Chapter Twenty-Nine: Changes at the School

When Lin Nan woke up early in the morning, he discovered a shoebox in his room. His clever mind immediately made the connection: had his father returned? Eagerly, he tore off the wrapping and opened the shoebox.

Oh my God!

Reebok Question Mid!

Lin Nan quickly pulled the sneakers from the box, turning them over and over in his hands, reluctant to put them down. As someone who had researched his idol, Allen Iverson, in depth, he instantly recognized the fame of these shoes. The honeycomb window on the outer side of the midsole was simply stunning! The streamlined overall design, the contrasting leather toecap, the rapid lacing system, the translucent icy sole—every detail was perfect.

On March 12, 1997, Iverson had worn these very shoes when he faced off against his own idol, Michael Jordan, on the court. He famously crossed over Jordan and hit a jumper, a move Lin Nan had watched countless times in that classic video.

Though the technology in these sneakers was outdated by current standards, there was no doubt this was Lin Nan’s favorite pair—worn by Iverson in his rookie season, and Lin Nan himself felt like a basketball rookie now. The only downside was the shoes were white and red—too easy to get dirty—but Lin Nan was nonetheless delighted.

He checked the size—size 43. Lin Nan’s current shoes were 41 or 42, so these were a bit big when he tried them on, but he figured he would grow into them soon enough.

He gently placed the sneakers back in the box and carefully set it aside. Then, treading lightly, he crept out of his room and to his parents’ bedroom door. Opening it quietly, he saw his parents sleeping together on the bed.

Lin Nan grinned to himself, deciding not to disturb their rest. Quietly taking his basketball, he slipped out for his morning training session.

For months now, ever since Lin Nan began training, he hadn’t missed a single day except for the twenty-ninth, New Year’s Eve, and New Year’s Day. Even on those days, he’d still run wild with the other kids from the village, never pausing his physical activity.

After his early training, Lin Nan’s body always felt fully awakened. Looking at the hoop that seemed almost within reach, and thinking of the surprise Iverson sneakers waiting in his room, he felt a sudden urge to touch the rim.

With a running start, he bent his knees, arched his back, and, summoning all his strength, leapt upward. He raised both hands toward the rim.

A soft “ding”—he touched the rim and landed steadily.

Gazing at the sunrise on the horizon, Lin Nan smiled with joy. He’d touched the rim, just as his father had returned, which meant his father would soon be teaching him how to dunk.

When Lin Lang first started training Lin Nan, he’d insisted that after every session, Lin Nan should use all his strength to jump, both hands reaching for the sky. For a great basketball player, both hands must be equally skilled—ambidextrous, able to score in every way, with no weak side for opponents to target, making it impossible to limit one’s scoring.

Lin Nan had followed his father’s instructions diligently.

His jumping ability was already good, so before long he could touch the backboard with both hands. Months passed, and though he hadn’t specifically trained his vertical, he could now reach the rim with both hands.

He remembered his father’s promise: once you can touch the rim with both hands, I’ll start teaching you how to score and how to dunk.

That moment had finally come, and Lin Nan couldn’t wait to move on to the next stage of his basketball training.

Basketball in hand, Lin Nan ran home. Ye Xinlan had already left for the hotel, and his father was still sleeping soundly. Clearly, he hadn’t had a good night’s rest during his time away.

On the table was the breakfast Ye Xinlan had prepared for Lin Nan: bread, milk, and a boiled egg.

After eating, Lin Nan glanced at his father, still snoring away, and chose not to wake him. He quietly closed the door and headed off to school.

It was Monday, and the ninth graders had to immerse themselves once more in the tense rhythm of study—the high school entrance exams were drawing near.

But Lin Nan didn’t feel nervous. At school, he studied the textbooks himself; outside school, he trained in basketball. His schedule was clear and well-organized, so there was no reason to be anxious.

This time, compared to the previous monthly exam, Lin Nan had climbed dozens of places in the rankings. Though his English was still painfully bad, his physics and chemistry had improved dramatically—almost perfect scores, nearly as strong as his math.

All of this was expected, since following Lin Lang’s study methods, Lin Nan had nearly “mastered” all the physics and chemistry textbooks, and his knowledge now extended beyond the confines of the curriculum. Whenever he encountered something he didn’t understand or wanted to learn more deeply, he would look it up online. Now, he was familiar with every scientist mentioned in the books, knowing their stories and scientific contributions.

