The “Flower of Four Waters” honor existed.
The county television station, responding to the call for quality education, had issued a competition notice to all elementary school students. Chen Huan’er, then in fifth grade, had fought her way through each round, performing exceptionally well in knowledge quizzes, talent shows, and impromptu responses, claiming victory as a dark horse. It was her life’s first time being surrounded by flowers and applause. When giving her victory speech, she was so excited that tears streamed down her face, and in her excitement, she even forgot the competition’s name. With all those dark cameras pointed at her and the microphone right in front, Huan’er nervously lowered her head to look at her certificate. Through tear-blurred eyes, she accidentally misread the handwritten character “星” (star) as “花” (flower), and thus the proper “Star of Four Waters” Chen Huan’er became the unorthodox “Flower of Four Waters.”
Of course, she never imagined this would help her make her first friend since transferring schools.
Qi Qi reminded her of her school days in Four Waters. In those days, the top student’s notes could be shared with the whole class, helping others wasn’t about showing off what you knew but sharing whatever you understood, and when speaking of classmates, you might mention their beautiful handwriting or how clean they kept things, never just remembering their monthly exam ranking. Chen Huan’er often wondered if it was only here that things were different, or if her old friends in Four Waters had also changed this way.
The once unreachable Tianhe First had been planted in their hearts; she understood that people change.
They become less playful, more preoccupied with worries, and start using grades as a measuring stick for others.
Unfortunately, her good friend’s severe subject imbalance meant she could offer little help despite her best intentions—though she could rank first in the grade in Chinese and write model essays. However, after two months of school, when the midterm results came out, Qi Qi ranked below average, while Chen Huan’er was second to last in the class.
It was unprecedented, even dropping more than ten places from the last monthly exam.
That day, as the two rode their bikes home together, Qi Qi consoled her, “You just have a weak foundation, you’ll catch up later.”
Huan’er, like frost-bitten eggplant, slowly pedaled her bike, “Hopefully.”
Qi continued to encourage, “We’re in the advanced class, our overall grade ranking isn’t bad.”
Huan’er just sighed without speaking.
“There’s still more than half a year, don’t lose heart.”
More than losing heart, she was angry with herself. Chen Huan’er, heavy with worry, let out a deep “Aih.”
Qi Qi stopped trying to say more. She lived in another neighborhood, and when they parted, she patted her friend’s shoulder, “Keep at it.”
The emotional outbreak came when she saw her father the moment she entered the home. Chen’s father was in the military and rarely home, using a few days of his countable annual leave after her midterm exams. Chen Huan’er’s nose stung as she burst into tears, “Why did you come back when I didn’t even do well?”
Her father, while taking her schoolbag, joked, “By that standard, would your dad ever get to come home?”
She cried even louder, standing at the doorway sobbing, “Ask heaven, how would I know?”
Mom Chen came out of the kitchen carrying dishes, “Stop crying, it’s not that big a deal. Come eat quickly.”
“I probably won’t get to eat once I tell you my ranking.” Huan’er stood rooted to the spot, tears streaming down.
“Should have said earlier, could have had your mom cook less.” Dad Chen ruffled her head, “Be a warrior, make a comeback from rock bottom, and rise from the ashes.”
“Stop teasing her.” Mom Chen pushed her daughter toward the bathroom, “Go wash your hands quickly.”
Looking at the table full of dishes and her smiling parents, Chen Huan’er felt doubly guilty, closing the bathroom door and turning on the faucet before wailing loudly.
How fortunate she was to have such parents, who knew her difficulty in speaking about rankings and grades and never asked, who had never once scolded her for her grades since she started taking tests.
Of course, she had never done this poorly since she started taking exams.
In Four Waters, she had been a good student praised by teachers, a clever class monitor envied by everyone, so how did she become the one dragging down the class average here, despite studying hard and memorizing desperately every day? The math paper was unfinished, English listening comprehension completely baffling, physics problems were all impossible, and even in her best subject, chemistry, half was guesswork. Chen Huan’er had never felt such despair as this moment; she didn’t know what else she could do.
