Chapter 40: What If I Quit My Job and Marry You?

Don’t think Wang Qi always looks sour and cold in front of students—that’s just part of his role.

In reality, among friends and acquaintances, he’s quite humorous and easygoing.

As 206’s homeroom teacher Luo said: if Wang Qi starts joking around with you without restraint, that means he truly considers you a friend; otherwise, he’s tight-lipped.

So Wang Runwen didn’t take the words “marry him” seriously—just heard it and moved on.

She asked later: “So, Old Wang, which is better, People’s Literature or Harvest?”

Wang Qi pointed at the ceiling above his head: “Both are the pinnacle of domestic literary magazines—both are excellent.”

“People’s Literature” needs no explanation—it’s backed in Beijing by the China Writers Association and the China Writers Publishing Group.

And the chief editor of Harvest is Old Master Ba—figure it out yourself.”

Hearing the names “China Writers Association” and Old Master Ba, Wang Runwen bowed in reverence; their status in her mind instantly soared.

This guy Li Heng has quietly pulled off something huge…!

Wang Runwen didn’t understand anything right now, yet somehow understood everything; she told Teacher Wang:

“There are a few minutes left until class ends—I’ll take Li Heng with me.”

“Alright.”

Wang Qi didn’t ask why—he just said “alright,” stepped aside, and made way for her to enter the classroom.

Seeing the English teacher carrying a bundle of breakfast, students in Class 204 stared with envy; some boys even sneaked glances at her full, upright figure, wishing they were Li Heng.

Arriving at Row 4, Group 5, Wang Runwen tapped a student’s book with her finger: “Come out with the teacher—there’s something to discuss.”

Then she addressed the curious glances around her: “Keep reviewing vocabulary and sentence patterns—memorize what you must, strengthen what you need. The scholarship exam is coming soon; I heard the headmaster say the questions will be especially hard—you’d better prepare mentally.”

With little time left, Li Heng had spent morning study session writing the remaining part of “To Live”; after two seconds of thought, he tucked the manuscript into his backpack to carry with him.

Outside the classroom, the English teacher simply handed him a portion of breakfast and said nothing.

Only when they reached the playground and saw no one nearby did Wang Runwen speak:

“Just now, the teacher received a call from an editor at People’s Literature—they’re looking for you…”

She recounted the entire phone conversation, then added regretfully: “Unfortunately, the line had static—I only caught ‘People’s Literature.’”

I didn’t hear what came after, didn’t even catch the caller’s name, only knew it was a young woman.”

Watching him slurp his tofu pudding nonstop, Wang Runwen asked: “Is ‘December’ your pen name?”

“Mm.”

“Why December? Why not another month? Is there some special meaning?”

“There are only twelve months in a year—it means ‘red every month.’”

In Shaoshan, many places add a ‘2’ at the end of red envelopes—this is where it comes from.

Arriving at the small artificial hill behind the teaching building, the English teacher sat on a sheltered stone bench and fixed her gaze on his eyes:

“Don’t you have anything to tell me?”

Li Heng sat opposite her and smiled: “Teacher, let’s make a deal—let me finish breakfast first, then you can interrogate me, okay?”

“Don’t phrase it so harshly—you don’t have to say anything.”

“How could I not? You’re the only person here who’s truly close to me—and I’ll need your help later.”

“Close? I bet you’re just after my home landline.”

Her father used to be the longtime principal of No. 1 High School, then transferred to Xiangnan Normal University Affiliated High School, where he built a new family.

The current principal of No. 1 High School was promoted by her father, so her home landline was never disconnected, and she wasn’t asked to vacate the apartment.

Li Heng’s eyes darted as he muttered: “If not the phone, what else could I want? I wouldn’t dare say I’m after you!”

Wang Runwen crossed her arms, half-lidded her eyes, and spat five words through clenched teeth: “Try it!”

Try it and you’re dead.

Li Heng wasn’t foolish—he’d won the verbal exchange; no need to push further.

In public, he shed his home-style wolfish eating habits and ate slowly, carefully, mindful of his image.

Wang Runwen didn’t rush him—she watched him in silence.

After finishing one fried dough stick, one cup of tofu pudding, and three meat buns—each the size of a palm—he was finally full.

After a moment of mutual gaze, Li Heng, now clear-headed, recounted the entire story of writing “To Live” in detail.

The English teacher listened quietly, asking no questions, interrupting not once; only after he finished and she’d digested it for a while did she suddenly speak:

“So if ‘To Live’ gets published, you’ll be a famous writer?”

Li Heng nodded smugly: “Yeah, more or less.”

“You haven’t turned eighteen yet, have you?”

“My birthday’s in May—two months away.”

Studying his face closely, Wang Runwen fell silent; after a long while, she extended her hand:

“Do you have a copy of ‘To Live’? I’d like to read your masterpiece.”

“Don’t talk like that—it’s too formal. Wait a moment.”

He did have a copy: after sending two 40,000-word openings, he’d made a third at home, just in case.

