Peaches and Plums Don’t Speak – Chapter 22

by Little Panda

First Day of Elementary School (Part 2)

The young math teacher, having finally finished her warm-up, moved from the number 10 to 20, transitioning from the concept of addition to subtraction. “We know that 10+1=11 and 10+7=17. So, if we reverse it, 11-1=10, and 17-7=10. Now, what is 17-3? Very good, I see a lot of you are already counting on your fingers. Don’t rush, let’s look at the blackboard first…”

The math teacher had prepared the problems on the board in advance. The first row read: 11-9=, 11-8=, 11-7=, 11-6=, 11-5=, 11-4=, 11-3=, 11-2=. The second row went from 12-9= to 12-3=, the third from 13-9= to 13-4=, and so on, all the way to 18-9=.

She first let the students try to solve the problems. Most of them tilted their little heads back, counting on their fingers. Only the little girl in the very front was frowning, looking rather reluctant.

The math teacher glanced at the class roster and recognized her as the new student who had just arrived today.

An idea struck her, and she called on the girl. “Shall we ask our classmate Tao Anzhi to solve the problems on the blackboard for us?”

Anzhi stood up, her voice crisp and clear. “Teacher, there’s actually a rhyme for this. ‘Subtract nine, add one; subtract eight, add two; subtract seven, add three; subtract six, add four; subtract five, add five.’¹ ‘Subtract nine, add one’ means that to subtract 9 from a number, you just add 1 to that number’s ones digit to get the difference. For example, in the first row, for 11-9, you take the 1 and add 1, so 11-9=2.”

“So the answers for the first row are 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9. The answers for the second row are 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9. The answers for the third row are 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9. The fourth row is…”

The entire classroom fell silent, the only sound Anzhi’s unhurried voice. The numbers tumbled from her lips like tiny pearls, bouncing, crisp and smooth, in the air.

The students were stunned.

The math teacher…

Tears were streaming down the math teacher’s heart. My rhythm has been completely broken! The plan was to have the students work out the problems, then guide them to discover the pattern, create the rhyme, and then practice with more problems. Where do I even start from now?

It was like having the answer to a carefully prepared riddle effortlessly revealed by a clever person, leaving you utterly defeated.

The math teacher fixed her gaze on Anzhi. The girl had soft, chubby cheeks and stood perfectly straight, looking very serious. After finishing her answer, she blinked her dark, grape-like eyes at the teacher.

She seemed to be asking, Teacher, was I wrong? Why aren’t you praising me?

The math teacher cleared her throat, her voice strained. “Classmate Tao Anzhi’s answer is correct. Excellent! Please sit down.”

Being praised didn’t seem to excite Tao Anzhi in the slightest. She calmly accepted the baptism of stares from the entire class and sat down, placing her little hands neatly on her desk as if it were all perfectly normal.

A recent graduate who needed more engagement during her lectures, the math teacher stiffened slightly and sighed. Anzhi’s deskmate, a little boy, turned to her with an expression of pure adoration. “You’re so smart…”

It’s really simple, though! Anzhi thought. She was also confused. Why do you even need that rhyme? Can’t you just tell the answer by looking at it?

Next was language arts class. The Homeroom Teacher said, “Class, before we start the new lesson, let’s try a riddle. ‘Three people see the sun on the same day.’² Guess the character.”

Some students figured it out. “The character for ‘spring’!”

“Very good, you all knew it,” the teacher said. “It’s the ‘春’ in ‘spring.’ Who can give me a word or a sentence about spring? Anything is fine, as long as it makes you think of spring.”

Student A: “Spring is warm and the flowers are blooming.”³

Student B: “In spring sleep, one does not notice the dawn.”⁴

Anzhi: “In the spring pond, the little fish and shrimp swim from the bottom to the top, poking their heads out, wanting people to come play with them. And the willow branches by the pond wake up and join the fun. Then a light rain starts to fall from the sky. The spring rain is like a little child, its little feet pattering pitter-patter, jumping into the pond…”

Anzhi was speaking with great enthusiasm when she suddenly realized that all the students in the class were staring at her. So was the teacher at the front of the room.

Did I say too much??

Then came English class. Anzhi stood up to practice the dialogue. “I can see a frog. It’s cute, it’s green. What can you see, Joe?”

Her pronunciation was flawless British English, delivered in a sweet, childish tone. Her deskmate, the little boy named Joe, was so stunned he couldn’t react. “I, I can… I can see… Ahh…”

“a bird…” Anzhi whispered to him.

