12. A Scene Frozen Amidst Chaos

After spending days and nights thoroughly understanding the situation at Yudong, Qin Yong found that the financial state was more optimistic than he had originally expected. Comparing the course consumption rates of the other branches, he realized that Yudong still had the highest among the four campuses. Yet, relying solely on course consumption was not enough to achieve profitability.

He carefully studied Yudong’s annual report. The operation could only be described as riddled with holes—a complete mess. The reports suggested that severe student attrition should be his top priority. However, Qin Yong knew too well that the dramatic drop in performance caused by student loss was merely a symptom. The true root was the low efficiency of personnel.

The academic administration department was practically nonexistent, and their management style was outdated. Teacher turnover was high, and there was no strong, cohesive, and capable teaching team. He planned to spend this week investigating the academic administration thoroughly, and next week’s meeting would focus on improving the efficiency of the administrative staff.

He intended to be courteous with the teachers at first, since teachers were always the heart of the institution. He could afford to take it slow with them. But with the academic administration staff, if they couldn’t do the job, they would have to leave. Once those issues were resolved, it would be the teachers’ turn. In about two months, he would be able to gauge the true state of Yudong’s teaching staff.

The idea of granting Yudong two slots for “premium teachers” was his, as was the assessment scheme. Half an hour later, Director Dong and the head of administration arrived punctually at the office. The three held a brief meeting of less than twenty minutes. Afterward, Qin Yong requested Director Dong to have each administrative staff member’s work log from the past six months delivered to his desk by this afternoon. He then summoned the three teaching group leaders.

...

West Office.

“Then let’s wish you two happiness together. Whoever gets selected, just don’t forget to treat us to hotpot,” Xu Hongxin joked. He had guessed that Li An might take part in the assessment, but it surprised him that Chen Xuan would too. Not only him—Li An hadn’t expected it either, nor did he realize Chen Xuan was so confident in her professional skills.

Among all the assessment standards, the professional skills test was the most challenging. Li An had participated in similar skill evaluations in his previous institution, but they had all been mere formalities for parental display. Not every teacher at a training institute, even large ones like Blue Sky, could perform all the repertoire pieces for grades 9-10.

But the question remained: shouldn’t a teacher who guides grade 9-10 students be able to master those pieces themselves? Li An thought Qin Yong’s move was sharp—once this assessment standard was set, no one could object. After all, the two slots for premium teachers were right there; participation was optional.

After some banter, Li An began drafting summer course plans for three students. He finished quickly.

“Done,” Li An said, setting down his pen with a stretch.

Chen Xuan looked up. “So fast?”

---

Li An smiled, “The benefit of having fewer students.”

Chen Xuan was speechless. She hadn’t even finished one student’s plan and bowed her head to continue working. Watching Chen Xuan busy at her desk, Li An fell into contemplation. His challenge was no longer professional ability. If he could recruit three or four new students within the next two months, he was almost certain he would secure one of the slots.

And so, another problem presented itself.

...

East Office.

The atmosphere here was less joyous than in the west. Several veteran teachers gathered to complain after the meeting, though complaining didn’t help.

“Teacher Tian, it’s your turn this time, isn’t it?” Tian Yu was interrupted from his thoughts and replied modestly, “I don’t qualify yet. You young folks should give it a try.”

In everyone’s eyes, based on the assessment standards, Tian Yu was practically guaranteed one of the slots—wide student base, strong professional credentials, as long as he participated. But Tian Yu had been pondering since the meeting: what was that Qin fellow really up to at Yudong?

He had no intention of joining the selection; according to his plan, he would resign before the end of the year. Now, the question was, how many more students could he take away with him before leaving?

Just then, the three group leaders returned.

“What did the meeting say, Sister Huang?” a female teacher asked.

Huang Juan shook her head, and the male teacher behind her spoke up, “Anyone who hasn’t completed their student growth portfolios needs to finish them quickly. Principal Qin wants to review them by noon tomorrow. No exceptions.”

With that, chaos erupted in the east office.

Student growth portfolios were meant to be filled out after each class, detailing the lesson’s content and feedback for each child. The mechanism was initially set up both for parent meetings and for teaching group reviews of teacher performance. But since the previous principal left, campus activities dwindled, and parent meetings ceased.

With no one overseeing, the three group leaders grew less diligent, and some teachers began neglecting the portfolios, postponing updates or not writing them at all. The classes were taught, the wages earned—why bother?

Everyone scrambled to catch up, especially those planning to participate in the assessment, who felt flustered. Some teachers, in their haste, couldn’t even recall certain students’ names.

...

The academic administration office was no better. Some administrators felt even more pressure. Teachers could at least reconstruct student portfolios based on the repertoire content, but what could the administrators use to fill in the blanks?

Lin Pengfei, who blended into the administration office, wasn’t a traitor. It was just that when he first joined, Yudong didn’t have a west office, and the east office was full. Now, watching the busy women around him and glancing at his own neatly written student portfolios, he felt a surge of confidence.

A child was preparing to learn piano with him, and he planned to persuade the parent to enroll here. Moreover, three of his current students were about to renew their courses, further highlighting his advantage.

Now the professional skills evaluation loomed. The thought made him a bit embarrassed. He wasn’t lying—he really had spent three years in Germany.

...

After the meeting, it seemed as if Yudong’s energy had suddenly been renewed. Everyone threw themselves into their work, except for Wang Meili.

Wang Meili sat at the front desk, leisurely eating a pork bun. She mused that the new principal, though young, was truly capable. In her opinion, Qin Yong should have come long ago!

While she pondered, the elevator doors opened. An old man stepped out and began wandering around the ninth-floor lobby with his hands behind his back. He stopped at a wall lined with photo frames, put on his reading glasses, and examined the resumes of the Yudong teachers.

The old man was sharper than he appeared; he noticed that all the resumes seemed almost identical. Eventually, he reached the front desk and, in a thick Chengdu accent, asked Wang Meili mysteriously, “Which piano teacher here is the best?”

Wang Meili’s eyes flashed; she didn’t ask further but simply gave him two phone numbers. “You can try calling these.”

After the old man left, Wang Meili resumed eating. Although Li An hadn’t told her the bun was from him, she guessed there was no other likely candidate. She knew Teacher Li disliked owing favors—after eating her bun two days ago, he had returned the gesture today.

By lunchtime, Chen Xuan finally managed to finish course plans for four students. She hadn't realized, until she began writing, how vague her previous scheduling had been. Three more to go—she decided to eat first.

She picked up a bun and took a bite—wait, it wasn’t pork. Looking down at the filling, she saw golden scrambled eggs mixed with tender shrimp. She liked shrimp, but how did Li An know?

Chen Xuan looked up and saw that Li An, awake ten minutes ago, had now fallen asleep at his desk. The afternoon sunlight poured across both desks, the scene frozen for a moment.

—

And so, five days slipped quietly by.