This habit—slightly obsessive—came from his time working in the system: always overthinking, always preparing for emergencies, anticipating surprise inspections from superiors.

“So far, I’ve written about 105,000 characters—not finished yet. Here, take this and read it; the ending should be ready the day after tomorrow.”

Li Heng pulled three stacks of manuscript from his backpack and handed them over.

The English teacher took them and asked half-jokingly: “Aren’t you afraid I’ll steal your manuscript?”

Meeting her gaze, Li Heng said seriously: “No. You’re my teacher.”

The English teacher snorted: “Ha! This is a chance to leap straight to the top—your teacher’s title isn’t enough protection.”

Li Heng, full and relaxed, stretched and yawned sleepily: “If I can’t even trust our dear, lovely Teacher Wang Runwen, then this world is truly fucked.”

Her eyes lingered on his face for four or five seconds, then she waved her hand irritably: “Class is about to start—get out! Remember to come home at noon for the phone call.”

“No, no! Don’t turn on me so fast—I still have something to tell you.” He stayed seated.

“Spit it out!” Wang Runwen’s mind was on the manuscript—she was dying to know, and had zero patience for him.

“Here’s the thing—I submitted to two magazines. When I get the call at noon, you stand beside me and help me out…”

Behind “stand beside me” came a string of shenanigans; Wang Runwen frowned: “Where did you learn these underhanded tricks? Don’t you fear angering them?”

Li Heng said confidently: “No fear—I have full confidence in my writing.”

Besides, I’ve rewritten another copy—if those two reject it, I’ll submit to others immediately.”

“At worst, I just waste time—no real loss.”

“Fine. Get out!”

The English teacher didn’t say yes or no—she just told him to leave.

Seeing her begin flipping through the manuscript, Li Heng wisely let it go, stood, and left.

The first two periods were Chinese class.

The Chinese teacher was the school’s head of discipline—he stood about 170 cm tall, wore a side-parted hairstyle, had sharp features, and was neatly groomed with hair gel and a tie—impeccably handsome.

Unfortunately, three finger-length bloodstains on his left cheek ruined his appearance.

Seeing the whole class stare at his left cheek—up and down, side to side—the head of discipline touched the scars and joked:

“Heh! Don’t follow my example. As a man, if you can’t even beat your wife, it’s because you lack education.”

“If I had deep knowledge, I could silence her with words alone—why would I end up like this?”

“Study hard, understand? Aim for a good university this year, marry a cultured, well-mannered wife later—don’t repeat my mistake. It hurts like hell.”

“Hahahaha…”

The whole class burst into laughter; the two periods passed quickly in a relaxed atmosphere.

The third and fourth periods were history—homeroom teacher’s class.

Unlike the previous two, everyone sat upright, listening intently and taking meticulous notes; the lesson was so rich, time flew by.

“Ding ding ding…”

As the bell rang for the end of the fourth period, Teacher Wang Qi glared furiously at a boy sitting by the door and scolded:

“Are you that hungry? Can’t you wait one second? Go stand in my office for two hours—dismissed!”

The class sympathized with the poor guy, closed their books, grabbed their lunchboxes, and hurried toward the cafeteria.

“Hey? Li Heng, why aren’t you bringing a lunchbox?” As they left the classroom, Liu Li asked him.

Zhang Zhiyong tilted his head and exclaimed: “What’s to ask? He’s going to the English teacher’s place for a feast, obviously.”

Hearing this, classmates around turned to look again, envious once more.

Down on the first floor, Li Heng parted ways with the group and headed alone toward the teachers’ dormitory.

But before he’d gone far, Sun Manning called from behind: “Li Heng, wait up!”

Li Heng turned: “Aren’t you going to the cafeteria? Going home to eat?”

Sun Manning jogged over, shaking the lunch box in his hand: “My family slaughtered a chicken today—I’m taking some to Song Yu and Mai Sui.”

“Do I get a share?”

“I did, but now I don’t.”

“Huh?”

“You’re going to the English teacher’s for food—we’re jealous.”

Sun Manning lived on the third floor; so did the English teacher. They chatted all the way up, parting only at the third-floor corridor entrance.

Just before separating, Sun Manning turned back and asked: “Want to come home and eat something?”

Li Heng shook his head.

Sun Man narrowed her lips: “Ginseng stewed with black chicken—can’t even tempt you?”

Li Heng smiled and waved his hand: “No thanks, I need to speak with my teacher.”

“Oh, fine then, see you!”

“Bye.”

Walking ten meters down the corridor to the right, Li Heng stopped at the fourth door and knocked.

“Knock knock knock…”

“Knock knock knock…”

“Who is it?”

After six knocks, movement finally came from inside.

“Teacher, it’s me,” Li Heng announced.

With a creak, the old wooden door opened, revealing Wang Run’s face.

Before he could greet her, she stared at his eyes strangely and said:

“Li Heng, maybe I should just quit my job and marry you.”

PS: Long chapter. Posting first, editing later…

(End of chapter)