Chapter 35: Visiting the Teacher

Snow particles beat against the glass window with a soft, rustling sound. Li Yifei peeled back a corner of the curtain to see the old pagoda tree in the yard wrapped in a thick, velvet-like robe of snow, its branches drooping as if nodding gently in the biting wind.

On the calendar, the characters for "Major Cold" were strikingly red. He exhaled a puff of white mist and traced a blurry line on the glass with his fingertip.

"Xiao Fei, tighten your scarf!" his mother’s reminder drifted from the kitchen, accompanied by the clatter of iron pots and spatulas.

When Li Yifei turned, he saw his father, Old Li, crouching in the corner of the living room, carefully lining a cardboard box with straw. Three wine jars rested securely inside, wrapped in blue-printed fabric, the cotton paper at their seals tied tight with thin twine.

"These are for the principal and the others; make sure they’re packed well, don't let them break." Old Li didn't even look up, patting the jars gently with his palm. "The ones infused with medicinal herbs are tucked into the cotton batting at the back of the tricycle; keep the others outside the padding and remember not to let them get jostled."

Li Yifei acknowledged this, his gaze lingering on the family portrait on the wall. In the photo, he was wearing his school uniform, standing between his parents with the New First High School’s academic building visible behind them.

Back then, he had just received his notice as the city’s top scorer in the college entrance exam. The principal had personally delivered the red announcement of success to their home; the moment the camera flash went off, the smile lines at the corners of his mother’s eyes were filled with radiance.

At nine o'clock, the electric tricycle crunched over the snow, leaving two winding tracks behind. Most of the shops along the street were still shuttered, save for Auntie Wang’s breakfast stall; she lifted the cotton door curtain and waved at Li Yifei. "Xiao Fei, I heard from Old Li you’re going to visit your teachers? Ride carefully!"

He nodded with a smile, the jars in the back of the cart swaying slightly with the bumps. A corner of the blue-printed fabric flipped up in the wind and snow, revealing the dark, carved bamboo leaf patterns on the ceramic.

The iron gates of New First High School looked cold in the snow-reflected light. Old Chen, the guard, spotted the electric tricycle from afar and smiled as he pulled open the side gate. "The top scholar is here!" He rubbed his frost-reddened hands, accepted the cigarette Li Yifei offered, and said, "Hurry in, Principal Jiang was just mentioning you this morning."

The wooden door to the principal's office was slightly ajar, casting a warm, yellow light. As Li Yifei raised his hand to knock, he heard Teacher Zhang’s laughter from inside: "That blackboard newspaper in our class back then, the welcoming pine tree Yifei drew..." Before the words could fade, the door swung open. A layer of mist covered Principal Jiang’s spectacles—it was unclear whether it was from the warmth of the room or moisture in his eyes.

"Come in, come in!" The five teachers rose one after another. Teacher Zhang stepped forward quickly to take the box, his fingers touching the lingering warmth among the straw. "Oh my, it’s still warm!"

Li Yifei shook hands with them one by one, feeling the calluses on their palms, and suddenly recalled his senior year—the blood blisters that had worn into the webbing of Teacher Zhang’s right hand from grading papers late into the night.

When the jars were placed on the desk and the blue fabric was unwrapped, a mellow fragrance permeated the room. "This is mulberry medicinal wine made at home," Li Yifei said, pointing to the reddish-brown jar. "Principal, you mentioned your knees were aching last time. This has been soaking for ten months; two cups every night will surely help." He turned to Teacher Chen, the math instructor, "This jar is pure grain spirit—taste it and see if it isn't better than what you get outside."

"You child," Principal Jiang said, patting his shoulder gently, "bringing wine for us old folks. We are already gratified enough that you came to see us."

The snow outside had stopped at some point, and sunlight filtered through the lattice, casting mottled light and shadows across the desk.

Li Yifei pulled a tin box from his canvas bag, filled with fried dough twists his mother had made. "Try my mother’s handiwork; she said she was sure you teachers would be missing this taste."

As Teacher Zhang took the twists, his fingers trembled slightly—this was the very tin box he had given Li Yifei to store his book of mistakes years ago.

When the clock struck twelve, Li Yifei led the teachers toward the restaurant. After the snow, the sun shone on the school building, making the four gold characters for "Pursue Excellence" gleam. Passing the playground, he paused, looking at the snow-covered track and chuckling, "Remember the heavy snow during our senior year? Our class was shoveling snow together, and I secretly built a snowman, only to be caught red-handed by the dean."

"How could I forget?" Teacher Chen shook his head with a smile. "Your snowman was wearing my reading glasses and clutching a piece of chalk. The dean wanted to issue a formal reprimand, but it was Principal Jiang who pleaded for you." Everyone laughed at the memory, their footsteps echoing in the empty campus, startling a few sparrows from the branches.

The restaurant was steaming with warmth, and Li Yifei had specially chosen a round table by the window. When the two-catty wine jars were opened, the rich aroma instantly filled the room.

Teacher Zhang took a deep breath. "Good heavens, this scent could hook a soul!" Li Yifei poured wine for each teacher, the amber liquid swirling in the glasses, reflecting the wrinkles at the corners of their eyes.

"Back then, I wasn't entirely satisfied with the school giving you so much freedom," said Mr. Wang from the Chinese department, raising his glass. "Who would have thought you’d end up ranking first in the entire province?"

Li Yifei raised his glass. "Without you teachers pushing me to catch up on classical literature, where would I be today?" The clinking of glasses was crisp; the bright sunlight outside illuminated every face.

As the gathering ended, Principal Jiang slipped a bag of tea into Li Yifei’s pocket. "Some Longjing from my own home; take it for your father to try."

Teacher Zhang pressed a plastic bag into his hand containing spiced beef wrapped in oil paper. "Your teacher’s wife marinated this; take it home and have a taste." Li Yifei couldn't refuse and accepted it, his heart feeling warm and glowing.

When the electric tricycle reached home, the evening glow had stained half the sky. Li Yifei checked his phone; the album still held a photo from graduation day: the teachers standing in front of the school building, himself in the center holding his acceptance letter, everyone’s face blooming with smiles.

Back then, he had thought parting was the most distant thing possible, never imagining that the joy of reunion would be even deeper than the memories of the past.

At home, his mother had already prepared hangover soup, and his father sat on the sofa, polishing a clay teapot. As soon as Li Yifei entered, his younger sister ran over with a bag of chips. "Brother, eat a chip, so yummy!"

He picked her up and wiped the crumbs from her mouth, suddenly reminded of his days studying in the school library and dormitory—how he had always complained about how slowly time passed back then, yet how he now missed it so dearly.

Late at night, Li Yifei pushed open the window; it had started snowing again. Looking at the New First High School in the distance, silent in the night, the lights of the academic building flickered like crushed diamonds scattered across the sky.

He reached for the tea in his pocket and suddenly recalled what Principal Jiang had said: "Education is like brewing wine; it must be done slowly. When the time is right, the fragrance will naturally emerge."

The scent of tea mingled with the crisp cold of the snowy night, lingering at the tip of his nose. Li Yifei suddenly understood that some emotions might not be as intense as strong spirits, but like aged tea, they possess a lasting sweetness.

Those moments of warmth passed on snowy days, those sentiments hidden within wine jars and tea leaves, would eventually, in the cellar of the years, brew into the most mellow and genuine human affection.