For Anzhi, the hardest part of elementary school was never the textbook material or getting along with her classmates. It was her turtle-speed growth spurts, which stood in the way of her skipping a grade.
At first, back in first grade, she managed to pay attention in class. The environment was new, she had a naturally obedient personality, and because her Grandfather had also been a teacher, she had an innate respect for them. But eventually, she just couldn’t listen anymore. And since she sat in the front row, she couldn’t even sleep.
Bored, she started practicing her calligraphy, copying from workbooks. She wanted to have beautiful handwriting, just like Yan Xi. But she was still a child, and even calligraphy got dull sometimes, so she started sneaking peeks at picture books. Yan Xi had dedicated a large corner of the two built-in bookshelves on the second floor just for her, stocking it with storybooks and picture books in both Chinese and English. They were placed just low enough for her to reach.
Little Anzhi was clever. She never read during Chinese class, because that was taught by her Homeroom Teacher. She would, at most, practice her characters. She wouldn’t read during English class either, because the English teacher told stories, taught them nursery rhymes, and had them practice dialogues.
So, she usually read during math class, a rather blatant transgression. At first, she tried to be sneaky, hiding her book. Aside from when the math teacher assigned problems or when she was helping her sturdy, simple-minded1 deskmate, Anzhi would secretly read her picture books, sometimes getting so lost in them she forgot where she was.
From the commanding height of the lectern, a teacher could see every little move the students made. The math teacher, a recent graduate, possessed a fresh-out-of-the-oven passion for teaching and a fragile, scorching-hot teacher’s dignity. She tolerated it once, then a second time, but the third time was unbearable. She confiscated Anzhi’s picture book and called her to the office.
The entire class of first-graders erupted.
You had to understand, a month into the school year, Anzhi had already become the quintessential ‘other people’s child’2 in Class 1-3. She was brilliant in every subject and was so fair-skinned and cute (even if she was a little short…). She was super smart; you could ask her any question and she’d know the answer. Her clothes were always nice, too. On the school’s Casual Clothes Day,3 she had worn a yellow sweater with light blue overalls and a dark blue denim jacket that had little rabbit ears on the pockets. It was so cute that a crowd of girls had surrounded her, asking where she bought it.
She also often brought homemade cookies and egg tarts to share. And Her guardian was super beautiful! Everyone in the class wanted to be her friend.
Because she was new and younger than most of the other students, the Homeroom Teacher hadn’t made her a Class Cadre.4
But now, she’d been called to the office! And they heard a parent was being called in!
Besides the Class Cadres, the only kids who got called to the office were the ones about to be scolded!
A few of the bolder students from Class 1-3 trailed behind the teacher, sticking their heads out to peek through the door and windows.
In the first-grade office, teachers each occupied a desk piled high with thick stacks of homework.
During the break, the math teacher entered with a grim expression, Anzhi shuffling her little feet slowly behind her.
The Homeroom Teacher of Class 1-3 saw her come in and raised an eyebrow. “What’s going on, Teacher Yang?”
Teacher Yang, the math teacher, spoke up. “She doesn’t pay attention during class and reads extracurricular books! And this isn’t the first time!”
The English teacher at a desk behind them glanced over.
The Homeroom Teacher remained silent. Since the math teacher had brought the student in, it was her place to handle it. She would just observe for now.
“Tao Anzhi! What is wrong with you? Have you decided you don’t want to learn anymore? If so, I’ll have your guardian come pick you up and take you home!” Teacher Yang tossed the copy of Grimm’s Fairy Tales onto her desk.
“Teacher!” Anzhi said urgently. “Please don’t call my Auntie! She’s very busy with work!”
“Then tell Teacher Yang why you weren’t listening in class,” the Homeroom Teacher said.
Anzhi pouted, tapping her little foot on the floor. After a few fidgety movements, she finally said, “But… I already know all of it…” Her face was full of innocence, even a hint of grievance.
“You know it all?” The math teacher was surprised. “What do you know?” She’d assumed Tao Anzhi was just a bit clever and quick-witted. She didn’t expect the child to start counting on her fingers.
