Just because I wrote "Zhu Xian," the school beauty sent me razor blades.

[Thanks to the amazing author, Nanyukun, for the generous update! This is an extra chapter for you.]

Editorial Department of Science Fiction World, mid-February.

After the deadline for submissions to the Galaxy Award essay contest, the editorial department entered the review process.

There were thousands of manuscripts piled up on the editor's desk, and the initial screening alone required three rounds of review. Space exploration, future technology, interstellar adventure—by the third day, the editors were starting to have the illusion that "the entire universe is at war."

Editor Zhang Heng was responsible for the initial screening of the first batch of manuscripts.

He picked up a manuscript and glanced at the title—"The Rural Teacher."

"A rural teacher?" He frowned, flipping through the cover page. "Submitting for the Galaxy Award?"

He glanced at the author's pen name again—"Old Man of Akina Mountain".

"This name..." He felt like he had seen it somewhere before, but he couldn't remember where.

With doubt in his mind, he clicked on the main text.

Opening: On the Loess Plateau, in a mountain village primary school, a substitute teacher suffering from a terminal illness writes on a dilapidated blackboard. Five children sit at desks with missing legs, repeating the text after him.

Zhang Heng turned three pages, his brows furrowing deeper and deeper.

It's not that it's poorly written. It's that it's too well written—so well written it doesn't seem like science fiction.

Like a rural documentary essay.

He almost put his manuscript into the pile of "submitted to the wrong competition".

But his professional habits led him to turn another page.

Then he saw a line of text—

The perspective suddenly shifted.

No longer a loess mountain village. A carbon-based Federation interstellar warship is carrying out a "civilization screening" mission at the edge of the solar system.

Zhang Heng's hand stopped.

He turned back a page to make sure he hadn't misread it.

You read that right.

One moment it's a rural teacher teaching while ill, the next it jumps to the bridge of a starship. The two lines, one on the ground, one in the sky, are like two ropes suddenly twisted together.

Zhang Heng put down all his work and began reading from the beginning.

After reading the last line, he leaned back in his chair and remained silent for a long time.

Then he picked up a pen and wrote on the first page of the manuscript—

[Important.]

And a five-pointed star was drawn next to it.

He pulled the manuscript out of the initial screening pile and sent it directly to the desk of senior editor Liu Weiguo.

"Teacher Liu, please take a look at this."

Liu Weiguo took the manuscript, glanced at the title, and then at Zhang Heng's expression.

Zhang Heng is usually very efficient at reviewing manuscripts, processing fifty a day without batting an eye. There's only one possibility that could make him stop on a single manuscript.

Liu Weiguo turned to the first page.

Forty minutes later, he closed the manuscript.

"Do you know what's so good about this piece?" he asked Zhang Heng.

"At least it's not cliché?"

"No." Liu Weiguo pushed the manuscript in front of Zhang Heng. "Fortunately, he redefined 'what science fiction can be written about.'"

He picked up his pen and wrote a few lines on the review form—

"The most groundbreaking work in this year's competition. All the entries on the market focused on space, the future, and alien conflicts, resulting in a monotonous mix. This piece, rooted in the realities of rural life, takes the inheritance of education as its core theme—it doesn't feature mecha spaceships or laser battles, yet it elevates the humanistic depth of all other entries."

Looking at the reviewers' comments, Zhang Heng asked, "Are there any controversies?"

"A little," Liu Weiguo said. "The realistic passages are rather depressing, and the descriptions of rural life are quite sharp—some people might feel that it's not suitable for a science fiction essay contest."

What do you think?

"The core of the story is positive. It pays tribute to grassroots teachers and resonates strongly with our times. Moreover—" Liu Weiguo paused for a moment, "the essence of science fiction isn't about writing about the future, it's about writing about people. This piece is more like science fiction than those stories about aliens fighting each other."

Zhang Heng didn't say anything.

The editorial department later held a short meeting, and a dozen or so people circulated the manuscript.

After reading it, the editorial office remained quiet for a long time.

Someone said, "My hometown is in the mountainous area of ​​western China, and my father used to be a rural teacher."

Some say, "After reading it, I realized that science fiction doesn't necessarily have to be about the stars and the sea. The earth beneath our feet can support a narrative of the cosmos just as well."

