A Tale of Two Cities Supporting Xinjiang

He compiled these stories, along with specific lesson plans and photos of student assignments, into a thin book called "Frontier Teaching Notes," which he printed at his own expense and sent to all schools and teachers who were willing to accept it.

Almost simultaneously, Guzalinur from Tacheng Vocational College was worrying about her account books.

"Teacher, the price of cotton fabric has gone up again."

The student whispered, "We made two hundred sets of cotton field messenger bookmarks and cloth bags, but only sold a little over thirty... The warehouse is almost overflowing."

The sound of casual conversation from the teachers next door drifted in from outside the training room: "...What a waste of time. The students haven't mastered their skills, they're just messing around with these superficial creative projects. Can they make a living that way?"

Guzalinur closed the ledger.

She took out her phone and found an online book club group for readers from Dalian, which Professor Jiang Hengli had connected her with before. She gritted her teeth and sent a long voice message:

Friends, we are a group of teachers and students from a vocational school in Xinjiang.

We want to use our own hands to turn the cotton and culture of our hometown into products, rather than cheap raw materials.

We're facing some difficulties right now; our products aren't selling...

I'm not asking for your pity, but I'd like to ask: if we made a booklet about the growth story of cotton and the meaning behind the ethnic patterns and included it in our products, would you find it more interesting?

Or... is this really that stupid?

There was a few minutes of silence in the group.

Then, an avatar popped up: "Not stupid! I need gifts like this, things with a story."

But could the design be simpler? For example, could it just be the simplest outline of a cotton ball?

Another person said, "Yes, the story needs to be compelling, and the product needs to be aesthetically pleasing."

We can help with the copywriting!

Guzalinur immediately had an idea. She slammed her phone on the table and said, "Aili, delete all those complicated patterns from before."

Let's start over. Let's draw a cotton flower, but this time we'll show it in three stages: from splitting open to blooming.

Three months later, at the National Vocational Skills Competition.

Guzalinur presented her "Cotton Field Four Seasons" series, featuring simple silhouettes, precise embroidery, and a small card accompanying it with a story about the life of cotton and its intertwining with ethnic groups, before standing before the judges.

A teacher from another province, who was leading the group, glanced at it and whispered to his companion, "Vocational school students doing cultural and creative work is just a token effort..."

During the awards ceremony, the host announced: "...First Prize in the Creative Category, from Tacheng Vocational College, Cotton Field Seasons!"

Guzalinur walked onto the stage and accepted the certificate.

She said nothing, but simply raised the linen bag containing cotton bookmarks and story cards and bowed slightly to the audience.

That evening, Chang Peng received the award photos from Guzalinur in Liaoning.

He looked at the photo for a while, then forwarded it to the Liaoning-Xinjiang Education Exchange Group, typing only four words:

"Look, it's blooming."

With her national skills competition award certificate still tucked in her pocket, Guzalinur kicked open the door to the head of the teaching and research group's office. "Teacher Ma, I want to set up a cotton field cultural and creative studio at the school!"

Teacher Ma didn't even lift his eyelids, just shook the teacup in his hand: "Xiao Gu, you're getting cocky after just winning an award?"

Students come here to learn sewing, not to do fancy tricks!

"What kind of fancy display?"

Guzalinur bent down, grabbed the certificate, and brought it close to Teacher Ma's eyes, "This is the national first prize!"

The cotton patterns embroidered by students can be sold for money.

She turned and called out to the door, "Aili, Guli, bring the things in."

Two students carried in a stack of cloth bags, which they dumped on the ground with a clatter—there were notebooks embroidered with cotton bolls, canvas bags sewn with ethnic patterns, and keychains adorned with cotton branch pendants.

Guzalinur grabbed a canvas bag and stuffed it into Teacher Ma's hand: "Feel it, the stitches are even neater than those on an assembly line."

The local culture and tourism bureau has contacted me, wanting to collaborate on Xinjiang-style cultural and creative products. They'll buy as many as the students make; isn't that better than just running a sewing machine?

Teacher Ma threw the bag back on the ground, her face darkening: "If students don't learn real skills, can they really make a living off these little gadgets for the rest of their lives? I don't agree!"

"It's no use if you disagree."

Guzalinur bent down to pick up the bag, dusted it off, and said, "The principal has approved the training room, and it will be officially opened tomorrow."

She turned back and shouted to the students, "Come on, let's tidy up the room and move all the sewing machines over!"

As soon as the studio opened, students rushed to sign up.

Aili, a Kazakh, is a carpenter who makes wooden covers for notebooks; Guli, a Uyghur, is skilled in embroidery and embroiders the patterns her mother taught her onto cloth bags; Li Ming, a Han student, is good at design and draws patterns of blooming cotton on the computer.

In less than a month, the first batch of products was completed. Guzalinur took her students to the market to set up a stall, shouting at the top of her lungs, "Come and see! These cultural and creative products are made from local Tacheng cotton, with the flavor of the Gobi Desert!"

Teacher Ma was passing by the market when he saw students surrounding customers, introducing products and stuffing money into their pockets. He was so angry that he turned around and left.

Not long after, a parent came to the school, shook Teacher Ma's hand and said, "Teacher Ma, thank you, Teacher Xiao Gu!"

My child is not only skilled now, but also knows how to do accounting and sell things. He's much more sensible than before!

Teacher Ma opened her mouth, but couldn't say anything.

Zhang Fan barged into Teacher Li's office with the "Tacheng Folk Customs Research" plan in hand: "Teacher Li, this semester I'm going to lead students in a practical course to learn mathematics in cotton fields."

Teacher Li stubbed out his cigarette in the paper cup and sneered, "Xiao Zhang, do you want all the students to fail their college entrance exams? Math should be taught in the classroom. What can you learn in the fields?"

"Why can't I learn it?"

Zhang Fan slammed the plan on the table, pointing to the table above, "Students going to the cotton fields to count cotton bolls, calculate yields and costs—isn't that more useful than the examples in the textbook?"

He turned and left, declaring, "I'm definitely going to teach this class!"

The next morning, Zhang Fan carried the measuring rope and his notebook, and led his students into the cotton field.

"Abudu, measure the area of ​​this land!"

"Reheman, count how many cotton bolls this plant has!"

The students squatted on the ground, busily measuring and recording, chattering incessantly.

Teacher Li stood on the edge of the field, hands on her hips, and scolded, "This is utter nonsense! They're treating the classroom like a playground!"

Zhang Fan pretended not to hear, picked up a calculator, and shouted, "Everyone, tell me your numbers, and let's calculate how much cotton this land can produce and how much money we can make!"

The students surrounded him, eagerly counting, and were ten times more attentive than they were in class.

When the final exam results came out, the average math score of Zhang Fan's class increased by ten points compared to last year, and Abudu even won a provincial award for his bilingual poetry recitation.

When the regional teaching seminar was held, Zhang Fan spread the students' "Records of Local Classrooms" on the table and said in a loud voice, "Teachers, look at our students! They learned about functions in the cotton fields, understood folk customs through research, and their grades haven't fallen behind."

The young teachers in the audience nodded in agreement: "Teacher Zhang's method is great, we'd like to try it too!"

Teacher Li sat in the corner, looking at the students' immature handwriting and their abundant gains in the transcript, her face turning red and white in turns.

After the meeting, he grabbed Zhang Fan and said in a low voice, "Next time... next time you take students on a research trip, call me."

Zhang Fan grinned, "Alright, Teacher Li, let's go to the cotton field together and let the students put their knowledge into practice."