“I can multiply and divide three-digit numbers by two-digit numbers, use long division, add and subtract decimals, and do the four basic operations…”
“…”
The math teacher was skeptical. According to what she’d just said, that was fourth-grade material. She stood up and found a test paper for her. “Do this worksheet first.”
“But next period is P.E. class…” She could go play on the field instead of being stuck in a classroom learning things she already understood.
The math teacher glared, and Anzhi clamped her mouth shut, though she still looked a little unhappy. At this, the Homeroom Teacher had to step in and smooth things over. “Alright, just do the worksheet. As soon as you’re done, you can go to P.E.”
Anzhi thought for a moment, took the paper, and glanced at it curiously.
“If you can’t do it, that’s fine. But you can’t lie to your teacher, and you have to listen in class.”
“I didn’t lie.”
“Then sit here and finish the worksheet.”
Anxious to get to the playground, Anzhi took the paper, leaned over a desk, and began writing furiously with her pencil, not even needing scratch paper. Half an hour later, she was done.
“Teacher, can I go to P.E. now?”
Anzhi slid off the chair, her eyes fixed longingly on the copy of Grimm’s Fairy Tales on the math teacher’s desk. The teacher stared at the fully completed math worksheet. “…”
The math teacher told her she could have it back after P.E. Once Anzhi had left, the teacher, still in disbelief, pointed at the worksheet and said to the Homeroom Teacher, “Did you see this? She can do three-digit multiplication and division in her head. And this problem here, she used a simplified calculation method… and she already knows how to calculate area…”
The Homeroom Teacher said, “She’s very bright! It’s the same with Chinese. She recognizes a lot of characters and has excellent expression skills.”
The English teacher walked over, looked at the paper, and remarked, “Interesting…”
After playing for a little while, Anzhi was called back to the office. She ran in. “Teacher?”
The math teacher handed her an Olympiad Math5 book. “From now on, you don’t have to listen during class. You can work on the problems in this book. If there’s anything you don’t understand, you can ask me. But you still have to complete all the assigned homework, okay?”
Anzhi was panting from playing, her bangs slightly damp with sweat. She took the book and said sweetly, “Thank you, Teacher.”
Yes! I don’t have to listen to addition and subtraction anymore, hahaha!
The math teacher watched as the little girl’s dimples deepened in an almost smug grin, not knowing what to say.
The child’s smile grew even wider. “Teacher, can I have my fairy tale book back now??”
“Also, Teacher, could you please not tell my Auntie about this?” She cupped her little hands and made a pitiful “pretty please” face.
The math teacher: “…”
This kid is really gaining an inch and wanting a foot,6 and selling cuteness7 on top of it all!
The math teacher didn’t tell Yan Xi, but the Homeroom Teacher did.
That evening, Yan Xi and Anzhi were reading on the second floor. The room was wonderfully warm. Anzhi was lying on a cushion, flipping through a book with her little legs kicked up and swinging back and forth. Yan Xi probed gently, “Did anything interesting happen at school today?”
Anzhi’s eyes darted around. “Nope.”
Yan Xi smiled. So she’s learned to lie…
This was a good thing. She was happy to see Anzhi becoming more and more lively. Grandmother Liu had told her earlier that Anzhi had a great time in P.E. and had worked up a sweat.
She didn’t expose her. “Oh, is that so…”
“Sit up, you can’t lie on your stomach,” Yan Xi said, patting her. She saw that Anzhi was reading a fairy tale book again. “Is that book so good?”
Anzhi sat up and scooted closer, saying very seriously, “I’ve discovered a problem!”
Hm? Yan Xi looked at her.
“Snow White was saved by a prince, Sleeping Beauty was saved by a prince, and the Long-Haired Princess was saved by a prince… Why are they all saved by princes? Isn’t the prince busy?”
“Hm?” A smile touched the corner of Yan Xi’s eyes. “If a prince doesn’t save them, who else would?”
“A princess could save a princess! Why does it have to be a prince!” Anzhi declared with a serious face, her little hands nearly waving in the air.
Yan Xi found her earnestness completely charming. She blinked her long lashes and pretended to ponder. “That’s a very interesting point of view!”
