What's wrong with me, a school principal, listening to students' suggestions?

The first Monday morning after the new work schedule was implemented.

At seven o'clock, the campus of No. 13 Middle School was quiet.

At this time, the bell for morning self-study would usually have already rung.

Although half the students in the classroom were catching up on sleep, at least everyone was there.

Now that morning self-study has been canceled, students can sleep until 8:30 and theoretically be in the classroom by 8:50.

But something strange happened.

At 7:40, Zhang Yang's dormitory door was awakened by a series of loud knocks.

Dabing groggily got up and opened the door. Skinny Monkey was standing there, dressed neatly and carrying textbooks.

"Is Yang Ge up yet?"

"Are you crazy?" Dabing glanced at the time on his phone. "It's only 7:40. Class doesn't start until 9:00. Why are you up so early?"

The skinny monkey peeked inside and saw that Zhang Yang's bed was empty, with the blankets folded neatly.

"Where's Yang?"

"I don't know, he left at 6:30."

Big Pancake rolled his eyes and went back to sleep.

Skinny Monkey ran to the teaching building and found Zhang Yang in the classroom of Class 3, Grade 11.

Zhang Yang sat in the last row by the window, a math textbook open in front of him, his brows furrowed as if he were reading a book written in a foreign language.

He wasn't the only one in the classroom.

Seven or eight students sat scattered around; some were memorizing English words, some were flipping through chemical equations, and two girls were checking their answers.

Almost no one spoke; the only sound was the rustling of pages turning.

"Yang-ge, when did you start learning math?"

Skinny Monkey sat down next to him and leaned in to speak in a low voice.

"If you don't like the noise, go outside."

Skinny Monkey shut up, took out his Chinese textbook, and, imitating Zhang Yang's manner, opened it and stared at it for three minutes.

Then he silently turned the textbook 180 degrees; he was holding it upside down.

That morning, 14 out of the 42 students in Class 3 of Grade 11 arrived at the classroom before 9:00 AM.

Although most people weren't studying, some were daydreaming, some were drawing, and some were writing in their diaries.

But at least no one skipped class, and no one went to internet cafes.

"After the mandatory morning self-study session was canceled, the percentage of students who voluntarily went to the classroom in the morning was... 28 percent."

Su Qingyan compiled the attendance data for each class and handed it to Lin Yucai.

"Attendance was 30 percentage points lower than when morning self-study was mandatory, but the percentage of people actually studying was 15 percentage points higher than when morning self-study was mandatory."

"In other words, although fewer people are coming, those who are coming are genuinely interested in learning."

"What about evening self-study?"

"Last night, 103 students volunteered to attend evening self-study sessions." Su Qingyan turned a page. "Of them, about 60 or so were actually studying."

"What about the remaining forty or so?"

"There are all sorts of people." Su Qingyan pushed up her glasses. "Some are writing novels in the classroom, some are studying guitar, some are drawing comics, and one is teaching himself programming."

"Write it down, write it all down."

Lin Yucai's eyes lit up.

"The names of these students and what they are researching are all registered."

"Why do you need to remember all this?" Su Qingyan asked, somewhat puzzled.

"Don't you think so?" Lin Yucai walked to the window and looked at the students walking around the playground in twos and threes. "These kids have started to take the initiative to do something."

"Although this has nothing to do with the exam, they are actively investing their energy in researching things that interest them."

"Writing novels requires a strong foundation in Chinese language, learning guitar requires music theory knowledge, drawing comics requires an art foundation, and programming requires logical thinking."

"As long as they have the ability to learn, they will have a future wherever they go."

"You mean..." Su Qingyan looked at him, her expression changing from confusion to thoughtfulness.

"Open extracurricular classes."

Lin Yucai turned around and uttered four words.

At that moment, he finally understood why the system had given him a special fund of 300 million.

Simply letting students enjoy themselves doesn't align with the school's original intention.

"Please bring in professional teachers to teach these children what they truly want to learn."

"Let them start with things they are interested in, so they can get a feel for learning."

"Once they understand what learning is all about, we can then guide them towards academic subjects."

"That's a novel idea, but where do we find teachers for these extracurricular classes?"

Su Qingyan thought for a moment and couldn't help but remind her.

"Another expense."

"Is three million enough?"

Su Qingyan raised her eyebrows.

"Is it from one of your overseas foundations again?"

"Pretty much." Lin Yucai rubbed his hands together. "Go and find out what the students are interested in, and do some research."

"Also, please contact a few reliable hobby training institutions for me. I need teachers who are truly capable, not those who are just trying to fool me."

