Chapter Sixty-six: Spring Outing

The river received a boost in spirit, and naturally had to pay for it with physical labor. Hong Tao felt this was only fair, so the schoolbags he carried, along with Jin Yue’s, were promptly transferred onto Da Jiang’s back. Da Jiang didn’t mind the two small bags at all—though they were especially heavy, he’d been assured by Hong Tao that both were filled with meat and fruit, and he had his share inside.

When lunchtime arrived, Hong Tao found a large, flat stone midway up the mountain slope, pulled several sheets of newspaper from his bag, spread them over the stone, and then began to lay out the various canned goods one by one. Under Da Jiang’s ravenous gaze, he opened each can with a can-opener. Instantly, the air around the Spring Shade of Qiong Island was suffused with the aroma of meat, as if the very air could squeeze out droplets of oil.

“Thank you for your generosity, but your teacher will only have a bite. Tomorrow, I’ll have to visit your home and ask your father why he indulges you so much!” Hong Tao shamelessly dragged Director Bai to his little makeshift dining table, hoping she would enjoy some delicacies. She only took a symbolic bite, then sternly warned Hong Tao and walked away.

“You’ve made the teacher angry again. When we get home, I’m telling Uncle Hong! Hand me that fish…” Jin Yue was fearless of teachers, much like Hong Tao, but she was a favorite in their eyes. Beautiful, good at her studies, class monitor and life commissioner—her only flaw was her frequent association with Hong Tao, the troublemaker. Otherwise, there was hardly anything to fault her for. Crucially, she had no unusual habits compared to other children, so teachers chose to overlook her single shortcoming. At parent-teacher meetings, they’d even urged Uncle Jin to educate his daughter to stay clear of Hong Tao, the bad influence.

Of course, Uncle Jin understood Hong Tao’s character well. He believed Hong Tao was already quite restrained at school, and he knew whether his daughter had truly been led astray by him. He couldn't quite say she hadn't picked up some bad habits—developing a taste for good food and nice clothes—but these were minor faults he could tolerate. After all, she was his cherished daughter, and a bit of pampering was understandable.

“Hong Tao didn’t say anything—how did he anger the teacher? You love tattling! You’re a little spy!” Zhang Da Jiang, stuffing his mouth, defended Hong Tao. As for this child, the teachers had essentially given up; his mind was too simple and straightforward. Whoever treated him well, he liked—not just in words, but in actions. No matter what the teachers said, Da Jiang couldn’t comprehend or grasp the underlying meaning. He was unafraid of being ostracized, having been isolated since nursery school, and had long grown used to it. Now, Hong Tao was as revered in his heart as his grandfather, who’d doted on him since childhood—even more so than his own parents.

“Brother Tao, why don’t the teachers like you?” Jin Yue asked a serious question.

“Because I’m better looking than all of them! Right, Da Jiang?” Hong Tao replied shamelessly.

“Absolutely, you’re the most handsome!” Zhang Da Jiang replied, equally shameless.

“Ha ha ha ha…” Hong Tao knew full well that this was the theory he’d drilled into Da Jiang every day, but it still felt so satisfying to hear. He grinned wide, revealing a mouthful of missing teeth, and laughed with a raspy, duck-like voice as if his life depended on it.

“This child! Hopeless!” The homeroom teacher, Wang, looked up at Hong Tao, who was laughing uncontrollably on the high ground, shook her head, and exchanged opinions with her fellow teachers, lamenting his wasted potential.

“In my view, the responsibility lies with his parents—they shouldn’t spoil him so much!” Another homeroom teacher from a different class sniffed the air tinged with the scent of meat, took a bite of her bread, and firmly supported Wang’s opinion.

“We shouldn’t be too dogmatic. His grades are excellent, and geniuses are often different from their peers in childhood.” The PE teacher had always admired Hong Tao, since he never misbehaved in PE lessons and his physical abilities rivaled those of third- and fourth-graders. So he spoke up with ease.

“Grades aren’t everything; character matters more. He’s so young yet already cares about food, drink, and clothes, spends money extravagantly, can’t get along with classmates, and shows little respect to teachers. Letting him be will affect other students.” Another homeroom teacher spoke, unable to stand Hong Tao’s conduct and worried about his influence on others.