Anzhi felt like she’d been praised and grew even more excited. She flopped onto Yan Xi’s lap, her dimples sweet. “Right! Right!”
Pfft! Yan Xi’s lips curled up. “Well, after these princesses are saved by princes, they all marry the princes. What if they were saved by a princess…?”
“Then the princess can just marry the princess!” little Anzhi said without a care in the world.
Yan Xi paused for a second, then smiled again. She figured Anzhi was just speaking with the innocence of a child,8 completely unaware of what she was saying. She hesitated but ultimately decided against saying something like “a princess can’t marry a princess.” All of a child’s kind, pure, and curious thoughts should be encouraged. It was enough that fairy tales allowed children to see and feel truth, goodness, and beauty.
She also didn’t want to tell her how cruel and dark the original versions of these fairy tales were.
“Can’t they?” Anzhi rested on her knees, her round, almond-shaped eyes blinking up at her.
Yan Xi figured this was a question Anzhi could discover the answer to herself when she was older. Besides, there was nothing wrong with it. In some parts of the world, it was possible.
So she nodded. “They can.” A princess could certainly save a princess, and she could marry a princess, too. Anything was possible.
Anzhi was delighted to be affirmed. She burrowed her little head into Yan Xi’s embrace, nuzzling against her. Yan Xi laughed. She’s so natural with her affection now… She instinctively stroked her head.
When it was time for bed, Anzhi was on Yan Xi’s bed, helping her arrange the pillows.
Yan Xi had originally prepared a room for her right across the hall, decorated to a child’s liking with a 1.2-meter bed, a large wardrobe, a desk, and a small bookshelf, and had bought her many plush toys. Yan Xi had intended to cultivate the habit of sleeping alone in Anzhi.
“Can’t I sleep with you?” little Anzhi had asked, looking at her so pitifully that the words “Taotao will sleep by herself from now on” got stuck in Yan Xi’s throat. She remembered the way Anzhi cried in her sleep and temporarily abandoned the idea.
It’s still too cold. We’ll try again in the summer, Yan Xi thought.
Yan Xi finished her shower, dried and combed her hair, which smelled of the familiar gardenia fragrance, and then got into bed with a book.
The bed was warm, soft, and springy. To lull Anzhi to sleep, Yan Xi would read warm and gentle books to her before bed. Recently, she had been reading from Tagore’s9 Gitanjali.10
“In the night of weariness let me give myself up to sleep without struggle, resting my trust upon thee. Let me not force my weary spirit to prepare a perfunctory worship for you. It is you who draws the curtain of night over the tired eyes of day, to renew its sight in a fresh awakening of delight.”
Yan Xi’s voice was gentle and patient, undoubtedly perfect for reciting poetry and telling stories. The ends of her words were light and crisp, and she could adopt a soothing rhythm. After reading in Chinese, she would read it in English. Her English was also excellent, a perfect Oxford accent that, unlike her Mandarin, carried a certain aristocratic elegance.
Most of the time, Anzhi only half-understood what was being read. She only felt a sense of being cared for, a gentle and endless nurturing, as if she were being treated like a little princess. Sleeping by Yan Xi’s side kept the nightmares and anxieties at bay.
By the time she was eight, Anzhi still hadn’t reached 115cm. She was still on the shorter side. Her Homeroom Teacher thought long and hard before deciding against letting her skip a grade. She told Yan Xi, “Although Anzhi is exceptionally smart and her grades are excellent, we have to consider a child’s psychological development, her self-care abilities, and most importantly, her interaction with peers. If she skips a grade, she might not be able to communicate well with older classmates, which could negatively impact her mental and physical development…”
Yan Xi considered it for a long time and also consulted Grandfather Yan and Grandmother Yan. In the end, she decided not to let Anzhi skip. Although Anzhi wasn’t interested in learning things she already knew, she didn’t dislike school life.
