The Riverside Exam

In our parts, summer arrived early and lingered exceptionally long. By May, the sun was already scorching, the asphalt roads softened by the heat, making your soles sticky when you stepped on them. The air was filled with the sweet fragrance of gardenias and the reek of rotting waterweeds from the riverside. Back then, the cicadas hadn't started their chorus yet, but the afternoons always made one drowsy.

Life in a small place was simple, yet also wearing. The biggest concern was, undoubtedly, the children's future. Back then, there was no talk of "holistic education"; it was a single-track path: study, take exams, and escape this riverside town. Especially the vocational college entrance exam – for many families, it was a tangible lifeline their children could grasp.

Xiao Lin was one of those children hoping to break free. Tall and lanky, a boy of few words, he usually buried himself in his books, occasionally helping his family fetch water or chop firewood, quick and nimble. His father hauled sacks at the town's rice shop, his mother stitched shoe soles at home; the family's hopes all rested on Xiao Lin's exam. Chinese language was his strongest subject. His teacher said Xiao Lin's essays had "lingqi" – a spark, a spirit – like river stones, polished smooth and captivating to read.

On the day of the exam, the weather was even more suffocating, like a steam basket. Early in the morning, his mother boiled him two eggs with brown sugar, reminding him again and again: "Don't panic, stay calm, read the questions carefully." Xiao Lin nodded, drank the sweet egg soup, and felt a heavy weight in his heart, as if he were carrying a stone.

The examination hall was at the town's middle school, not far from the river. After finishing the math exam in the morning, Xiao Lin felt it went okay, not too difficult. He wolfed down a couple of mouthfuls of rice at home for lunch and hurried back to school. The afternoon was for the crucial Chinese language paper.

Walking along the stretch by the river, the sun was blazing. The river water was a shimmering green, looking cool and inviting. A few half-grown kids, whose they were nobody knew, had stripped off their clothes and were splashing into the river with "plop, plop" sounds. This river looked calm, but there were hidden whirlpools underneath. Every summer, something would happen, so adults usually forbade children from going near it.

Xiao Lin, preoccupied with his exam, didn't pay much attention and quickened his pace. He hadn't gone far when he heard a "plop" from behind, not the sound of playful splashing, followed by panicked shouts: "Pingping! Pingping fell in!"

Xiao Lin whipped his head around. A few children were jumping frantically on the bank, pointing to the middle of the river. A girl's head bobbed up and down in the water; she had clearly swallowed water and was struggling feebly. Pingping! Xiao Lin recognized her – the little girl from next door, only in elementary school, a sturdy, endearing child.

In that instant, Xiao Lin's mind went blank with a "buzz." He looked at the distant red-brick building of the town middle school, then at Pingping struggling in the river. Time seemed to stand still. He could almost hear his own heartbeat, thumping, thumping, thumping, making his chest ache. The afternoon's Chinese exam, what would the essay topic be? The prepared sentences, model essays, the teacher's reminders – they surged up like a tide, then receded just as quickly.

It was only a matter of a second or two. Xiao Lin threw his stationery pouch on the ground, kicked off his shoes, and dived headfirst into the river.

The river water was colder than he expected, making him shiver. He wasn't a top-notch swimmer, but he could manage to thrash about. He swam desperately towards Pingping. Seeing someone come to her rescue, Pingping panicked even more, flailing her arms and legs, and threw her arms around Xiao Lin's neck. Xiao Lin, entangled by her, began to sink, swallowing several mouthfuls of water. The water had an earthy, muddy smell. He had only one thought: I can't let go, I have to drag her ashore.

With an unknown surge of brute strength, Xiao Lin finally managed to push Pingping towards the bank. Adults on the bank, alerted by the commotion, had also rushed over and, with many hands, pulled Pingping out. Pingping burst into tears, spat out some water, and gradually recovered.

Xiao Lin climbed ashore himself, soaked to the bone, hair dripping, looking like a drowned rat. He collapsed on the ground, gasping for breath, gazing at the distant red-brick building of the middle school, an empty feeling in his heart. Someone handed him a dry towel; someone asked his name. He shook his head, unable to speak.

When he came to his senses and remembered the afternoon Chinese exam, he panicked and bolted towards the school. As he reached the school gate, the bell signaling the end of the exam rang. Students emerged in twos and threes, discussing the essay topic. Xiao Lin stood at the entrance, an outsider. His exam was already over. It had ended the moment he jumped into the river.

The incident quickly spread throughout the small town. Some called Xiao Lin a hero, praising his bravery and righteousness as remarkable. Others sighed, saying it was a pity for the boy, that he had ruined his future to save someone. When his father found out, he didn't speak a word all night, just puffed on his dry pipe, his expression obscured by the swirling smoke. His mother secretly wiped her tears, murmuring, "Silly child, silly child…"

Later, the town awarded Xiao Lin a commendation for "Courageous and Righteous Youth," a red paper certificate, and a five-hundred-yuan prize. Pingping's family was overwhelmed with gratitude, visiting several times with gifts of eggs and dried noodles. When Pingping saw him, she would shyly call out, "Brother Lin."

But that missed Chinese exam, like a hidden whirlpool at the bottom of the river, swept Xiao Lin's future in a different direction. He couldn't attend vocational college, nor did he retake the exam the following year. He followed his father to the rice shop to haul sacks. His shoulders developed thick calluses, his skin tanned dark by the sun.

Sometimes, during afternoon breaks from work, he would walk to the riverside and gaze at the shimmering green water. The river still flowed as it always had, neither hurried nor slow. The gardenias bloomed as usual, the air still carrying that familiar sweet fragrance and watery reek. He would remember that sweltering afternoon, the icy river water, Pingping's struggling form, and the Chinese exam he never took.

He seldom ate brown sugar eggs after that. Occasionally, a new shop in town would sell a new kind of soda, called "Sprite" or something, with a strong, somewhat strange taste. He tried it once but didn't think it was as good as the old-fashioned orange soda. The old orange soda was honestly sweet, like the days of his childhood. His life now, he couldn't say if it was good or bad, just like this river, flowing slowly, destination unknown.

He didn't consider himself a hero, nor did he feel regret. It was just that sometimes, late at night, listening to the wind outside his window, he would suddenly recall his teacher's words: "Xiao Lin's essays have lingqi." That lingqi, he didn't know where it had drifted off to. Perhaps, like the unwritten essay, it had sunk to the bottom of the river that summer.