14. The Wager: 4.2 Points

After seeing Wang Xiaohu and his grandson off, Li An returned to his office, filled out some paperwork, poured another glass of water for Xiaohu, and went back to the classroom.

There were twenty days left until the teacher skills assessment. To ensure nothing would go wrong, Li An analyzed his current overall performance and realized there were still a few pieces among grades nine and ten that he could refine further.

Everyone understood by now that the focus of this assessment was professional competence.

Performance was important, of course, but life is like that—there are always things beyond one's immediate control.

So ordinary people must swallow what’s on their plate and move forward.

He practiced, and the day slipped by. With the holiday mode in effect, Yudong Academy extended its closing time to nine in the evening, but only for teachers who had lessons; those without classes could still clock out at five-thirty.

As the end of the workday drew near, most teachers had already left.

Qin Yong stayed late, and Old Dong had to follow suit, especially in these two months—he couldn’t afford to be careless.

After listening to Qin Yong’s classes all day, Old Dong had learned quite a lot.

Starting tomorrow, he would need to observe and grade classes on his own.

This evaluation segment required each member of the assessment committee, himself included, to independently observe and score the classroom performance of every participating teacher.

In other words, for Teacher A being evaluated, the comprehensive score for on-site teaching would be the sum of independent scores given by evaluators B, C, D, E, and F, divided by five.

All five evaluators needed to observe classes separately.

This assessment had to be completed before the teacher professional skills evaluation concluded.

“Principal Qin, shall we go downstairs for some food? There’s a dumpling place nearby that’s quite good,” Old Dong suggested at dinnertime, showing his understanding.

“Let’s just order delivery,” Qin Yong replied, exhausted from the week and eager to finish up and head home.

As they walked from the eastern teaching wing back to the office, Qin Yong heard piano music coming from the west side, its rhythm strange and hopping.

“Director Dong, which teacher is playing?” he asked.

“Li An,” Old Dong replied instinctively. “Since his first day here, Teacher Li spends most of his day in the classroom.”

“Oh?” Qin Yong’s interest was piqued.

Old Dong’s eyes shifted as he quickly added, “He’s diligent in other duties, too—a hardworking young man.”

Qin Yong smiled slyly, “Tell me, Director Dong, do you think that piece sounds good?”

“It does,” Old Dong replied.

Qin Yong didn’t press further, sensing Old Dong was being less than sincere.

When he was young and practicing Liszt’s Dance of the Dwarfs, no one nearby thought it sounded nice—not even himself.

…

The next morning, Li An arrived at the piano room ahead of Xiaobei.

He was full of anticipation for today’s lesson, having monitored Xiaobei’s practice yesterday through the academy’s piano class system—she had spent two hours practicing in both the morning and evening.

Four hours of practice—how much progress would Xiaobei make with the little fugue? Had she grasped the essence of the drop-and-lift technique?

Ten minutes later, Xiaobei walked in wearing a pair of adorable little rain boots.

With a cheerful “Good morning, teacher,” she began her eighth lesson with Li An.

Xiaobei warmed up with the third-level scales, then began to play Czibulka’s little fugue.

Her right hand smoothly carried out the first melody, soon joined by the left hand playing the second melodic line.

The two lines chased each other until the piece ended.

The tempo was moderate, no wrong notes, the counterpoint tidy enough.

The execution of the phrasing had clearly improved, which delighted Li An most.

Xiaobei had finally touched the threshold of the drop-and-lift technique.

“Very well played. Yesterday was your only practice this week, wasn’t it?”

Praised, Xiaobei’s face blossomed with a smile. “I practiced a bit in the morning and evening yesterday. In the afternoon, Dad took my little brother and me to Grandma’s house.”

“Didn’t you stay overnight at Grandma’s?”

Li An asked as he flipped Xiaobei’s book to Kuhlau’s little sonata.

“No, because I had piano class in the morning. Grandma’s house is far.”

As teacher and student prepared to begin, two soft knocks came from the door.

Li An’s gaze shifted slightly; then the door was pushed open.

Qin Yong walked in holding a black notebook, smiled, gestured for them to continue, glanced at the open score on the piano, and sat in a corner of the classroom.

Li An looked at Xiaobei beside him; she seemed unaffected.

So he turned his back to Qin Yong and made a silly face at Xiaobei, who burst out laughing.

【Xiaobei’s teacher-student rapport index has risen to 65】

“Come, Xiaobei.”

Li An’s energy soared in an instant.

“Today we’ll begin with this Kuhlau piece.”

Li An always spoke with clear enunciation; his mature voice lent every phrase a rhythmic precision.

Especially when teaching a young girl, he was friendly, drawing Xiaobei into a ritualistic mode of learning.

“Kuhlau was a German composer and flutist, who wrote many works—primarily operas and instrumental pieces.”

“Among these, the most influential for us are his six little piano sonatas.”

“The piece we’re covering today is the first of his Opus 20.”

“When we approach a new work, we should first see what cues the composer has given us.”

Li An pointed to the group of letters at the top left of the score. “Allegro—what does that mean?”

“Fast tempo,” Xiaobei answered.

“Excellent. We’ve established the speed and character. Now, is there a key signature?”

“No, so it’s C major.”

Li An approved silently. “Finally, let’s check the time signature.”

“Four-four,” Xiaobei replied.

“Very good: fast tempo, C major, four-four time—the three elements are set. Now let’s look at how this piece is presented on the score.”

“Its structure, its right-hand patterns, its left-hand accompaniment textures—all things we should pay attention to.”

“Through analysis of these three points, I want to express what I see in two simple phrases.”

“Bright and singing.”

“Expansive and steady.”

Xiaobei took notes of these two phrases.

“So how do we achieve that? I’ll play slowly as I explain, and we’ll go through the piece together.”

Xiaobei stood obediently to the side, holding her score.

Qin Yong noticed this detail—Li An had no score in front of him, meaning he would have to play and explain the entire piece from memory.

Kuhlau’s work was not short.

Qin Yong knew he could never do that himself, and his curiosity was fully stirred.

He wanted to see how Li An would handle the piece under these circumstances, and whether he could truly play as he had described:

Bright and singing, expansive and steady.

Such a concise summary.

From just the first five minutes of Li An’s lesson plan, Qin Yong was already fairly satisfied.

But he had seen many excellent teachers, and Li An’s opening was merely within his expectations.

He made a sudden decision.

If Li An’s hands and words could truly convince him, then no matter what happened in the rest of the lesson, he would award a score of 4.2.

Yesterday, among the six teachers under assessment, the highest score he gave was only 3.85, and that was to a teacher with five years’ experience.

At the piano, Li An calmly exhaled.

Yet his heart was tinged with melancholy: Xiaobei, oh Xiaobei…