What upset her most was her height. She watched as her good friends in class shot up one by one, while she barely grew at all. Other than that, she had no major worries. Every day, she went to school and Yan Xi went to work. Sometimes Yan Xi would pick her up or attend parent-teacher conferences. Grandmother Liu would laugh and say their bond was better than that of a mother and daughter. Everything was in sync; Yan Xi doted on her, and Anzhi was well-behaved.
Except for the occasional, bizarre clash in their taste in food.
Yan Xi: “Why is the stir-fried tomato and egg sweet?”
Anzhi: “It’s supposed to be sweet. Grandmother Liu said to add salt, but I said to add sugar. It’s sweet and delicious.”
Yan Xi: “Putting sugar in tomatoes is simply ark cuisine.”11
Although Anzhi didn’t know what “Dark cuisine” meant, she knew it wasn’t a compliment. She puffed up her cheeks. “I’ve always eaten it sweet! It needs sugar! It needs sugar!”
Yan Xi: “Selling cuteness won’t work on me. I don’t care about other dishes, but stir-fried tomato and egg is savory! This is a matter of principle!”
Anzhi: “Aww! Aww! Aww! Sugar, sugar, sugar!”
Grandmother Liu, standing to the side, was laughing so hard she nearly bent in half.
On weekends, they would stay at the Yan Family Old Residence. Sometimes Yan Xi would take her out to play, sometimes with Liu Yiyi, or with Yan Yinan.
“Spring has a hundred flowers, autumn has the moon. Summer has cool breezes, winter has snow. If no idle matters hang on your mind, then any season is a good season for you.”12 The four seasons passed in a flurry, full and beautiful.
By the time she was in third grade, she was only 120cm tall. The twins, who were a year younger than her, had already reached 135cm thanks to their excellent genes. Despite their height, they were still Bear Children,13 pointing at her and laughing, “Little shorty who only grows five centimeters a year.” Anzhi was so angry she refused to talk to them.
In her three years at the television station, Yan Xi’s abilities had proven outstanding. The Beishi TV Youth Department14 was launching a new program aimed at university students. Each episode would invite domestic humanities scholars and talented young people to discuss and debate the latest cutting-edge ideas in academia, as well as important social issues.
Yan Xi’s proposal was accepted. Seeing that she had a good screen presence and excellent diction, her boss put her in charge of hosting the program. Juggling both roles of host and editor-director,15 Yan Xi became so busy she couldn’t be disentangled.16 Sometimes she had to work overtime at home. Under these circumstances, Yan Xi, afraid of disturbing Anzhi’s sleep, no longer allowed her to sleep with her.
From the age of nine, Anzhi began sleeping in her own room, and Yan Xi rarely had time to read her bedtime stories anymore.
She was so busy. She came home later and later, always when the night was deep and the dew was heavy.17 Because of this, she had given Grandmother Liu a special raise. When she called home, the background noise on her end was often chaotic.
When Yan Xi got home, her face always looked drained. She would chat with Anzhi for a bit, telling her not to wait up. But Anzhi wouldn’t listen, because this was the only time she got to see her each day. Yan Xi seemed to sense this, and after that, she tried her best to come home earlier, even bringing some of her work home with her.
She would come home in her high heels and take off her coat. She liked to wear gray, and occasionally dark blue. Grandmother Liu would send her coats to be dry-cleaned, and Anzhi’s job was to stuff the pockets with all sorts of candy. Yan Xi had always suffered from low blood sugar,18 and sometimes she was too busy to eat on time. So from the day Anzhi started living with her, her mission was to make sure Yan Xi’s pockets and car were always stocked with candy.
Many nights, Yan Xi would work in the living room, looking up research materials. Anzhi would sit beside her with her own books. To understand what elementary school students were learning, Yan Xi had bought a complete set of textbooks for every subject from first to sixth grade. Anzhi had started reading the upper-grade books in second grade.
Occasionally, Yan Xi would read her host scripts aloud, and Anzhi would listen quietly beside her, just wanting to stay by her side a little longer. But sometimes she couldn’t hold on and would fall asleep.
Yan Xi would carry her to her room and tuck her in. Then she would leave the door open just a crack. It wasn’t until many years later that Anzhi learned that on any night Yan Xi was home, she would come to check on her after she had fallen asleep, only resting easy once she was sure she was sound asleep.
