Chapter 69 – Students’ Request
“You… want to contribute?” Jade looked at the student standing in front of her, and tilted her head.
It was after class. The students who had work outside the domus hurried toward the dining hall, while those staying for the tuition session slowly packed up and rearranged the tables into groups for their projects.
Jade was about to head to the dining hall as usual – everyone knew her routine – but the boy in front of her stopped her.
John Potter.
His grandfather and great-grandfather had been a potter, but his father – rebellious, according to what she’d heard – had gone off to become a sailor and never returned. Not to be confused with John Carter, whose entire family worked as carters, and who, if Jade remembered correctly, was quite good at numbers.
She had a hard time keeping track of names like these. There were three Johns and two Marys in her class alone, and Mr. Anderson’s class had even more repeats. Ever since the tuition classes had combined students from both groups, the list of names in her head had turned into a complete mess.
It wasn’t really anyone’s fault. Among poorer families, education was limited, and naming traditions tended to be repetitive as they didn’t have the insight to be creative with names. Some parents even asked the clergy – in their parish, it was usually Father Rochester – to name their children.
It reminded Jade of similar practices in ancient Chinese culture. In villages without scholars to help with naming, children were often given very simple names. Boys might be called names that could roughly translate to Big Bull, Second Bull, Big Pillar, Second Pillar, Big Dog, or Big Furhead. Girls might be named something like Big Girl, Second Girl, or, if they were cherished, Gold, Silver, Pearl, or Jewel. However, in families that desperately wanted sons, names like Bring-a-Brother, Bring-another-Brother, or Keep-Bringing-Brothers weren’t uncommon.
Jade caught herself drifting and quickly shook the random thought away, returning to the present. “Why do you want to contribute?” she asked slowly. “I mean, I appreciate it, but you work at the textile factory, right? I suppos you don’t have time for extra tasks?”
“But, Miss Jade,” John Potter blushed slightly, seeming embarrassed… no, more than that. He looked ashamed. “You give us good food and books. That all comes from the students’ fund, doesn’t it? Now those of the tuition class are preparing for a bazaar, and their work will turn into food and books for everyone… but we’ve done nothing. We’re just taking.”
If it were only the students helping in the bakehouse, the difference wouldn’t have felt so obvious. Most of them didn’t even see that as real work – just helping Miss Jade with baking, not working in a proper shop.
But the tuition class was different. The handicrafts were sold to people outside the domus. That was real work.
And those who didn’t take part – who still received new notebooks and pens – were benefiting without contributing anything at all.
John Potter lowered his head. As the one chosen to speak for the others, he could feel his face burning with shame. The rest had not dared to say it aloud, but he had braved himself to stand here, in front of Miss Jade.
His hands trembled. His heart pounded. And he waited for Miss Jade’s answer.
And the Miss Jade he had waited for, blinked, taking a moment to process his words.
In a way, what John Potter said made sense. It didn’t seem fair for those who didn’t contribute to the handicraft work to still receive all the benefits. But unless these child workers gave up their job – which they couldn’t, since every penny they earned went toward keeping their families afloat – Jade couldn’t see how they were supposed to help. The wages she gave to the tuition students – a meal plus a penny – was nothing compared to what they earned at the textile factory.
“Well, in the future, you can donate some coins to the school,” Jade said, “When you’re older, when you have more to spare, you can give back and help the students then.”
“But those in the future aren’t my classmates,” John said, his eyes bright with determination. “We want to contribute, together with our classmates!”
“Wait… you’re speaking for a group?” Jade’s eyes widened slightly. “You don’t just mean yourself?”
“No, I’m speaking for everyone who can’t attend the tuition class,” John pouted and muttered softly to himself, “I want to go to the tuition class, too.”
Jade was surprised.
To her, these children had already been doing well enough simply by not causing trouble. She had expected arguments, fights, pranks, even lies – things she had been prepared to deal with when she first took over the class under Father Rochester’s instruction. Poor or not, children were still children, a grey hue that doesn’t know the line between right and wrong. Bullying, rough play – even to the point that blood was shed – was, for them, perhaps just some fun game. They were a kind of chaotic creature that, without proper guidance, could easily grow into something worse.
That was why Jade hoped to interact with parents; because parents were meant to be role models, and that was why child education mattered. Before teaching knowledge, one had to teach the young ones the rules to live in a society, and what was right and wrong.
In Confucian thought, all of this fell under the idea of “rites” or “proper conduct” – she was still, spiritually, a Chinese person who had once lived in a place where the culture was heavily influenced by Confucius. Though over time, those ideas had been manipulated by politics, and the original intention twisted into rigid, dreadful traditions. But back when they were first introduced by Confucius, they were an advanced idealism – a truly good intention meant to guide society toward becoming better.
Jade knew well enough how flawed humans could be. Even if she didn’t go looking for it, news would still find its way onto her social media feeds. Stories, novels – she had read plenty of them , many exploring the darker sides of human nature. Teaching children was never an easy job.
And taking without giving? That was a very human habit.
Who would want a meal to fall from the sky? To do nothing and still be fed, to live comfortably like a noble – who would refuse that?
Jade didn’t think she had done much in terms of moral education, aside from incorporating stories from the Lumen Codex into their lessons. Turning someone from selfish to good – that was something a Great Lecturer like Confucius might achieve, not her, a part-time teacher.
And that was why she was surprised – stunned at first, then a quiet sense of gratitude settled in the second, because she was fortunate to see her students display such virtue she hadn’t taught, a kind of morale she did not expect to see among the poor. She knew they had long been in an environment where survival often meant grabbing whatever one could because there might not be a second chance, yet these children still showed an integrity she had never explicitly taught.