“Teacher Wang, isn’t Jin Yue from your class learning with him? I think it’s working well—she’s much smarter than the other kids. Both scored perfect marks in the midterm exams, and only in music and art is Hong Tao more gifted. Frankly, you expect too much from these children, and it stifles their individuality. If Hong Tao keeps his talent in art till third grade, I’ll recommend him to the principal for the youth palace art class.” The art teacher, like the PE teacher, supported Hong Tao. Artistic-minded people tended to be more open and preferred lives without rigid boundaries.

“I think music class would suit him, too. His musical sense is very good, his foundation strong—he can turn simple notation into full scores, and plays the accordion. Next month, I’m signing him up for the singing competition; maybe he’ll win the school a prize.” The music teacher spoke up. Hong Tao liked her best of all—she looked like a little rabbit, with round eyes, nose, and cheeks, and a smile that revealed a pair of tiger teeth. Her temperament was pleasant and she was young, like an older sister. Of course, Hong Tao never viewed her as a sister, but appraised her with the eyes of an adult.

“Why not sports class? I want to discuss with him which events he’ll enter in the athletics meet. In the under-third-grade age group, he’s very competitive—maybe even at district level.” The PE teacher, hearing the others vie for his protégé, jumped in to stake his claim.

“…It’s getting late, let’s gather everyone!” Director Bai had been silent, growing increasingly annoyed. Every time Hong Tao was discussed, the teachers split into two camps, supporters and detractors, none able to convince the other, and everyone’s arguments made sense. Hong Tao was like a coin—on one side a bad child, on the other a good one, both sides extreme, incomprehensible, almost schizophrenic!

At that moment, Hong Tao was demonstrating his good side to all teachers and students. When the whistle blew for assembly, he and Zhang Da Jiang gathered all the cans, candy wrappers, eggshells, and other waste from the newspapers, bundled it all together, and carried it down from the stone. They ran dozens of meters to find a trash bin and set their bundle beside it.

The students, already lined up, saw Hong Tao and Zhang Da Jiang’s actions. Immediately, some broke ranks, picked up their own forgotten peels and eggshells, and jogged to toss them into the trash bin. The teachers should have been pleased with such practical application, but since the leader was the infamous Hong Tao, some expressions were particularly complex. To praise him would be to slap their own faces; to withhold praise, however, would be unjustified.

“Students, today Hong Tao and Zhang Da Jiang set a good example for everyone. When we return, each will be rewarded with a red flower—do you all agree?” Director Bai had no such qualms; she praised what was right and criticized what was wrong.

“Yes… oh…” The students drew out their response in agreement, then resumed their march in orderly lines.

“I have two red flowers now!” Zhang Da Jiang was delighted. The red flowers were posted on the classroom’s back blackboard—each student’s tally was clear at a glance. They rewarded not only academic excellence but good character. Until today, he had only one, earned for hard work on cleaning duty. Now he had two, so at parent meetings his family wouldn't be embarrassed by too few flowers.

“You’re better than me!” Hong Tao had none—the red flower system was managed in a non-transparent, non-public manner by the homeroom teacher and class monitors, and he, the notorious Hong Tao, had no hope of ever receiving one.

This spring outing brought Hong Tao a minor trouble: Director Bai did indeed visit his home the next day, specifically to complain that Hong Tao shouldn’t be given so much pocket money! His father grumbled that it wasn’t from him, but from the child’s grandfather—his own father-in-law—and he had no solution. Director Bai knew the grandfather’s reputation well; the two teachers vented about the old man, then shook hands and parted. As for the pocket money, neither could resolve it.

After the spring outing, the school launched another activity: collecting willow leaves. Every class was required to hand in a small bag of willow leaves each day, only the tender ones. The neighborhood’s willows suffered as a result—boys could be seen climbing up to pluck leaves, while girls gathered them below and stuffed them into little bags.

Why did the school want willow leaves? For health! They would boil the leaves into a soup, and every student drank a bowl daily, supposedly to prevent hepatitis. Whether it worked, Hong Tao didn’t know, but he remembered drinking plenty of willow-leaf water as a child. The taste wasn’t too bad—much milder than the herbal root, paler in color, and after drinking it, every belch carried the scent of fresh grass.