On weekends, Anzhi would either stay with Grandmother Liu or go back to the Yan Family Old Residence. Even when they went back, Yan Xi would only spend a brief time with Grandfather Yan and Grandmother Yan before leaving Anzhi at the old residence and returning to the station.
“Xiao Wu is just too busy. How can her body take it?” Auntie Xin worried as she wrapped dumplings in the kitchen, having prepared Yan Xi’s favorite three-fresh-delicacies filling.19
“She’s young. It’s normal to be busy with her career,” said the Yan family’s Eldest Sister-in-law, Xiao Yutong, who was helping out.
“Maybe I’m just an old fossil, but I still hope Xiao Wu can find someone who treats her well. Starting a family is what’s most important,” Auntie Xin said, her hands moving deftly as she chatted, sealing one dumpling after another without missing a beat.
Anzhi, distracted, accidentally tore a dumpling wrapper, and the filling spilled out. Her hands busy, her feet flustered,20 she tried to patch it up.
Xiao Yutong said, “Xiao Wu is only twenty-four, there’s no need to rush. Her career is important.”
“How can we not be worried? I heard from Nannan that she hasn’t dated anyone since graduating from university. People have pursued her, but she’s never agreed. How can she go on like this?”
“It just means fate hasn’t arrived yet, right? …Oh, Anzhi, that dumpling of yours… pfft, that’s fine. As long as it doesn’t leak.”
Anzhi sheepishly put down the deflated, severely malnourished dumpling in her hands.
“Little Anzhi, does your Auntie have a boyfriend or not?” Auntie Xin asked her.
“Boyfriend…” Anzhi repeated, stunned.
“Auntie Xin, how would Anzhi know about things like that,” Xiao Yutong said with a laugh.
Auntie Xin laughed too. “You’re right. I was getting muddled in my worrying.”
Anzhi asked, puzzled, “What’s a boyfriend?”
The two adults burst out laughing. “Little Anzhi is curious about this too, huh? That’s right, you don’t even have to tell kids these days, they just know. There’s too much information on TV and the computer.”
Xiao Yutong explained, “A boyfriend is someone who likes you and is good to you. Later on, he becomes a husband. Um, just like me and your Eldest Uncle. Then you start a family… and have… Bear, ahem, have children…”
In the past two years, Xiao Yutong had found the twins more and more exhausting, which made her appreciate Anzhi’s quiet and cute nature even more. She was happy to look after her and explained things patiently.
Anzhi listened in a daze.
Xiao Yutong looked at her and added with a smile, “Anzhi, you don’t have to worry. Even if your Auntie gets married, you can still stay here. You’re a part of this family now.”
“Yes, yes, that’s right,” Auntie Xin added.
Anzhi’s little mouth opened as if she wanted to say something, but she didn’t know what. After a long moment, she managed a smile.
The two adults continued their conversation.
“Honestly, Auntie Xin, I think women shouldn’t rush into marriage. You only have a few years of freedom that truly belong to you. Once you’re married, you have kids soon after, and once you have kids, you have no life of your own. Look at me, after having the twins, I had postpartum depression for the first few years… and now I’m basically doing widow-style parenting!21 …So I really don’t recommend Xiao Wu get married so early…”
“Sigh… She doesn’t have to get married right away, but she could at least start dating…”
The dumplings the adults made had delicate pleats pinched into the snowy white wrappers, looking just like little silver ingots. They were adorable.
Yan Xi will probably like them a lot.
Anzhi stared at them, lost in thought.
That night, she was reading alone, the lights in her room bright against the deep night outside.
It had been a long time since Anzhi had suffered from insomnia.
Outside the window, the light from the streetlamp was cold and clear.
For the first time, she felt that the world of adults was very far away. To her, Yan Xi was a gentle and considerate adult, but perhaps in the places she couldn’t see, Yan Xi had a life of her own, a world she didn’t quite understand.
On the wall of the entryway to their rooms, two pencil marks indicating their heights were separated by a great distance. And between them, too, stretched a long, long expanse of time.
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