[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-rising-in-1979":3,"chapter-rising-in-1979-rising-in-1979-chapter-124":6},{"origin":4,"title":5},"chinese","Rising in 1979",{"chapter":7,"nextChapterSlug":19,"prevChapterSlug":20,"totalChapters":21,"novelImage":22},{"id":8,"novel_id":9,"title":10,"slug":11,"index":12,"content":13,"wordcount":14,"created_at":15,"updated_at":15,"volume":16,"translator":17,"content_hash":18},2260832,4412,"Chapter 124: The Spring of the Sheep Herding Class (Guaranteed Second Update)","rising-in-1979-chapter-124",124,"\u003Cp>Aunt Lu Xiaoyan smiled: “Actually, many children’s and youth magazines in China are trying to commission work from you.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wei Ming nodded: “Yeah, they don’t have my contact info, so they pretend to be readers writing letters—once opened, they’re all commission requests. I’ve got quite a few already, especially from those two issues of ‘Youth Literature’—they’re the most eager.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>There are two magazines named ‘Youth Literature,’ both quite well-known—one in Shanghai, the other in Nanjing—and they’ve fought many lawsuits over the name.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wei Ming didn’t continue collaborating with ‘Children’s Literature’ because it’s now a bimonthly; the next issue is in March, and by the time ‘The Game of the Brave’ finishes serialization, half a year would’ve passed—bad for building reputation.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>So to raise the value of his pen name ‘Wei What,’ Wei Ming wanted to publish more children’s literature, becoming a force even Meiying Factory couldn’t ignore.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After the incident where Meiying Factory wanted the screenplay rights to ‘The Legend of the Heavenly Book,’ Aunt Lu Xiaoyan fully supported Wei Ming’s decision.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>If it were a giant of children’s literature like Zhang Tianyi or Chen Bochui, Meiying Factory wouldn’t dare entertain such thoughts—she was just curious what kind of story Wei Ming would write next.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wei Ming smiled: “I’ll finish it in a few days and let you read it first.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Great!” Lu Xiaoyan agreed cheerfully, though she felt a bit like betraying the family—still, they were all close relatives.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Back in the dorm, Wei Ming didn’t rush to write the screenplay for ‘The Legend of the Heavenly Book’ or start a new fairy tale—he stuck to his routine and kept writing that novella, finally completing it by the end of January.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The next day, in the bitter winter cold, Wei Ming mounted his old Forever bicycle to personally deliver the manuscript to the ‘People’s Literature’ editorial office.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>On the way out, he spotted a newsstand and remembered the January issue of ‘Harvest’ should be out—he went over, checked, and indeed there were copies left; he grabbed one immediately.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This issue featured Chen Dajie’s ‘Midlife,’ an excellent work Wei Ming was determined to support.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Also in this issue, Lu Yanzhou, author of ‘The Legend of Mount Tianyun,’ published a new piece called ‘The Call.’ He was feeling down—his screenplay had been picked up by the great director Xie Jin, only to be canceled last-minute.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Though they said they’d shoot it next, it was still a wasted joy.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Young man.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Just as Wei Ming tucked the magazine into his bag, the newsstand old man called out: “Aren’t you Wei Ming?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wei Ming pulled down his scarf to reveal his mouth and chin.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You still recognize me like this?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“It really is you!” the old man exclaimed, excited. “Why didn’t you publish anything this month?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In the past, Wei Ming published one piece every month.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wei Ming seriously reflected on why he’d slowed down lately, and finally decided Mei Linda was mostly to blame.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Women really do slow down your draw speed!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Don’t worry, old man—I work slowly but produce quality.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Then when’s your next piece coming out, and where?” the old man asked again.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He wanted to relive the feeling of readers lining up hundreds of meters to buy a magazine.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wei Ming: “Fastest next month, slowest—no telling. Depends on whether the editors like it. I’m delivering it now—I’ll tell you when I get back.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Alright then, hurry up, man! Pedal! Get up and pedal!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>‘People’s Literature’ was located at No. 52 Dongsi Eighth Alley, housed in a building borrowed from the Dramatists Association, directly across from Mr. Ye Shengtao’s courtyard.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>These days, not only were ordinary people struggling for housing—even ‘People’s Literature,’ China’s top literary journal, was struggling.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Since they were borrowing space, they only had five rooms: two large, three small. The fiction section took one large room and had the most editors.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After entering, Wei Ming first found Editor Tu Guangqun, the one he’d “bumped into” at Peking University last time.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Editor Tu’s eyes lit up when he saw Wei Ming and called out: “Wei Ming’s here!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>All the editors turned to stare—some exclaimed aloud: “So young!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wei Ming took off his hat and scarf, thinking: Compared to my youth, my looks are even more obvious.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Maybe Editor Tu’s voice was too loud—Zhou Ming, head of the poetry and prose section next door, came over too, introduced himself, and also wanted to commission Wei Ming.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Xu Yi, head of the fiction section, chuckled: “Old Zhou, he’s here for our fiction section—what are you doing?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zhou Ming: “What’s wrong with reserving first? It won’t interfere with you, and he’s already delivered the manuscript to you, right? By the way, what’s the title?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Tu Guangqun read the manuscript title aloud: ‘The Spring of the Sheep Herding Class’—ha, now he’s writing about sheep.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wei Ming had taken a full day off, so he let them read while he casually browsed whatever was around—he’d stick with them all day.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>There was no such story or film as ‘The Spring of the Sheep Herding Class’—only one classic French film existed: ‘The Chorus,’ which Wei Ming’s novella was based on.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In Taiwanese dialect, ‘sheep herding class’ refers to a class of underperforming students deemed hopeless—usually marginalized and ignored by society.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Douban -rated 9.2 film’s original title was ‘The Chorus’; Taiwan translated it as ‘The Spring of the Sheep Herding Class,’ and mainland China adopted that translation directly—even though there are no sheep in the film.