Chapter 33: Nine Thousand Years

After finishing dinner and returning to the classroom from the cafeteria, he unexpectedly found a lunch box on his desk.

The lunch box was brand new, its surface gleaming, clearly recently purchased.

Li Heng asked his desk mate: “Comrade Sun Manning, do you know who left this?”

Sun Manning, organizing her desk, replied: “Zhang Zhiyong.”

Dum-Dum, having gotten into this class through connections, consistently ranked at the bottom and usually sat in the last row.

Li Heng glanced toward the back of the classroom and saw the idiot munching sunflower seeds with the girl beside him.

Of course, they didn’t dare do it openly—two books stood upright in front to block the view, their heads hidden beneath.

Seeing him approach, Zhang Zhiyong immediately pulled out two packs of five-spice sunflower seeds from his desk and shoved them into his hands—the kind costing one fen per pack.

He recognized them because his second sister, a glutton, often ate exactly this kind.

Li Heng asked: “Did you just buy this lunch box?”

Zhang Zhiyong lifted his head, sneering at him: “I bought it for you. Your old food bowl is pitted and cratered—worse than the moon’s surface—and it’s ruining your chances with girls.”

Old Master couldn’t stand it anymore, so he used the money he made from selling his ass to buy you one.”

At this, Dum-Dum widened his eyes: “Don’t you dare give it back! Whoever returns it is a dog!”

This idiot always had this kind of blunt energy.

Li Heng felt touched yet wanted to punch him, but didn’t play hard to get: “Fine, the lunch box does suit my vibe—I’ll take it.”

Back at his seat, he opened the lunch box and found nothing but good dishes inside.

Like egg dumplings.

Like chicken legs.

And a pork rib and winter melon soup.

Smelling the aroma, Sun Manning glanced over: “These dishes are excellent—Zhang Zhiyong really went all out.”

Exactly.

In his memory, Dum-Dum was always generous—even if he only had five yuan, he’d spend 4.9 to treat others, keeping one fen as capital.

In this regard, Zhang Zhiyong took after his father, slightly superstitious: that one fen was lucky money, like the “leading egg” in a hen’s nest—never to be spent, used to make money breed money!

Li Heng said: “This must be from the staff cafeteria’s stir-fry—Miss Rich, want some? I can’t finish it alone.”

To his surprise, Sun Manning declined outright: “No thanks, I’m not interested. Tonight, Song Yu, Mai Sui, and I had stir-fry too—just not these dishes.”

Fine then, if you don’t want it, don’t want it.

You’re rich, you’re picky, you’re awesome.

But I was just being polite—you’re so skinny you look like a rib yourself, barely any meat on your bones, not to mention eating two meals straight, three is no big deal.

The delicious smell made the study-obsessed students around him extremely uncomfortable; several secretly swallowed saliva, envious of the guy tearing into that chicken leg.

Chen Lijun, in the front row, turned halfway and glanced at him: “Li Heng, your meal today looks great—smells really tempting…”

Though the girl adored by Liu Li appeared gentle and refined, she was also a master of verbal tactics, shaped by her family environment.

Before she finished, Li Heng stood up immediately: “Enough, enough, Classmate Lijun—stop! I’m terrified of you—I’m going to eat outside.”

Watching Li Heng vanish out the door, Sun Manning couldn’t help laughing:

“You’re still the best, Lijun—you’re the only one in our class who dares treat him like that.”

Chen Lijun asked: “We’re switching seats soon—will you still sit here?”

Both girls ranked in the top ten of the class and had significant freedom in choosing seats, often picking exactly where they wanted.

Sun Manning replied: “Depends—I want to sit with Mai Sui, but I’m not sure if I’ll get the chance.”

Chen Lijun was surprised: “Aren’t you sitting with Li Heng anymore?”

In Class 204, everyone knew an unspoken rule: don’t compete with Sun Manning for Li Heng.

Once, two students tried to become his desk mates, hoping to ask him math questions—

The result? There was no result.

Afterwards, Sun Manning went straight to the homeroom teacher and, on a fabricated excuse, had both students moved—then she became Li Heng’s desk mate again.

