Chapter One: The Final Day

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In an old, worn office, a sturdy vintage fan hummed rhythmically, “thump thump thump thump...,” stirring gentle breezes through the air. Although it was summer, the region near the mountains had already cooled quickly by the afternoon, at least within this office.

Zhuang Lin, taking his midday rest, had completely relaxed.

Despite the surrounding noise—a faint, scattered commotion—his heart was filled with a quiet serenity, neither fully asleep nor awake, as if adrift on rippling turquoise waves.

Gone was the panic and anxiety of unfamiliar worlds; the longing for his hometown was set aside, and he had made peace with himself, accepting the simple truth that he remained ordinary, simply savoring this moment of tranquility.

In a sense, Zhuang Lin felt he was both a new version of himself and still the same man who found beauty in everyday life.

“Teacher Zhuang, Teacher Zhuang, Zhuang...”

A crisp voice abruptly interrupted his reverie, stirring his eyelids. He instinctively turned his head toward the sound and opened his eyes.

At the doorway stood a small boy, afternoon sunlight filtering through his silhouette, causing Zhuang Lin to squint slightly as he awoke.

The child clutched the hem of his shirt with one hand and scratched his head with the other, his face tinged with a hint of awkwardness and unease—likely aware that he had unintentionally disturbed his teacher.

This teacher, knowledgeable and at times stern yet humorous, was both respected and beloved by his students.

Almost instinctively, Zhuang Lin reached out to grab his phone.

Of course, it wasn’t there.

He silently mourned his battered phone, lost long ago in a mountain flood...

He then lifted his gaze and saw the patched, old wooden desk and several stacks of homework books atop it.

After a brief moment of daze, he smiled softly to himself and glanced at the clock on the wall.

The clock, encased in wood with a pendulum swinging steadily, read three fifty-two.

On the calendar beside it, adorned with fresh floral prints, July 1 was circled in red. The calendar noted the year 380 of the Jiachen cycle according to the new calendar, year 2024 AD, with the conspicuous words “Office of Astronomical Supervision” printed at the bottom.

Only six or seven minutes had passed since class ended; he had truly just dozed a little.

In the brief moment his eyes shifted back toward the door, Zhuang Lin had fully awakened. Supporting himself on the desk, he sat upright and smiled at the boy.

“Come in. What is it?”

Seeing the teacher’s smile, the child visibly relaxed and hurried inside.

“Teacher Zhuang, Grandpa Principal said he’ll be receiving guests soon and asked us to remind you not to forget to substitute for him!”

The boy’s voice was clear and pleasant, tinged with excitement and joy.

“Alright, understood. What’s the next class?” Zhuang Lin asked, glancing subconsciously at the timetable affixed to the desk. The boy eagerly answered without hesitation.

“Music class!”

“Ding ling ling ling ling...”

Just as the boy finished speaking, the school bell rang.

“You go ahead to the classroom first. I’ll grab my book and be there soon.”

With a quick “Okay,” the boy dashed out, instinctively responding to the bell’s call.

Once the boy had left, Zhuang Lin rose and approached the old principal’s desk to pick up the music textbook placed prominently there, then looked out the window.

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In the distance, the mountain sun cast a radiant glow through the Tyndall effect.

The old principal was not here at the moment—he must have gone ahead to greet the visitors.

Zhuang Lin pondered this and glanced back at the calendar.

This was not the world he once knew; he had realized that long ago. When he first saw the textbook claim that the territory of China spanned fourteen million square kilometers, he knew something was different.

So even though the calendar bore the year 2024, it was not the familiar timeline or space. The world’s overall size was noticeably altered.

His gaze fell on the black landline telephone on the principal’s desk. Reflecting on the information he had gathered so far, Zhuang Lin guessed that the pace of technological development here might be equivalent only to the 1990s in his own world.

“Ha...”

Zhuang Lin took a deep breath, steadying himself.

Yesterday, the old principal finally used the school’s landline to make that call. If all went as expected, today would be his last day teaching at Muleng Primary School.

The summer vacation would begin once classes ended, but the students likely had no idea that during the holiday, this humble school—the hope school originally built by villagers carrying materials on their shoulders—was about to be torn down.

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After a moment, the classrooms, attended by students from first to fourth grade, had already quieted. Zhuang Lin stood before the door.

Due to limited student numbers and teaching resources, most classes at Muleng Primary were taught to all students together.