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But Wei Ming’s ‘The Spring of the Sheep Herding Class’ really does have sheep.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In mainland China, there’s a similar phrase: ‘sheep herding,’ describing students left unmanaged, drifting aimlessly like sheep grazing freely in fields—less pejorative than ‘sheep herding class.’\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>So the children in Wei Ming’s novella aren’t labeled ‘problem kids’—they’re elementary students with no teachers, no discipline, long-term left to ‘sheep herding.’\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wei Ming watched this film often in his past life—he originally didn’t like kids, but his cousin Wei Xi kept divorcing, marrying three times and fathering seven sons.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Those little rascals overwhelmed Uncle Anping and his wife—they often dumped a few on Wei Ming. To better understand children, Wei Ming watched the film repeatedly, learning how to communicate with them; eventually, the seven boys grew close to him, calling him ‘Big Brother’ affectionately.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Though he knew the film well, Wei Ming only borrowed its structural framework—most content was original and locally grounded.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It tells the story of a music teacher and a group of students who evolve from mutual hostility into friendship and mutual healing, with music serving as the vital bridge to their hearts.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The first chapter, ‘Where Is Spring?’ is the protagonist’s soul-question—clearly signaling the era.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Correct—it’s another scar literature piece, the hottest genre, equivalent to xianxia or urban fiction on Qidian. Seeing this, Tu Guangqun immediately felt sales were guaranteed—Wei Ming’s most influential work, ‘The Horse Herder,’ was also scar literature.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But ‘The Horse Herder’ wasn’t a conventional scar story—and neither is ‘The Spring of the Sheep Herding Class.’\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The story unfolds in a southern village called ‘Tangdi,’ with mountains, water, and forests.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After a few mischievous kids blocked the village chief’s chimney, causing smoke to fill his house, the chief flew into a rage and demanded to know how the school principal managed his students.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The principal was equally frustrated: “It’s busy farming season—how can a father possibly pay attention? Besides, I can’t even read well.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“What about the teacher? Can’t he manage them?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Don’t you remember? A while back, you pushed too hard—Teacher Su, too proud, drowned herself.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At this point, Editor Tu wondered if Wei Ming was subtly referencing Lao She.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But Wei Ming was gone—he learned he’d been taken by Zhou Ming to meet Chief Editor Li Ji, also a poet, probably for a poetry gathering.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He kept reading—the father-son dialogue was absurd yet chilling.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The chief asked: “Then, can’t we find another teacher?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Heaven above, where’s a qualified teacher now? Even those with some education won’t admit they can teach.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“A teacher doesn’t need to teach well—just keep these little devils inside school and out of trouble. Fix it fast, or I’ll replace you with my second uncle as principal.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The old principal was desperate—when suddenly, a teacher fell from the sky: a university professor named Zhong, exiled to the village for labor.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The principal saw his candidate!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But Professor Zhong was confused: “I teach music!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Can you read? Can you do math? If yes, you can teach. Do well, and you’ll do less labor!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Professor Zhong was in poor health, injured—less labor was too tempting. He was forced back onto the podium as homeroom teacher for a mixed-grade class spanning grades one through five.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>On day one, roll call showed 23 students expected, only 3 present. The principal panicked, ordering him to bring the kids back—or his son would fire him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But Professor Zhong wasn’t worried—he played games with the three kids. By afternoon, there were five.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Day two: ten kids.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Day three: over a dozen.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Day four…\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Besides games, Professor Zhong gradually added reading and math lessons.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Though he taught music, he was a university professor—elementary Chinese and math were easy for him. Slowly, he regained the joy of teaching he’d felt in university.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Even as students arrived, the principal stood at the gate each morning to warn them: Professor Zhong was a “rightist”—stay wary.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It was his chief’s order, so tension always lingered between teacher and students.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Once student numbers stabilized, Professor Zhong noticed three were still absent.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He began home visits during class—thus the story unfolded…\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At noon, Wei Ming ate at a roadside restaurant, wandered around, spent some money, then returned to the editorial office.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>By then, Editor Tu had finished reading; others were scrambling to read it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Editor Tu had held back a question for a long time.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He asked Wei Ming: “In the story, the song called ‘Little Grass’—you say it made Chen Pipi cry, and though he held back, he made two little girls in class cry. Is this song real?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wei Ming: “Aren’t the lyrics written right there?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“But no one knows how to sing it?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“We’re all curious how it’s sung.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Yes, exactly.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wei Ming realized—the lyrics alone weren’t enough; the melody was needed to maximize the tear-jerking effect.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It also depended on the singer’s emotional delivery.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>So Wei Ming decided to sing a snippet on the spot, warning them first: this song affected those with tragic backgrounds more deeply—like Chen Pipi in the story.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“No flower fragrance, no tree height, I’m a little grass no one knows…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>(End of Chapter)\u003C\u002Fp>",1765,"2026-06-19T16:30:57.111Z",1,"Qwen3-Next 80B","00d7de2aac6fdddc9fb25b56dae90b509c31147af2536b449d00af50a96e69eb","rising-in-1979-chapter-125","rising-in-1979-chapter-123",509,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Frising-in-1979-cover.jpg"]