I Promise to Walk With You for Half of my Life’s Journey - Chapter 15

Rumors often begin in the smallest of details.

It started with a casual remark from Ms. Li of the English department in the staff lounge: “Ms. An seems quite concerned about that student in her class lately, Cheng Sutong. I often see her staying behind alone after school.”

Ms. Wang, who was grading assignments nearby, did not even look up. “That child is in poor health, is she not? Ms. An has a strong sense of responsibility.”

The conversation ended there. That was, until the mock exam results were announced.

Cheng Sutong’s physics score was among the top twenty in her grade. The bright red “92” on the report card was particularly eye-catching. Furthermore, only three people in the entire class had correctly answered the final complex problem: Cheng Sutong and two long-time competition students who consistently ranked in the top ten of the grade.

“This problem was beyond the syllabus, right?” During the break, students gathered to discuss the exam. “How did Cheng Sutong know how to do it?”

“Does Ms. An not always give her extra lessons?”

“Can extra lessons really lead to this? Then let us all go to Ms. An for extra help.”

“Forget it. She is a special case.”

The word “special” was intentionally emphasized with an unspoken, ambiguous undertone. Several boys burst into laughter, their harsh voices piercing through the noisy classroom.

Cheng Sutong sat at her desk and gripped her pen tightly. She could feel the stares coming from all directions. They were curious, searching, and exclusionary. She had become the person receiving special treatment, which is never a safe position to be in within a collective.

During the afternoon physics class, An Chuxin taught as usual, her voice calm and clear. However, during the question and answer session, her gaze lingered on Cheng Sutong for a noticeably longer time. She was not planning to call on her; she was checking on her state of mind.

Cheng Sutong kept her head down to avoid that gaze. She could feel that because of An Chuxin’s brief pause, several more pairs of eyes in the classroom drifted toward her.

She is looking at me. Why is she looking at me again? Are they really…

Those unvoiced questions condensed into invisible pressure in the air.

When the bell rang, An Chuxin spoke up while gathering her lesson plans. “Cheng Sutong, come to my office after school. Your solution to that last problem needs refinement.”

She spoke loudly enough for half the class to hear. It was a businesslike tone, perhaps even slightly stricter than usual. But Cheng Sutong knew it was only a facade. An Chuxin was using this method to provide a reasonable excuse for their time alone, which was one that had been publicly validated.

In the office, An Chuxin closed the door but did not discuss physics immediately.

“Lately,” An Chuxin began, her voice sounding somewhat dry, “have you heard anything?”

Cheng Sutong stood before the desk, her fingers picking at her backpack strap. “No.”

“You are lying,” An Chuxin said while looking at her. “You have not raised your head once since entering the classroom.”

Exposed, Cheng Sutong froze. She opened her mouth but could not make a sound. An Chuxin walked over and stood in front of her. They were so close that Cheng Sutong could see the bloodshot streaks in her eyes and the deep exhaustion hidden beneath.

“Listen,” An Chuxin’s voice was very low, and she emphasized every word. “No matter what others say, do not listen and do not think about it. The final exams are coming up soon. Your task is to study and take care of yourself. Leave the rest to me.”

Cheng Sutong looked up into her eyes. “But what about you?”

An Chuxin was stunned for a moment.

“They will talk about you too,” Cheng Sutong’s voice trembled slightly. “They will say you are biased and that you are special toward me.”

The last few words were difficult to say, and her cheeks flushed uncontrollably. An Chuxin remained silent for a long time.

“Let them talk,” she finally said.

She turned back to her desk and opened a physics workbook, her tone returning to its usual calmness. “Look at this problem. Although your solution is correct, the steps are too fragmented. High school exams award points based on steps, so we must be precise.”

She began her explanation as if the previous conversation had never occurred.

Rumors do not automatically dissipate just because a person ignores them. On the contrary, they are like vines that grow wildly in the soil of silence. Three days later, after the faculty meeting ended, the grade supervisor called out to An Chuxin.

“Ms. An, please stay for a moment.”

The other teachers left the meeting room one by one until only the two of them remained. The grade supervisor was a middle-aged man in his fifties who wore black-rimmed glasses and kept his hair meticulously combed. He slowly organized his meeting notes and waited a while before speaking.

“Ms. An, you have been very dedicated to your work lately.”

An Chuxin stood. “As I should be.”

“Especially your focus on certain students,” the supervisor said while looking at her through his lenses. “I heard that Cheng Sutong from Class 7 has made great progress recently?”

An Chuxin’s heart sank, but her face remained expressionless. “She has a good attitude toward her studies and has potential.”

“Yes, students with potential deserve more attention,” the supervisor nodded while his finger unconsciously tapped the table. “However, as teachers, we must also pay attention to our methods. Tutoring sessions that are too frequent or private can sometimes lead to misunderstandings among other students and parents.”

He spoke very tactfully.

“I understand. I will be careful.”

“That is good.” The supervisor stood up and patted her shoulder like an elder giving well-intentioned advice. “Ms. An, you are young, highly capable, and have a bright future. Do not let insignificant matters affect your career.”

He paused and added, “Of course, I believe you have a sense of propriety. After all, it is better to maintain an appropriate distance between teachers and students, do you not agree?”

An Chuxin did not speak; she simply nodded.

The supervisor left satisfied, leaving her alone in the meeting room. An Chuxin stood still for a long time. She looked at the four large characters on the wall, “Teach and Nurture,” and suddenly felt the red ink of the slogan was glaring.

What if the method of nurturing exceeded the established framework? What if the person who needed to be nurtured was also the only person who made her feel like she was still alive?

There were no answers to these questions, and she could not go looking for them.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket. It was a message from the caregiver: “Ms. An, your mother is in good spirits today. She is asking when you will visit.”

An Chuxin stared at the screen until the light faded, reflecting her own blurred and pale face. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. She picked up her meeting notes, straightened her back, and walked out of the room.

The sound of her heels clicking against the floor echoed in the empty corridor one step at a time, steady and determined. Just like her life, no matter what she faced, she could only move forward. She could not stop, and she certainly could not look back.

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