In other words, Lin Nan now understood exactly what he was learning—not just memorizing facts, doing exercises, or taking tests like his classmates.

As their homeroom teacher, Mr. Mei, often said, “entry-level understanding” was key.

Mr. Mei would often tell students with poor or unstable math scores: you haven’t truly “entered” the subject; you’re just skimming the surface. That’s why you get lost and frustrated by difficult problems, unable to see what’s being tested or how to solve them. In the end, it comes down to shaky foundations.

Previously, only math had reached this “entry-level” for Lin Nan, but now he felt physics and chemistry were there too.

So he wasn’t nervous about the entrance exams at all. Judging from the results of the mock exams written by Mr. Mei for the prestigious Qing Shui No. 1 High School admissions, Lin Nan felt confident he could pass, so there was even less cause for anxiety.

Entering Class 6’s classroom, Lin Nan noticed some of his classmates seemed changed—especially the few students in the back rows who usually didn’t study. As he passed them, he saw genuine smiles on their faces: confident, energetic, hopeful, purposeful.

People often dismissed these “poor students” who played and joked around, acting indifferent to their grades. But that was only a façade. They were kids too, wanting to do well and to be praised by teachers, but for one reason or another, they’d ended up like this.

If one looked closely at those ninth graders facing the high school entrance exam, or twelfth graders facing the college exam, the confusion and uncertainty in the eyes of the “poor students” was especially clear. They envied the top students heading to elite high schools and universities, but they themselves could only go to technical schools or vocational colleges—the kinds of “schools” adults never spoke of.

The emergence of “Shishuo.net” brought them hope. No one wants to give up on their dreams, and no child truly wants to drift aimlessly through life. Now that Shishuo.net had thrown them a lifeline, they seized it tightly.

In their eyes, Lin Nan saw a reflection of himself—the same transformation from aimlessness to purpose.

Did they, like him, have a good father guiding them? Lin Nan wondered thoughtfully.

When Ms. Mei Xiabing entered the classroom, she was astonished. Seeing the light of confidence and hope in Lin Nan’s eyes, she knew his grades would improve dramatically—and in fact, they exceeded her expectations. Though his English remained poor, his other subjects were strong enough for a secure spot in the selective admissions program, and the entrance exams posed no threat.

Now, to her amazement, she saw that same spark in the eyes of the students in the very back row. Some were reading textbooks, others looking at their phones, but Mei Xiabing could see it: seriousness, which cannot be faked.

What had happened?

With her rigorous mathematical mind, Mei Xiabing reasoned that something major must have occurred over the weekend to bring about such a transformation.

She finished her lesson meticulously, and as soon as class ended, hurried back to the staff office. She knew this must be happening in other classes too—she wanted to see if the other teachers had noticed.

Sure enough, as soon as she entered, she was greeted by animated discussion. The more attentive teachers had already noticed the change in the students, though a few had yet to catch on.

After some discussion, they learned from a young teacher who loved basketball about the existence of “Shishuo.net.”

The teachers gathered around the office’s best laptop to explore this remarkable site together.

Now, Mei Xiabing understood why there was such light in those students’ eyes.

It was dreams—dreams that had kindled their hope.

At that moment, after years of teaching, Mei Xiabing felt a pang of guilt. She knew that in every class she’d ever taught, there were always a few “poor students.” There was nothing she could do—she’d done her best. The small classroom at home was proof of her dedication.

The school demanded high admission rates, and with a homeroom teacher responsible for fifty or sixty children, it was impossible to watch over every one. She had spoken with those who didn’t want to learn, but to little effect.

Now she realized that every child has dreams. It wasn’t that they couldn’t or wouldn’t work hard—they simply lacked direction. Now, with Shishuo.net, they finally had a chance to choose their own path, and so they became “serious,” eager to chase their dreams at this age when dreams matter most.

Mei Xiabing deeply admired the company that created Shishuo.net, and respected the person who had the vision of “mentorship.” But she also knew education was never that simple. Could Shishuo.net really endure?

If it could, she would willingly devote herself to this great cause in education.