An Wei's Educational Journey: Post #5: An Wei’s College Entrance Exam Challenge

An Wei in his final year of high school, 1962.

When An Wei tired of sitting in the high school classroom to study for the college exam, he walked to the nearby river, away from the other struggling rural students. It was spring 1962, three years into a famine that was starving most of China. But in spite of his stomach pains and increasing weakness, he was determined to follow the rigid study schedule he had set himself. Passing this exam was the only way to escape the awful poverty of a farmer.

Teacher Bao’s words pounded in his head: “You have a good chance of passing if you just memorize the three years of English textbooks.” But he also had to memorize all the other subjects.

Mid-June brought the summer harvest, and though students and teachers had little energy, they trudged home to help bring in the grain and plant the next crops.

This time—after several years of disaster—they had a good harvest. An Wei’s family still had to give a lot back to the commune, but they were better off than before. Starvation began to ebb, and though still painfully thin, he could feel his energy increase a little.

Back at school for the final weeks of exam preparation, pressure mounted. Every minute counted. He aimed to get a perfect score.

Fufeng High School graduates, July 1962.

One week before the exam, school authorities sent the students home. They told them that if they crammed until the last minute, they would get nervous and might fail even if they knew the material.


Teacher Bao gave them final instructions.


“You must report to the examination school in Xingping County by four o’clock, July 22.” Each student needed to take enough food to last for the three-day exam. The exam school would provide water. That was it.
 
A week later, An Wei boarded the train for Xingping clutching his bedding and a bundle of cloth-wrapped pancakes for his meals. At the exam school, a teacher directed the several hundred students to where they would sleep.


Slowly, An Wei ate the two pancakes he had allotted for supper and washed them down with boiled drinking water. The rest he tucked away—one for each breakfast and two each for lunch and supper. Being a little hungry, he thought, would keep him alert.


The next morning, he found his assigned seat and carefully placed his registration card on the desk. He willed himself to remain calm while they waited for the proctors to give out the first section. At least they were starting with a subject he loved, Chinese.


As his hands touched the papers, his limbs went cold. He shut his eyes for a minute, took a deep breath and said to himself, “Remember, it is just another exam. Just like the ones you have taken in every grade.”

Some of the books (on top of and inside the desk) that a modern student
uses and memorizes to prepare for the college entrance exam, the gaokao.

An Wei checked to make sure the exam number matched his registration number and then looked through the pages. It had three parts—classical Chinese to translate into modern Chinese; Chinese language and grammar; and a composition. He flexed his hands and began. If he kept up a steady pace he could finish easily within the two-hour limit.
 
Classical Chinese was a challenge, but he figured out the passages. It was like solving a puzzle, and the language part was easy for him. The composition took thought, though.


There were two options. One was “After a Rainfall”; the other asked why they should not be afraid of ghosts. An Wei pondered the choices. Since the new government said belief in ghosts was superstitious, he felt they wanted students to state the official belief. But older villagers, like his grandparents, and maybe even his parents, still believed in ghosts. It would be hard to ignore their beliefs as he wrote. So he chose “After the Rain.”


Ideas began to flow. He described life in a dry land where water was precious, and how, when the rains came, villagers rejoiced, savoring the moist soil, the blue skies and fresh air. Although this was an exam, he loved putting these words together to create a vivid picture.

High school students practicing and memorizing
material before class. Near Baoji, China. 2006.

The next day, An Wei’s heart pounded when he looked at the English exam handed to him. Because English would be his major, it would count the most.


As he leafed through its five pages, a rush of confidence surged through him. At first glance, at least, it did not look difficult; he hoped his studying had paid off. He had to remember everything he had memorized from those textbooks. He picked up his pen and began, knowing that his answers needed to be perfect for a high score. First he had to correct error-ridden sentences. He read each one with care, double-checking to be sure he was not making mistakes.


Next came definite and indefinite articles--the, a and an—which always gave him trouble. To arm himself, he had memorized every example and rule in the textbooks. He paused and told himself the definitions.


“The definite article--the—tells the listener a noun is specific.” He remembered some examples. “I am going to the library.” “Do you want the book on the table?”


“The indefinite articles--a and an—are for general use.” “I need a pen.” “I want a notebook.”


He wrote each answer carefully, using the articles.


After stretching a little, he went on to translate English sentences into Chinese. He read each several times and worked on them slowly, making sure to translate whole phrases, not just word by word.


Finally, the last section required writing a passage using a given set of English words and phrases. Again he wrote slowly, making sure to dot i’s and use capital letters correctly. As he added the last period, he put his pen down, sat up straight and reread his work, making sure all the letters were formed well.


As he turned in his completed exam, he felt he had done well, but all the energy had drained from his body.

Modern school math teacher preparing the
students for the college entrance exam. 2013.

After three grueling days that also included exams in math, chemistry, physics, and politics, An Wei returned home and fell back into the rhythm of the countryside, wondering what lay ahead. About 300 or 400 students in the province took the English exam. Teacher Bao predicted that only a third of them were better at English than An Wei, but that was a lot of competition.


As he helped repair roof leaks and worked in the commune fields, he vowed that he would not live like this forever. He must make plans in case he did not pass the exam. His father had often urged him to become a village teacher and that seemed a realistic possibility, though it would keep him tied to poverty since teachers often did not get paid.


The next available morning he walked to the township and asked the officials if there were any teaching jobs. Though he had not attended a teacher preparation high school, he qualified to teach elementary school and some positions remained. He selected one and registered to teach there. Although depressed by the prospect, he had at least assured his future.


Following several weeks of fieldwork, his father sent him to buy white construction lime in Fufeng to repair the homestead walls. As An Wei swung down the familiar track, he thought about the years of hard study and wondered about the exam, but it was too early for results. At the bottom of the long grade, he turned into the village of his good friend, Sun Zhonglun. Their village produced the lime.


They greeted each other loudly. Like everyone, they talked about the improved harvest.


Then Sun startled him, saying, “The final exam notice is at the school.”
 
An Wei stood rooted to the spot. This was it. What if he failed? He would need to keep his face unemotional; he could not show his crushing disappointment if he failed.


Finally he got the words out. "And…what did they say?”


“Nearly twenty are enrolled into college!”


"How about you?" An Wei asked cautiously.


"Well, I failed, and you are enrolled--into college."


He could not believe it was true. He felt terrible for his friend, and yet An Wei knew Sun had not spent as much time studying. No one had.


An Wei managed to keep his demeanor calm as his insides churned. But maybe Sun had made an error.


He said good-bye and headed for the school where he sneaked in along a side building. If he had failed, he did not want anyone to see him.


Quietly he went to the place where he thought the list would be, his fear growing with every step.


There it was. He stared at his name.


“Name: An Wei. Score: 97.”


Ninety-seven out of 100. He had aimed high and it had worked.


He hoisted the full bag of lime onto his shoulder and headed home. Usually he stopped twice when he carried a heavy sack the ten kilometers between Fufeng and An Shang village. This time his body sprang from step to step without stopping.


Neighbors came to greet him as he approached his village.


"There’s a letter for you. An official letter."


He steadied his nerves to open it and slowly read the notice. He was to enter Xi'an Foreign Languages Institute in September.

Modern dormitory at Fufeng High School, 2008.

Submitted by Nancy Pine

This short story was adapted from Pine's book, One in a Billion: One Man’s Remarkable Odyssey through Modern-Day China, for which she interviewed An Wei over a period of 10 years.

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