As for why there were no fifth or sixth graders here—apologies—Muleng Primary only offered up to fourth grade. Older students had to go elsewhere.

Zhuang Lin lingered briefly at the door before entering.

“Stand up!”

The class monitor of the fourth grade loudly commanded, and all seventy or so children rose instantly.

Zhuang Lin, whose adaptability was always strong, was beginning to enjoy this life.

Though he missed the internet and the convenience of modern technology, the current simple and pure spiritual richness was not something to dismiss.

Stepping back, though the historical context here differed greatly from his former world, given the era he lived in now, in perhaps another ten to twenty years, development might gradually approach that level.

I am still so young; I can wait!

And by then, I probably won’t lack money either!

These thoughts briefly flashed through Zhuang Lin’s mind. A faint smile appeared on his face—partly out of habit to embody the image of a teacher, but mostly from genuine fondness for the children before him. Then he stepped into the worn classroom.

“Good day, students!”

“Good day, Teacher!”

Seventy lively voices, boosted by the anticipation of summer break, rose with such vigor it seemed they could coax the afternoon sun to rise again from the east.

“Please sit!”

Zhuang Lin spoke, and after the children settled, he stood at the podium flipping through the music book he had brought.

The history here was both familiar and strange—especially from the Yuan and Ming dynasties to the present era. Many things resembled those in Zhuang Lin’s memories, but there were many differences as well.

For example, the music book lacked many of the nursery rhymes that had been so familiar to Zhuang Lin in childhood.

His strength was not limited to following the textbook; this earned the old principal’s and the children’s recognition. Partly because he was not a formally trained teacher, but also due to his own flair.

At this moment, a sudden impulse struck Zhuang Lin. He decided not to teach strictly from the book but to close it and instead present a new song—a gift for the children.

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With just a slight alteration to some lyrics, it would become a most fitting song!

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At the same time, on the dirt road outside the school, several cars were slowly approaching along the distant path. The old principal of the school stood at the gate with the sole old janitor and security guard.

The principal’s hair and beard were entirely white, his beard nearly half a foot long. He watched the approaching vehicles with a faint sigh and coughed several times. The similarly aged old man beside him reached out to support him but was waved off.

In the lead car’s back seat sat two men.

The man on the right was middle-aged, slightly corpulent. His simple, plain clothing and tired face belied an undeniable aura of wealth.

Beside him was a thinner, older man with graying hair and a scruffy beard. Despite the heat, he wore an undershirt with a work vest over it, his expression spirited.

The dirt road’s uneven surface, scarred by ox cart wheels, made the ride rough for those inside the vehicles.

“Mr. Liu, Director Zhou, we have arrived at Muleng Primary,” said the man in the front passenger seat, dressed in a suit and tie.

“Mm!”

The men in the back observed the school increasingly near through a window.

The wealthy man named Liu Shihao looked at the school but his thoughts were on matters yet to come.

Unlike others’ excitement or nervous anticipation, Liu Shihao worried most about his son.

Though the plan was somewhat absurd, it had been vetted by several psychologists and spiritual masters. This was Liu Shihao’s last resort.

He had no time left. Whether or not his son’s illness improved, he, as a father, had done all he could.

Of course, few knew of Liu Shihao’s own condition—not even Zhou Xianglin. His urgency was mostly interpreted as caring concern for his son.

The good news was that progress went relatively smoothly.

Sighing silently, Liu Shihao maintained a composed expression.

At the dirt road’s end, the principal’s cloudy eyes watched the approaching cars, memories of the school flooding back.

Here, even roads like this dirt path were rare, let alone any modern paved road.

So every brick and tile of Muleng Primary had been laboriously carried in by the principal and villagers years ago, traversing rugged trails and mountains. The principal felt deeply attached to this place.

As his thoughts drifted, the cars came to a stop nearby. The passengers began to disembark. The principal and the old janitor walked over.

The man leading the visitors glanced at his companions and stepped forward. The wealthy middle-aged man smiled broadly. Without waiting for the principal to speak, he reached out with both hands to shake the old man’s thin right hand.

“Old Principal, you’ve finally come to understand!”

The principal gave a wry smile, shaking his head.

“Mr. Liu, the children are all leaving. There’s no point for an old man like me to hold on any longer...”

“Thank you for understanding, thank you so much!”

Mr. Liu had little else to say, but he gripped the principal’s hand firmly.