Since then, no one dared compete with her.

And rumors of her secret crush on Li Heng spread from then on.

So when they heard Sun Manning was giving up Li Heng to seek Mai Sui as a desk mate, several students in front turned to stare at her in shock.

Their eyes… brimmed with pure gossip.

Meeting their stares, Sun Manning half-jokingly said: “Don’t look at me like that—he’s tired of me.”

“Ohhh!”

High schoolers were like this—most classmates knew each other well, and when they had a chance like this, they seized it as rare entertainment.

Overwhelmed by the chorus of teasing, Sun Manning pushed back with force, lifting her long neck like a giraffe: “Pfft! Believe me or not—I don’t care.”

Around 6:55 p.m.

Homeroom teacher Wang Qi planted his squat, stubby frame by the classroom door, and the previously noisy room fell instantly silent.

Wang Qi was pleased with his authority, thumping the doorframe with his right hand and shouting:

“You’ve got two minutes to tidy your desks—especially sweep up all fruit peels and paper scraps. Don’t leave your slovenly mess for the next occupant!”

At this, students scrambled—some organized books, others cleared trash.

A few boys quietly used pencil sharpeners to scrape off names carved into desk corners, afraid others might discover their youthful sins.

Yes, pencil sharpeners back then were foldable iron blades—some middle-school boys would pretend they were Xiao Li Fei Dao, making “biubiu” sounds, costing one fen each.

Though short, Wang Qi was a man of his word—he said three minutes, and it was exactly three minutes, down to the second:

“Alright! Time’s up! Put down what you’re doing and line up outside. Move fast—I won’t say it twice!”

The teacher’s first command, though firm, still had room for negotiation—his tone wasn’t harsh, and it was tolerable to hear.

But if you dared make him say it a second time, it would be a roar—scolding you was the least of it; he might even kick you.

His kicks didn’t care about gender, height, or status—anyone who annoyed him got kicked.

Even the 185-centimeter-tall guy in class got kicked—and afterward, he still bowed his head in shame, daring not to complain.

This phenomenon wasn’t rare in the 1980s—it was a microcosm of the era.

Back then, everyone believed: “Beatings produce filial children.”

To teachers and parents, these rowdy kids were so unruly they’d climb onto the roof and tear off tiles if not beaten every three days.

Parents typically told teachers when dropping off their children: “Teacher, please be strict with him—if he misbehaves, beat him—beat him hard, don’t worry about breaking him.”

Teachers took this literally and beat them—parents didn’t complain; they even smiled and poured water to wash the teacher’s hands.

Try doing that today?

Oh no! Look at this! The whole system would flip—several unlucky ones would lose their jobs.

Of course, as the old saying goes, there are always exceptions.

Teacher Wang Qi was harsh, but his top students were his precious gems—he wouldn’t even scold them, let alone hit them; even when they messed up, he turned a blind eye.

Like the girls: Song Yu, Mai Sui, Sun Manning, and Chen Lijun.

And the boys: Li Heng, Liu Li, Guo Deshu, Zou Ai, and Liu Yejiang.

As everyone said: “Nine Thousand Years’ favoritism is blatant—no hiding at all—he’s just trying to make you furious, explode, and die of jealousy!”

There’s no fairness at all!

“Nine Thousand Years” was the nickname students quietly gave Teacher Wang Qi—a slang term.

The nickname came from two reasons:

First, the homeroom teacher was brutally cruel.

In second year, a girl had written a love letter to a boy—enraging him completely. She was punished by standing all day in his office, doors and windows locked, no breakfast or lunch—until classmates secretly slipped snacks through the crack to save her.

Afterwards, the girls complained the teacher had no compassion, no romance, called him a eunuch.

Second, the teacher was over forty but had no beard—his face was cleaner than a dog’s lick.

How bizarre!

Thus, the title “Nine Thousand Years” naturally arose.

PS: Hmm… Li Heng and Song Yu were slightly revised—some comments may have been omitted, sorry.

(End of chapter)