finally, he couldn’t hold it in.

“You… you’re not… you’re in a bad mood?” Zoe Young nodded, then shook her head. She felt she didn’t have the right to be in a bad mood.

Andrew Lane was silent for a while, his eyes downcast, looking even more dejected than her: “I asked your deskmate, and he told me what happened to you.”