Su Qingyan put away the notebook, got up and walked out.

I paused again when I reached the door.

"Lin Yucai".

"Um?"

"Last night I passed by the basketball court, all the lights were off, and I couldn't see the road clearly. A student almost fell into the flower bed."

"The streetlights at the basketball court?"

"It's been broken for at least a year." Su Qingyan glanced back at him. "Aren't you rich? Why don't you fix the streetlights while you're at it?"

Finished talking and left.

"Does a street light count as a suggestion? Should we put it in the suggestion box?"

Lin Yucai called out from behind her.

"You vote yourself."

Su Qingyan's voice came from the corridor.

Lin Yucai smiled and shook his head, then made a note in his notebook: streetlight.

……

Nine o'clock in the evening.

Lin Yucai strolled around the campus with a flashlight in his hand.

We went to the basketball court first.

It was indeed pitch black, and none of the six streetlights were working properly.

Two boys were playing basketball by the dim light of a distant school building, relying entirely on feeling and luck to shoot.

Good evening, Principal!

One of the boys saw him and called out.

"Be careful, don't fall."

Lin Yucai waved his flashlight.

The streetlights need to be dealt with as soon as possible.

But this is a small project, so there's no need to alarm the system; it can be covered by the miscellaneous budget.

He made another note in his notebook: contact the electrician tomorrow.

Then I walked towards the teaching building.

It was past nine o'clock, and most of the classrooms were still dark.

However, two rooms on the second and third floors still had their lights on.

Lin Yucai went up to the second floor and walked to the classroom door of Class 1, Grade 12.

There were about ten students sitting in the classroom.

Some were engrossed in doing practice problems, while others were flipping through reference books.

Sitting next to the podium was Zhao Wenjie, the math teacher in charge of the class, a young man who had only graduated two years ago.

"Teacher Zhao, I can't solve this problem using two different methods. Could you explain it to me again?"

A girl walked up to Zhao Wenjie's desk with her hand raised and pointed to a function question on the test paper.

"Your line of thinking is correct, but the direction of the transformation in the third step is reversed."

Let me go through it with you again.

Zhao Wenjie pushed up his glasses, took the exam paper, and glanced at it.

With no students not studying to influence them, teachers have much less to worry about.

Lin Yucai watched from outside the door without going in to disturb them.

Turn around and walk to the third floor.

The scene was completely different in the classroom of Class 5, Grade 11.

Five or six students sat scattered around, each with a variety of things in front of them.

A chubby boy was hunched over a table writing something, his pen scribbling across the paper.

Lin Yucai peeked out...

He was writing a novel, his handwriting was dense and he had made many corrections, but he was very engrossed in it.

In the window seat, a tall, thin boy was wearing headphones, with a music theory textbook open in front of him.

He listened to music while writing and drawing on the musical staff, occasionally tapping the rhythm on the table with his fingers.

In the very back corner, there was a girl wearing black-rimmed glasses with a worn-out laptop in front of her.

The screen displays a programming interface with a black background and white text, and the cursor is blinking.

This is one of the advantages of this "run-down school"—as long as it's not dangerous, you can bring it in.

Lin Yucai leaned against the door frame and watched for a long time.

Perhaps these students' academic performance is terrible.

But when they study what they love, their focus is no different from that of any top student.

He silently considered it in his mind.

Novelists need literature teachers, music theorists need music teachers, and programming students need computer teachers.

Including those previously identified as drawing comics, practicing street dance, and studying photography...

In total, at least five or six teachers specializing in different areas of interest classes are needed.

The special fund of three million should be enough for the teachers to purchase equipment.

But this matter cannot be rushed.

First, fix the streetlights, then set up the framework for the extracurricular classes.

Take it one step at a time.

Lin Yucai put away his flashlight and turned to go downstairs.

Moonlight streamed in through the windows of the teaching building, illuminating the corridor in a silvery white glow.

His shadow was stretched long, from the third floor all the way to the corner of the stairs.

Back in his office, he sat down, took out his phone, and browsed the system panel.

On the task panel, the progress of the task "Cancel mandatory morning and evening self-study" has jumped from 0% to 35%.

There's still a lot to go.

But there's no rush.

He opened the notebook in the drawer and wrote three lines on a new page.

Streetlights, will be installed tomorrow.

A plan for the extracurricular classes will be finalized this week.

Midterm exams are in three weeks.

After he finished writing, he stared at the third point for a long time, then picked up his pen and added three words at the end.

We cannot lose.