Midterms and final exams are graded anonymously; this is routine and nothing to make a fuss about.
However, shuffling all the papers and then restoring the order is a bit troubleso and adds unnecessary work.
"Why do we need to change it this way?" The horoom teacher of Class 3, Grade 11, questioned.
The director of teaching responded, "This way it’s fairer, and the teachers’ grading will be more objective."
The horoom teacher of Class 3, Grade 11, suddenly realized this teaching director was newly appointed this sester.
A new official always brings three fires; they have to make so na for themselves before they’ll settle down.
For instance, putting the teachers through such trouble.
The eting room fell silent.
Everyone disagreed with him, but no one would be foolish enough to directly confront the leader.
The horoom teacher of Class 1, Chen Caixin, felt a pang in her heart.
She had just promised Jiang Wei’s mother.
Jiang Wei has beautiful handwriting, highly recognizable, and she always likes to write her essays in Classical Chinese. The horoom teacher knows her style and handwriting. Even with anonymous grading, she could still look out for Jiang Wei.
But now, it was disrupted.
After teachers received the papers, they had to hand them to the academic office, where the teaching secretary would shuffle the order for all classes, then seal them for anonymous grading.
By then, Chen Caixin wouldn’t know who received Jiang Wei’s paper, and there was no way to greet them in advance.
That evening, she urgently arranged another eting with Jiang Wei’s mother to inform Mrs. Jiang about this.
She even wanted to return the bag.
Mrs. Jiang refused to take it back, saying it’s not just this one ti they need the horoom teacher’s help; there will be future opportunities.
The horoom teacher said nothing more, just reminded her, "Tell Jiang Wei to keep her spirits up; she can certainly get a perfect score."
Mrs. Jiang went ho and told Jiang Wei.
Jiang Wei was indifferent: "Mom, you’re worrying too much. My Chinese essays have always been the best. So people can write poems and songs, but when it cos to essays, they can’t compete with ."
The "so people" she ntioned referred to Sheng Tang.
She had great confidence in herself.
This confidence was cultivated from childhood. She always excelled in Chinese, and her essays were always model essays.
Every Chinese teacher liked her very much.
"Still, you need to stay focused," Mrs. Jiang said, "Although one exam might not matter that much, your attitude should be right."
Jiang Wei said she understood.
Sheng Tang was unaware of the collusion between the horoom teacher and the Jiang Family, nor did she know about the school’s new regulations; she had not been paying much attention to Chinese.
The final exam arrived as scheduled.
Every ti a test paper was handed out, Sheng Tang would browse through it to see how many points she could get, then choose which questions to answer incorrectly based on her estimated total score.
The first subject in the morning was Chinese.
Chinese was quite simple. She could get full marks on the earlier questions, but she chose to miss 40% of them, aiming just to pass.
Her essay was not sothing that required morization or understanding, but creation; she had no confidence, and besides, the horoom teacher did not like her much. Even if the papers were graded anonymously, he would probably just give her a passing grade.
Sheng Tang considered which questions should be wrong and which ones should not have significant mistakes, so she could still explain to her parents.
She spent too much ti on the earlier questions.
By the ti she got to the essay, she saw the topic: "Life, is it joy or sorrow?"
Sheng Tang: "..."
With only twenty minutes left to hand in the paper, Sheng Tang had no ti to ponder over life.
She recalled an essay she had studied before.
All the things she had learned were in her mind; recalling them was clear and instant.
"On Life," by Bingxin, this essay imdiately surfaced in Sheng Tang’s mind.
She had also been confused when she was a student.
At a young age, without parents or relatives, she would naturally have a lot of thoughts and worries.
Bingxin’s essay had guided her when she was young, making things clear to her.
She had read it many tis, even cut it out and pasted it in her collection book, looking at it whenever she felt sad.
She had it morized by heart; every word was rembered.
Ti was pressing, Sheng Tang decided to use this.
"I dare not say what life is, I can only say what life is like..." She wrote the beginning of this classic essay as her midterm exam composition.
She wrote neatly, so much so that when the bell rang, she still had the last paragraph left unwritten.
Luckily, she was sitting in the second-to-last row, and the teacher collected the papers row by row. When they reached her, she had a few words left, and the teacher waited for her for half a minute.
Finally finished, she breathed a deep sigh of relief.
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