“a bird,” little Joe repeated, his face flushing red.

“What colour is it?” Anzhi prompted.

“Ahh… Ah…”

“Yellow…” Anzhi reminded him again in a tiny voice.

The dialogue stumbled to a finish like that.

The English teacher at the front of the class pushed up her glasses and rested her chin on her hand. “interesting…“

At four-thirty in the afternoon, Yan Qi had already arrived at the school gate. At this time, it was packed with parents picking up their children. She never thought she’d be one of them, and her emotions were a rollercoaster. Had Anzhi managed to adapt to school today? When she’d called home at noon, she couldn’t find out much, wanting to leave Anzhi time for her afternoon nap.

Shida Affiliated Primary School⁵ was quite strict with its students, especially those in the third grade and below. At dismissal, they had to line up by class at the school gate and wait for the teacher to do a headcount before they could leave.

The first-graders were easy to spot—they were the smallest bunch. Yan Qi’s gaze swept over them until she found the sign for First Grade, Class Three. Then, among the crowd of small children, her eyes instantly landed on an even smaller one: Anzhi, standing right at the front of the line.

Anzhi spotted Yan Qi waving at her from the crowd, and her eyes lit up.

“Tao Anzhi, is that your older sister? She’s so pretty!” the classmate behind her asked.

“Yep!” Anzhi’s dimples appeared, a little smug.

The Homeroom Teacher finished her headcount and announced, “Alright! You can go now, but be care—”

She hadn’t even finished the word “careful” before the flock of elementary schoolers burst forth like little pigeons taking flight, fluttering towards the school gate.

Anzhi came running over, thump, thump, thump, her little steamed bun face⁶ flushed pink. She had received her Red Scarf⁷ today, and it was tied at her chest, fluttering as she ran. She looked absolutely adorable.

“Auntie!” she called out crisply as she ran up. Suddenly, Yan Qi didn’t mind the title at all. In fact, she found it quite endearing.

She crouched down, placing her hands on Anzhi’s shoulders. “Are you hungry?”

“Not hungry.” Anzhi shook her head and asked happily, “Are you off work?”

“I came to get you first. It’s your first day of school, so I wanted to pick you up. I have to go back to work in a bit,” Yan Qi said, taking her hand as they started walking.

“How was school today? Did you meet your classmates?”

“Mhm!”

Anzhi, who had so coolly crushed her classmates in class and left a deep impression on the language, math, and English teachers, suddenly became shy. She tugged at the corner of Yan Qi’s coat with her little hand, her watery eyes shimmering like fireflies on a summer night. “The teachers asked me questions, and I knew all the answers! And! I got them all right!”

Seeing her adorable, praise-seeking expression, Yan Qi couldn’t help but smile. She ruffled her hair and praised her, “That’s amazing!”

“I knew Taotao would be fine. You’re so wonderful!”

Anzhi’s eyes curved into crescents in embarrassment. After a few steps, she realized, “Huh? Where’s the car?”

Yan Qi laughed. “It’s at home. We’re walking so you can learn the way.”

Anzhi nodded obediently. “Okay!”

Yan Qi led her to the busy intersection and waited for the red light. “You need to pay attention here. Our home is to the left. If you go the other way, you’ll end up near the shopping mall, understand?”

Anzhi looked up at her and smiled, her dimples full of playful mischief.

“Oh, you already know, don’t you?” Yan Qi mused. Of course she did. This was the girl who could get from the suburbs to a downtown kindergarten all by herself and had even attempted to run away from home.

“No, I only remember a little bit from when Grandmother Liu brought me home at noon…” Anzhi kicked her feet as she walked. She was wearing brand-new white sneakers and wasn’t moving very fast, so Yan Qi matched her pace.

“Oh, do you like Grandmother Liu?”

Grandmother Liu was only in her fifties. She was the mother of her eldest brother Yan Yidong’s driver. She was a kind woman who smiled a lot. In her youth, she had been a factory worker, and after being laid off, she earned her Maternity Matron Certificate⁸ and worked for a housekeeping agency. She was an excellent cook. She was planning to save up some money in Beicheng City to help her son with a down payment, and the Yan family paid her generously—not to mention she was working for her son’s boss’s family. Yan Qi had met her a few times and had a good impression of her. But the most important thing was that Anzhi had to like her.

“Mhm, Grandmother Liu’s cooking is delicious, but… she calls me ‘baby’…” Anzhi said, a little embarrassed.