She had seen them grab the generosity provided by charity units.
She had seen them grab whatever she had provided to her students through the projects she had led.
And now, they were asking to give.
Well… maybe she should thank Mr. Rich Sponsor for the progress. Under his management, the poor in this parish hadn’t been pushed to the point where survival was the only thing they could think about.
Whichever Deity sent me here must’ve picked this place on purpose as my spawning point, Jade mused. Otherwise, how would I have these good students?
With a small, warm smile, she nodded. “Actually, I should be the one apologising. I didn’t think about including you all in this. My bad, for making you guys feel left out.”
John Potter’s eyes lit up. “No, Miss Jade, you don’t need to apologise! You already think about so many things, and you’re tired. That’s why you had a day off, isn’t it? Please take care of yourself. We were worried about you back then.”
“Don’t worry, I learned my lesson,” Jade said with a light chuckle. “Anything else you want to tell me?”
“Um, w–we could help clean the school,” John Potter suggested hesitantly. “We could come earlier and sweep the floors… Or–”
“No, that won’t work.” Jade shook her head. “I purposely delayed our class during winter so you all wouldn’t have to come in the dark. I’m not letting any of you come earlier.”
“But, Miss Jade…”
“No worries, John. I’ll think of something,” she said with a reassuring smile. “Something you all can do in your free time without adding more burden.”
“Really? Thank you, Miss Jade!” John Potter beamed, then hurried off to join his friends in the dining hall.
Josh, who had been waiting nearby for his Sensei, stepped forward. “Sensei, any ideas for their contribution?”
“I have no idea,” Jade said with a slightly wry and wilted tone, still wearing a polite smile as she waved off the other students who had finished their dinner and were leaving the domus. “Just pray to the Light that something comes to me soon. Or else I might have them make ropes or strings out of hay or dried grass. That’s definitely something even a blind person can do. And if we make enough, maybe we could sell them… though I have no idea who would ever need that many ropes and strings.”
Well, grass ropes could be used for sandals. Ancient Chinese sandals were made that way using ropes and scraps of cloth… Jade mused. But that wouldn’t fit here. Everyone wears leather shoes. Showing up in rope sandals would look… weird.
“That already sounds like a workable idea, Sensei,” Josh said, impressed.
After helping out with so many tasks, he had realised how difficult it was to come up with a solution on the spot. Yet his Sensei could always come up with something… even if the words just slipped out of her mouth while she was immersed in thoughts.
“I would prefer something better,” Jade sighed as she picked up her bowl of soup and pie. “Ropes and strings don’t sell for much, and they’re probably worse than machine-made ones anyway… Say, do machines even make ropes? Wouldn’t the plant fibers just get shredded?”
Josh knew she wasn’t really asking him. Her lowered voice meant she was thinking out loud again. And even if she had been asking, with his limited knowledge, he wouldn’t have had an answer.
Perhaps the Light really was watching over Jade. Later, during the tuition session, as she oversaw the students working on their handicrafts and wracked her brain for ideas, Sister Geenia summoned her.
“Sister Geenia?” Jade thanked Brother Milo for delivering the message, then made her way to the kitchen. It was unusual for the nun in charge of the kitchen to call her out of class as they usually had plenty of chances to talk during meals.
“Glad you’re here, Miss Jade,” Sister Geenia said, gesturing for her to come closer. She stood beside Sister Lucy in front of the kitchen, both of them looking down at several barrels lined up nearby. Behind them, the kitchen was filled with women busily pounding meat into paste… the rapid, relentless thudding might have made an outsider wonder what kind of torture was taking place inside what was supposed to be a place od charity.
“Is there anything I can help with, Sister Geenia?” Jade asked, raising her voice slightly to be heard over the noise.
Sister Geenia pointed sharply at the barrels, her expression tight with irritation. “Look at these beans!”
Jade stepped closer. One of the barrels had already opened, revealing a heap of beans she didn’t recognise. She leaned in for a better look, then scooped up a handful. She frowned – she might not know what kind of bean they were, but something about them was clearly off.
“They’re far too old!” Sister Geenia said, her voice edged with frustration. “I might as well spend my own coins to buy fresh ones. I definitely am not wasting my time and coal boiling these tasteless bits for hours!”
Sister Lucy added quietly, “We sometimes receive small and understandable amounts of food that are no longer suitable for cooking, but this is the first time we’ve been given entire barrels like this.”
“This is unacceptable! I must speak to Father at once,” Sister Geenia said firmly. “Miss Jade, please discuss with Lucy what can be done with them. I shall return very soon.”
“...Alright, Sister Geenia…” Jade replied, though the nun had already turned and stormed away before she could finish.
Jade and Sister Lucy exchanged a brief glance, then turned their attention back to the barrels.
Jade opened another one. A different kind of bean filled it to the brim.
Sister Lucy moved to help her. By the time they had opened all eight barrels, they had found five different types of beans, each packed to the top.
The nun, who had always been quiet, suggested in a soft voice, “We could grind them into a coarse powder and mix them with the compost. At least that way, they would not go to waste.”
Jade didn’t answer immediately. She studied the beans in silence, her gaze lingering as a thought slowly took shape. It felt as if she could make use of these beans somehow… something more than just compost…
Then, her eyes lit up.
She turned to Sister Lucy with a grin. “I think I just found exactly what I need!”
Sister Lucy blinked, tilted her head slightly. “...Pardon?”