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

The math department office is on the second floor of the teaching building, and the lighting is not very good.

Old Zhao sat alone by the window. He was in his fifties, with gray hair and wearing old glasses. A stack of test papers lay open in front of him.

He corrected very slowly, making circles and dots on the paper with red pen, and writing a line of small words next to any mistakes.

When Lin Yucai pushed the door open, he didn't even look up.

"Teacher Zhao."

Lin Yucai walked over and pulled up a chair to sit down.

Old Zhao then looked up, saw that it was the principal, and awkwardly tried to stand up.

"Sit down," Lin Yucai said, pressing him down. "I'll just chat for a bit."

He picked up a corrected exam paper from the table and looked at it.

That roll didn't score high, only in the sixties.

But Lao Zhao wrote detailed annotations next to almost every wrong answer.

One place even has a sign that says, "If you can't figure this out, come and ask me."

Lin Yucai stared at the small print and remained silent for a moment.

"Teacher Zhao, your annotations are more meticulous than any other famous teacher I've ever seen." He looked up.

Old Zhao paused for a moment, pushed up his glasses, and said somewhat awkwardly, "I'm used to it. Anyway... no one will read it whether I write it or not."

"Why isn't anyone looking at this?" Lin Yucai put down the test paper. "This kid got 62 points. What do you think he can get next time?"

"His foundation is weak, but he's quick-witted," Old Zhao thought for a moment and answered seriously.

"These mistakes were all due to carelessness; the concepts were actually understood."

"Answer better next time, seventy-five and above will be no problem."

As he said this, a glint of light welled up in his eyes.

What Lin Yucai wanted was just this little bit of light.

"Teacher Zhao, I have something to tell you." He leaned forward. "These past few days, quite a few parents have come to visit. Some of their children have high scores and could get into the top high school, but they are hesitating."

"What are you hesitating about?"

"I wonder if our No. 13 Middle School has any teachers who can teach their children well."

Old Zhao's fingers paused on the test paper.

Lin Yucai continued, "Some people outside are saying that we only know how to provide benefits and don't have teachers with real skills, so the academic performance will definitely not improve."

"I would like to ask you to give a public lecture to these parents."

"Just say it the way you usually say it, without changing a single word."

The office fell silent.

Old Zhao lowered his head and stared at the stack of papers for a long time.

"Principal Lin," he said slowly, his voice a little hoarse, "I've been at No. 13 Middle School for eight years."

"Eight years ago, I was transferred from the No. 3 Middle School of the city. At that time, I thought that I would be easy to train and that I could train a few good students."

"But this school... the students are sleeping in class, you're lecturing, and they're sleeping."

"Parents just dump their kids here, hoping they can graduate; nobody expects them to go to any university."

"After talking about it for two years, I didn't dare to push myself any further."

"Talking your heart out, but nobody listens, that feeling... is awful."

Lin Yucai didn't interrupt him and listened quietly.

"Later I just did the same as them, reading from the book and leaving as soon as I finished."

Old Zhao took off his glasses and rubbed the corners of his eyes.

"But I felt so frustrated. Back in my days at No. 3 Middle School, I taught a class that was capable of getting into a top university."

He put his glasses back on and looked at Lin Yucai.

"You really want me to say this in front of my parents? What if I mess it up?"

"You can't mess up a test." Lin Yucai looked at him and said, word by word, "Teacher Zhao, a teacher who can grade a test with a score of 62 to this level, you can't mess up a test."

"Besides, it's on me if it gets smashed."

"If I, the school principal, am not afraid, what are you afraid of?"

Old Zhao stared at him for a long time, and something slowly came to life in those eyes that had been dulled by the years.

He reached out, straightened the stack of papers on the table, and patted it.

"Okay," he said. "I'll tell you."

"Not only will I talk about it, I'll bring out all my best teaching methods."

"I'll show those who say No. 13 Middle School has no good teachers what level its math classes are."

……

The open class is scheduled for the morning of two days from now.

As soon as the news was released, a large number of parents signed up to visit.

Some were initially observing, wanting to see if the school truly had any real capabilities.

Some students had already filled out their college applications and wanted to reassure themselves.

Su Qingyan cleared out the largest lecture hall and added three rows of chairs at the back specifically for parents.

The students in the front row were from the class with the worst academic foundation in the first year of high school.

Lin Yucai specifically chose this class.

"If you want to see, just look at how well the worst class can be taught," he told Su Qingyan. "If even the worst class can be taught clearly, what else do parents have to worry about?"

After listening, Su Qingyan glanced at him and said, "You're putting Old Zhao on the hot seat."

"I'm setting up a stage for Lao Zhao," Lin Yucai laughed. "He's been holding back for eight years, just waiting for this moment to ignite a fire."

When the school bell rang, more than forty parents were sitting in the back row of the lecture hall.

Old Zhao walked in carrying a tattered lesson plan and stood on the podium.

He glanced at the sea of ​​parents in the back row, his throat bobbed, and he gripped the chalk in his hand a little tighter.

Even the poor students in the front row sat up straight, one of them craning his neck to look at his parents behind him.

Lin Yucai stood at the back of the classroom, leaning against the wall, and nodded to Lao Zhao.

Old Zhao took a deep breath but didn't exhale, then turned around and wrote the first question on the blackboard.

One of the function problems was the one that this class got the most wrong on the last test.

"No new lesson today." He turned around, his voice still a little strained. "We'll just talk about this one, the one where the whole class got thirty-two wrong."

The function problem was written quietly on the blackboard.

The children in the front row frowned as soon as they saw it; they had all failed this question on their exams.

Old Zhao didn't rush to explain the law.

He picked up the chalk and drew a crooked little figure next to the question.

"This little guy walks from home to school," he said, his voice a little steadyer than before. "If he walks fast, he arrives early; if he walks slowly, he arrives late."

"The question is asking what time he should leave home to avoid being late."

A parent in the back row paused for a moment.

When he first saw the question, he just thought it was a bunch of letters and didn't think about it in real life at all.

As Old Zhao spoke, he drew, breaking down those frightening symbols one by one into the steps of a little person walking.

"x represents time, and y represents how far he has traveled."

"Don't be afraid of these two letters. They are just two symbols, like the contacts you save on your phone."

The eyes of the underachieving students in the front row slowly followed the movement of his chalk.

A boy who usually sleeps in class actually raised his hand.

"Teacher, what if he starts running halfway through?"

"Good question! The line becomes steeper as soon as he runs." Old Zhao's eyes lit up. "Come on, come up and draw it."

The boy lingered, took the chalk, and added a diagonal line to the drawing.

"That's right!" Old Zhao clapped his hands. "If you already know it, what are you afraid of regarding functions?"

In the parent group at the back, someone let out a soft "Huh".

The woman who reported her child's score of 598 originally came with the intention of finding fault.

She stared at the blackboard, her pen unconsciously writing down notes in her notebook.

As Lao Zhao spoke, he became more and more fluent, and the energy he had when he led the rocket class eight years ago returned to him.