Yan Qi smiled. “What’s wrong with that? Taotao is a baby…”

“That’s so flesh-numbing…”⁹ Anzhi covered her face with her small hands, mortified.

The March weather was growing warmer, and at just past four in the afternoon, the sky was still bright. This was the time of day that belonged exclusively to students getting out of school.

They crossed the intersection, passing a flower shop, a pet store, and a 24-hour convenience store.

The road stretched straight ahead. Anzhi’s steps were light, her head tilting up periodically to look at Yan Qi as she memorized the landmarks.

Tall, nameless trees stretched out their branches like hands embracing the clear sky. The sky was a lovely, limpid blue.

Anzhi’s gaze shifted from the sky to Yan Qi—the contours of her fair cheeks, her high ponytail. She was wearing a long, apricot-colored trench coat, black wide-legged high-waisted pants, and a white shirt tucked inside. She had on light makeup, and the long pearl drop earrings she wore swayed gently with her movements.

Anzhi then looked down at her shoes: gray suede high heels with a hint of purple.

“What is it? Are you tired? Do you want me to carry you?” Yan Qi sensed her gaze and looked down, smiling as she asked.

Anzhi was very tempted by the offer, but she weighed her schoolbag in her mind, glanced at Yan Qi’s nice coat, and shook her head. “I can walk.”

“Alright, we’re almost there. When we get home, you can eat if you’re hungry. Grandmother Liu has everything ready.”

“Okay!”

When they reached the entrance to their residential community, Yan Qi made a point of greeting the security guard and had Anzhi say a few words to him, telling him, “This is my child.”

“Did you remember? All the stores we pass on the way home?”

“Mhm! Why did we have to chat with Uncle Security Guard?”

“Oh, it’s so that if anything happens in the future, or if you ever come and go by yourself, he’ll remember you. But… you have to be careful to protect yourself. If he talks to you too much, or makes any strange movements, just ignore him.”

Anzhi didn’t quite understand, but she nodded anyway. Yan Qi sighed, feeling she hadn’t explained it very well. She ruffled Anzhi’s hair. “Of course, it’s best if you’re never coming and going alone.”

After a pause, she added, “I won’t let you be alone.”

Footnotes

Hanzi: 减九加一，减八夹二… | Pinyin: jiǎn jiǔ jiā yī, jiǎn bā jiā èr… | Context: A mnemonic rhyme for subtraction taught in Chinese elementary schools to help children quickly solve problems involving subtraction from teen numbers.
Hanzi: 三人同日见 | Pinyin: sān rén tóng rì jiàn | Context: A classic character riddle. The solution is the character for spring (春). It is formed by combining the characters for three (三), person (人), and sun/day (日).
Hanzi: 春暖花开 | Pinyin: chūn nuǎn huā kāi | Context: A common four-character idiom (chengyu) used to describe the pleasant and vibrant atmosphere of springtime.
Hanzi: 春眠不觉晓 | Pinyin: chūn mián bù jué xiǎo | Context: The first line of the famous Tang dynasty poem “Spring Dawn” (春晓) by Meng Haoran (孟浩然). It is a classic poem taught to children in China.
Hanzi: 师大附小 | Pinyin: Shīdà Fùxiǎo | Context: A common naming convention for elementary schools affiliated with a normal university (师范大学, shīfàn dàxué), which are universities specializing in teacher education. These schools are often considered prestigious.
Hanzi: 小包子脸 | Pinyin: xiǎo bāozi liǎn | Context: A common and affectionate slang term used to describe someone with cute, round, and chubby cheeks, like a steamed bun (baozi).
Hanzi: 红领巾 | Pinyin: hóng lǐng jīn | Context: The red neckerchief is the symbol of the Young Pioneers of China, a mass youth organization for children aged six to fourteen. Becoming a Young Pioneer and receiving the Red Scarf is a significant rite of passage for elementary school students in China.
Hanzi: 月嫂证 | Pinyin: yuèsǎo zhèng | Context: A professional certification for a ‘yuesao,’ a specialized nanny or confinement lady who provides postnatal care for both the mother and newborn during the first month after childbirth (坐月子, zuò yuèzi).
Hanzi: 肉麻 | Pinyin: ròumá | Context: A common slang term for something that is overly sentimental, cheesy, sappy, or cringe-inducing to the point of giving one goosebumps.

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Peaches and Plums Don’t Speak – Chapter 22

Footnotes

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