"No way, how could it be moldy? It looks all white and even smells like the sun," Zhang Yiyi really didn’t want to drag such a huge quilt into the classroom. How embarrassing that would be.
Without clarification, they wouldn’t believe it. If it were truly high-quality cotton, she wouldn’t have seen: "Black heart cotton made from medical fiber waste, without any disinfection measures, illegally entering the market, containing a large amount of harmful bacteria. Direct contact may cause itching, and in severe cases, all sorts of ringworm diseases. Long-term use can easily lead to respiratory diseases such as asthma."
"No way, could it have been used to cover corpses? That’s so disgusting," Lin Xiang had goosebumps all over her hands, while Lin Ya was still half-doubtful; the quilt looked perfectly fine, not as terrible as Xiao Xian had described.
"Take it to the head teacher to have a look," Zhang Yiyi chose to believe Xiao Xian unconditionally. To avoid skin contact with the "poisonous" quilt, they each held onto a side of the bag and went to the classroom building for the class meeting.
Xiao Xian, who had previously studied in a temple, had never attended a class meeting before and found his way to Class 1 (3), which was already filled with over forty people.
The four of them arrived late, dragging a cotton quilt which attracted as much attention as it did.
"Really, why is only the front row empty," Zhang Yiyi looked around. There were no other consecutive empty seats except for the four spots in the front row. Seating someone as tall as her in the front row was just too conspicuous.
"Students, the class meeting is about to start, please sit down quickly," said Zhou Xiaoling, the monitor of Class 1 (3). Other class leaders had also been selected in advance, mostly based on academic excellence or past experience as young pioneers or class monitors in elementary school.
"The teacher is coming," a student by the door called out, and the classroom quieted down, with nearly fifty pairs of eyes turning to look at the classroom entrance.
Footsteps were approaching the teacher’s side, and Xiao Xian pushed the bag with the quilt toward the aisle in front of the podium, making it very noticeable to the teacher upon entry. These malicious traders have gone too far; making money shouldn’t come at the cost of endangering people’s health.
Wang Haiping, carrying a new student enrollment form, entered the classroom. He was about thirty-five years old, wearing a pair of neat frameless glasses, with hair neither long nor short, and had laughter lines at the corners of his mouth, "Hello, students."
"Hello, Teacher," hearing the neat chorus of replies, Wang Haiping nodded with satisfaction. Only a few steps in, he kicked the bag with the quilt.
"Which student brought luggage into the classroom?" Wang Haiping attempted to move the quilt aside.
Little did he know, a girl from the front row held onto the bag.
"Teacher, this isn’t luggage, it’s our newly issued quilts," Xiao Xian opened the bag and pulled out the quilt.
Suddenly, a quilt was spread out in front of the teacher’s desk. Wang Haiping had been a class head teacher for nearly ten years, and this was his third intake of new students, but he had never seen first-year students before—this new student had too much nerve.
You should know, in China, below kindergarten, the teacher’s words are as good as candy—promise a little red flower as a reward and they’ll be thrilled for days. From elementary to junior high, the teacher’s word is the absolute truth. During the three years of high school, the teacher’s word is like a whip, whipped hard all for the sake of the college entrance exam. In college, what are the teacher’s words? Nothing at all.
The classroom immediately erupted into chaos, with those in the front row craning their necks to see, while those in the back all stood up. At least they still retained the habit of elementary school students, not daring to rush to the front of the podium.
Zhang Yiyi and her friends only dared to watch, not uttering a single word.
Xiao Xian didn’t have that concept; in the temple, Master Shanyin had never stipulated that they must sit for an hour with their bottoms glued to the seat, nor that they had to raise their hands to speak.
"Which student? What are you doing? Quilts shouldn’t be torn; each new student only gets one set of quilt." Wang Haiping wanted to say more when Zhang Yiyi courageously interjected, "Teacher, Xiao Xian said the cotton filler we received is black heart cotton, which could make us sick."
Black heart cotton—Wang Haiping looked incredulously at the newly-appearing cotton filler, turned around, and went to the office to retrieve scissors. He then cut the cotton filler open forcefully. Upon cutting, the filler broke open, revealing some cotton wadding that was a different color from the outside. The processed black heart cotton couldn’t be identified just by looking; fortunately, Wang Haiping had recently paid attention to a series of reports on black heart cotton and had learned a few tricks to distinguish such inferior cotton.