Sitting at the dinner table with swollen eyes, she stuffed food into her mouth without a word, tasting nothing. She dared not look up, knowing that if she met her parents’ concerned eyes, she would cry again.
The Chen’s parents exchanged glances, Dad Chen shaking his head slightly, nudging Mom Chen’s arm to signal her to speak.
“Well,” Mom Chen cleared her throat, “City kids here start learning English in first grade, while you only started in sixth grade in Four Waters, so you naturally started late, some gap is normal. Besides, you’re in the advanced class, everyone’s a top student, don’t be so hard on yourself.”
The more understanding her mother was, the more guilty Huan’er felt, her head almost buried in her bowl as tears threatened to fall again.
Seeing the situation worsen, Dad Chen quickly agreed, “Your mom’s right. As the old saying goes, better to be the head of a phoenix than the tail of a chicken, right?”
Huan’er corrected through glistening tears, “Better to be the tail of a phoenix than the head of a chicken.”
“Right, we won’t be the chicken’s head.” Dad Chen said with utmost seriousness, putting some food in her bowl with his chopsticks, “How could the Flower of Four Waters wither so easily?”
Chen Huan’er burst out laughing with a “pfft,” but tears squeezed out too, making her laugh and cry at once, “I’m just a wilted flower now.”
“You’re just a flower bud.” Mom Chen issued her command, “Hurry and eat, while your dad’s here, we’ll go visit someone after dinner. Auntie Lin’s child is about your age, we can get some advice while we’re there.”
Chen Huan’er nodded. She had heard of Auntie Lin before, her mother’s senior from medical school and current direct supervisor, who had recommended her mother’s transfer to City Third Hospital. As a family member, she naturally had the duty to support the head of the household in their social life.
“Going empty-handed?” Dad Chen asked, “You’d need at least two jin of eggs to properly thank someone.”
“No need,” Mom Chen refused decisively, “Besides, it’s late at night—where would I find two jin of eggs now that you’ve had this revelation?”
Dad Chen looked around their new home, where they hadn’t even bought sofa covers yet, and indeed found no suitable gift to express sincere gratitude. So he nodded, took a bite of food, and said, “Tomorrow you all go to work and school as usual, I’ll tidy up around here.”
“Not my room,” Huan’er quickly interjected upon hearing this, “Please.”
The first skill in life that could truly be called a skill wasn’t writing, wasn’t riding a bike, wasn’t growing flowers, but rather—folding blankets into perfect tofu-block shapes. When she was young, she followed her parents’ lead, and since adults required it, that’s what she did, presenting a set of crisp-cornered bedding every morning. Only as she grew up did Chen Huan’er understand this wasn’t any kind of life skill, but purely a soldier who, after training recruits, started training his daughter.
As soon as she developed independent thinking, she began to slack off, and now her room was so messy she couldn’t find anything herself.
Hearing this, Dad Chen immediately understood, pointing at his daughter while telling his wife, “Why don’t we package this one up and send her away?”
“This one?” Mom Chen pursed her lips, “If anyone would take her, I’d draw up the papers right here tonight.”
The advantage of living in the staff housing complex was that visiting neighbors was environmentally friendly—walking forward three buildings to the innermost unit was their destination. Huan’er followed behind her parents, and after two knocks, the door opened quickly. She heard a familiar voice, “Hello, Uncle and Auntie.”
Their eyes met and both were startled, with Jing Qichi being the first to laugh, “What a coincidence, Chen Huan’er.”
“Oh, Chen Lei’s on leave?” A middle-aged woman peeked out from behind him, “We were just talking about you two, come in quickly.”
“Hello, Auntie Lin,” Huan’er called out properly upon seeing her.
“Huan’er’s grown into quite a young lady.” Jing’s mom pulled Chen’s mom to sit on the sofa, “Ah, in my memory she was just born, really…”
“That’s how fast it goes, in the blink of an eye.” Chen’s mom asked, “Old Jing’s not back yet?”