Chapter 11: School Finally Let Out

The next class was chemistry, and it happened to be held in Class B, so I brought my textbook along and didn’t need to return to my own classroom to fetch it.

I’ve never really been able to grasp chemistry. In middle school, it was relatively simple, and I managed to muddle through. But once I entered high school, the difficulty increased by leaps and bounds. Whenever the chemical equations grew more complex, no matter how I tried to balance them, I could never get it right. That wasn’t all—calculating solute, solvent, and solution quantities was another headache. Why must we prepare such bizarre mixtures? It left me dizzy.

And then, the last straw: organic chemistry. Alkanes, alkenes, alkynes, aromatic hydrocarbons, halogenated hydrocarbons, alcohols, phenols, ethers, aldehydes, ketones, carboxylic acids, their derivatives, amines, nitro compounds, nitriles, sulfur-containing organics… I couldn’t make sense of any of them.

Truthfully, I used to be quite interested in physics and chemistry, especially in doing science experiments. There’s one elementary school experiment I remember vividly: you needed a plate and a glass, fixed a candle in the middle of the plate—half a candle was best—filled the plate with water, lit the candle, then slowly covered it with the glass. When the candle went out, all the water would be drawn into the glass. I thought it was magical at the time. Later, I realized experiments weren’t always so fun; you had to record data and write reports…

Looking back, I suppose I’m someone who doesn’t really seek deep understanding—becoming a scientist is out of the question.

Just as I was lost in thought, the chemistry teacher strode into the classroom. He was a man in his fifties, very thin, not tall, wearing brown-framed glasses, and he loved smoking—his scent always preceded him.

His surname was Yang. His youngest son also took chemistry in Class B, but he wasn’t a good student and liked to get in fights.

I remember once during class, Teacher Yang said, “Kids these days think fighting is impressive, but it only works when you’re young. By the time you’re twenty, it’s useless. You still have to study hard.” Though he didn’t say it outright, everyone knew he was speaking to his son.

Ah, an old father, worn out with worry.

This class was a review of organic chemistry. My head was spinning—why was it all so complicated?

Finally, the bell rang. I quickly packed my books and returned to my own classroom.

With the college entrance exam approaching, all subjects except for those tested had been suspended; teachers now rotated among classes to answer questions. I didn’t have much to ask—mostly, I read on my own or worked through practice exams left by the teachers.

Evening study sessions were no longer mandatory. At last, I didn’t have to trek home under the stars every night.

Honestly, it suited me. Evening study never helped me much—just fatigue, and more fatigue, and still more fatigue.

Besides, the tense, restless atmosphere in the senior classroom was uncomfortable.

I used the last two periods to finish several practice papers, leaving one I could do at home.

My deskmate, Cui Ling, was already gathering her dorm mates to go eat dinner.

I packed my bag and prepared to go home.

The evening air was so fresh, and night hadn’t fallen yet. I arrived at the bicycle storage and, relying on memory, found my bike among the countless others.

Oh, I forgot to mention—studying at No. 1 High School, one thing always puzzled me: finding my bicycle. Sometimes, other students moved it to another spot; sometimes, I simply misremembered where I’d left it.

The most embarrassing time was when I hadn’t ridden my bike at all—I’d taken the bus—but still spent over twenty minutes searching the bike storage.

In short, I often worried about finding my bicycle. It was fine in summer, but in winter, when it got dark early, my nearsightedness made every bike look like mine.

I even had recurring dreams about not being able to find my bicycle.

Clearly, this small thing had quite an impact on me.

But today was all right—the sky was still bright, my bike hadn’t been moved, and I found it easily.

Riding home through the gentle evening breeze, I suddenly felt free.

The environment really can shape your mood…