The final consensus was reached in just one sentence—

This work breaks away from the long-standing path of imitating the West in Chinese science fiction and forges a unique expression of science fiction that belongs to the local culture.

After the discussion, Liu Weiguo made two decisions.

First, "The Rural Teacher" has been officially shortlisted for this year's Galaxy Awards.

Second, we will feature "Rural Teachers" as the main article in next month's issue, accompanied by special illustrations for prominent coverage.

A month later.

The March issue of Science Fiction World is now available.

"The Village Teacher" is listed first in the table of contents, accompanied by two double-page illustrations—one showing a dilapidated village school in a loess valley, chalk dust dancing in the light; the other showing an interstellar warship at the edge of the solar system, with a holographic screen on the bridge displaying an image of Earth. Between the two images, a crack-like dividing line connects the teacher's podium to the starry sea.

The editorial team sensed something was wrong in the first week after the magazine's release.

The number of reader letters is three times that of previous issues.

More than half of the letters had only one theme—discussing "The Rural Teacher".

The young woman at the editorial office later told her colleagues, "My voice is hoarse from answering so many calls; seven out of ten were about that novel."

The authors who participated in the same competition were also affected.

Someone posted on a science fiction forum: "We're all writing about spaceships, aliens, and interstellar wars, but then someone wrote a 20,000-word story about a rural teacher, and he completely crushed us all. It wasn't technological superiority; it was dimensional superiority."

"So science fiction doesn't have to be about the future; it can be about the present."

"I wrote a 10,000-word novel about a space fleet battle, only to lose to a blackboard and five pieces of chalk. I give up."

The final results of the Galaxy Awards will be announced in early April.

"The Rural Teacher" has been nominated for the Galaxy Award for Readers.

In the public vote, it received a landslide victory in the vote count.

This award is not decided by judges, but by readers' votes.

The trophy and certificate were sent to the editorial department of Red Eggplant Literature Network.

The editor-in-chief looked at the pen name "Old Fool of Mount Akina" and the award notification, and tapped his fingers three times on the table.

He picked up his phone and opened the author's backend.

[Congratulations, author, on your Galaxy Award Reader's Choice Award nomination for "The Rural Teacher." Also—could you take this call? The editorial department needs to discuss something with you.]

Read.

No reply.

The editor-in-chief put down his phone and looked out the window.

He's used to it.

But what truly made "The Rural Teacher" a mainstream hit wasn't the science fiction community.

It's the education sector.

Many language teachers and educators took the initiative to write letters to Science Fiction World.

With the Western Development Strategy and the topic of rural education support being hotly debated, many education professionals saw themselves or their colleagues reflected in that novel. They don't need to understand interstellar warships and civilization selection; the story of Li Baoku, the rural teacher who taught despite being ill, is enough to move people.

A rural teacher in western China wrote in a letter: "I've stood in this classroom for twenty-three years. No one has ever written about us. This piece lets me know that someone is reading."

The editorial office was overflowing with letters from readers.

The science fiction genre has achieved a rare cross-cultural dissemination—not only are science fiction fans discussing it, but also language arts teachers, volunteer teachers, education bloggers, and even current affairs commentators are talking about it.

The stereotype that "science fiction is just fantasy literature for young people" has been shattered by a novel of 23,000 words.

Even bigger things are happening.

As China's Chinese language curriculum reform progresses, the new curriculum standards explicitly encourage the introduction of science fiction literature to cultivate imagination.

An excerpt from "The Rural Teacher" has been officially included in the selective extended reading materials for high school Chinese.

Stepping into thousands of middle school classrooms across the country.

Countless teachers and students opened their textbooks and read about the unsung substitute teacher in the Loess Plateau.

Read the last line of writing he made on the blackboard.

I read about the response that came from the depths of the universe after he fell.

After finishing the lesson on this novel, a language arts teacher paused for a few seconds and said something to the students:

"You don't need to remember the author's name. But you must remember—the earth beneath your feet and the starry sky above you are never contradictory."

In a corner of that classroom, a student secretly searched on his phone—

"The Rural Teacher" by Akina Mountain Old Man.

Then he saw the other works listed under that pen name: *Zhu Xian*, *Murder on the Orient Express*, and *Dragon Raja*.

He opened his mouth, glanced at the Chinese teacher lecturing on the podium, and then put his phone back in the drawer.