Chapter Thirty-Seven: Stepping into High School-Reborn as a Father Again(The Glass Forest)

September 1st marked the beginning of the new academic year in every school across Huaxia. Naturally, Qingshui No. 1 High School was no exception. At Lin Nan's own insistence, it was finally decided that he would go to school alone to register, move his luggage into the dormitory by himself, and step into the high school campus unaccompanied.

At home, Ye Xinlan sighed as she marveled at how her son had grown up and learned to be independent. Yet beneath her pride, she was filled with worry and could not easily let go. Lin Lang, on the other hand, found it perfectly normal; boys should learn self-reliance early on. Hearing the cacophony of car horns outside at dawn, he knew at once that many parents were driving their children to school, resulting in traffic congestion.

He recalled how, back in their village, children started helping with chores at a very young age, and as they grew older, they would even work in the fields. How different it was from children nowadays, who lived in comfort yet seldom appreciated it.

Still, Lin Lang harbored no worries about Lin Nan. Under his guidance, his son had already become an exemplary student, excelling in virtue, intellect, and physical development. Surely, such a Lin Nan would be very popular among the girls in high school! The thought suddenly crossed his mind—how would he handle it if his son fell in love early?

Lin Lang fell into deep contemplation. Should he support or oppose it?

That was the question.

...

The sky was a vast expanse of blue, while on the ground stretched a sea of people.

After stepping off the bus, Lin Nan was greeted by this bustling scene. Among the throng, most groups consisted of two adults and a child; a few were one adult and a child; and only a rare handful were a child alone.

Lin Nan belonged to that rare group.

He wore a white short-sleeved T-shirt, black shorts, and black sneakers—simple and practical. He dragged a black suitcase, which held a pair of Iverson-brand basketball shoes gifted by his father, a few T-shirts and shorts, some underwear, several thousand yuan in cash (enough for tuition and his first month's living expenses), bedsheets, a mattress, an air-conditioning quilt, and a pillow—his entire worldly possessions.

The reason he received a thousand yuan for the first month was because he still needed to buy toiletries such as a toothbrush, basin, and thermos. Afterward, Lin Lang had agreed on a monthly allowance of six hundred yuan. He had considered giving even less, but since Lin Nan would be playing basketball at school and would need to drink a lot of water, he settled on six hundred. In this day and age, that amount was neither too much nor too little.

Lin Nan had no objections. Since childhood, he had never cared much for money. Clothing didn’t matter to him as long as it was comfortable; his parents had always covered his daily expenses, and there was little he needed to spend on himself.

Standing before the imposing gates of the high school, with the dignified characters "Qingshui No. 1 High School" inscribed above, Lin Nan was seized by a curious feeling.

Just half a year ago, he had been aimlessly drifting through his days at school, his grades barely enough to get him into an ordinary high school, and even that was uncertain.

Now, except for his slightly weaker English, he excelled in all other subjects, and he was clear about his dream: basketball. He could already dunk.

Lin Nan didn’t know what it meant to be able to dunk at thirteen, but he was sure it was no ordinary feat.

Yet, he felt no arrogance, for this was the fruit of both his father's guidance and his own half-year of hard work.

He was truly grateful to his father, who had taught him how to study and helped him find a goal worth striving for.

To repay his father, Lin Nan silently vowed, “I will study hard, and play basketball well.”

Dragging his suitcase, Lin Nan entered the campus and immediately spotted a bulletin board displaying a map of the school, with a bold announcement: "New students, please proceed to Teaching Building No. 1."

He glanced at the map for the location of the dormitory, then continued on toward the building, suitcase in tow.

A faint smile played on Lin Nan's lips when he realized the basketball courts were right next to Teaching Building No. 1. Nothing could have pleased him more.

In the distance, he saw a few people shooting hoops on the court. The familiar sound of the bouncing ball made his hands itch with anticipation, but he decided to settle his luggage in the dormitory first.

In the open space beneath the teaching building, seven or eight bulletin boards were neatly arranged from left to right, each listing the names of over a thousand freshmen, along with their assigned classes and dormitories.

Lin Nan’s sharp eyes quickly found his own name amid the crowd:

Class 8, Grade 1—Lin Nan—Building 7, Room 310.

He noted the classroom numbers on the first floor: from left to right, 1 through 5. There were twenty classes in all, spread evenly over four floors. That meant Class 8 would be the third classroom on the second floor.

Looking up, he saw several students moving about near that classroom, some already cleaning the windows atop stools—early arrivals preparing the room.

Lin Nan decided to head to his dormitory first, drop off his luggage, and then return to the basketball court for a match.

Yes, that was the plan.

Building 7, Room 310.

When Lin Nan arrived, he found the dormitory doors open, and inside his own room, two young mothers were bustling about, cleaning. There were eight beds, six of which were already taken.

Lin Nan greeted the two women politely and soon learned they were the mothers of two of his future roommates. After bringing their sons to the dorm, they saw the mess and decided to clean it together, hoping to give their boys a better living environment. Their sons had already gone to the classroom to meet their new classmates.

After making his bed with the sheets, mattress, quilt, and pillow, Lin Nan bid the two ladies farewell and headed straight for the basketball court that had been on his mind all morning.

Qingshui No. 1 High School had seven full-sized basketball courts—a total of fourteen hoops.

At that moment, on the court closest to Teaching Building No. 1, three boys were chatting as they shot hoops.

"Watermelon, did you see that national high school basketball league on the MasterTalk website?" asked a lanky, thin boy.

"I did! The title and content sound passionate—every high school in the country is supposed to participate. If you ask me, though, it’s no different from those Cola Cups or Nike Cups," replied a burly boy with a round, watermelon-like head. As he spoke, he launched a three-pointer from afar, which crashed against the backboard with a thunderous bang, as if venting his feelings for the game.

The lanky boy paused, then smiled wryly. "True, how could our school ever take basketball seriously? Last time at the Nike Cup 3v3, we won the district championship as freshmen, but when it was time to compete at the city level, the school only sent freshmen, saying they didn’t want it to affect the studies of sophomores and seniors. Oh, if only we could be like in Slam Dunk, fighting for a national title—what a dream that would be."

Unlike his two friends, whose faces were marked by disappointment, the third boy’s eyes shone with determination. "Watermelon, Screw, I really think this national high school basketball league is the real deal. Think about it—the basketball resources on MasterTalk are really useful. We’ve learned a lot from there for free. I believe that site truly cares about basketball’s development. This time, the league might really be a national event!"

At these words, Screw and Watermelon’s faces lit up with excitement.

This year, they were seniors—could it be that, just before graduation, they would have the chance to compete in the very first national high school basketball league in history?

If so, they would be truly lucky.

As that thought crossed his mind, the hot-tempered Watermelon stepped up behind the three-point line and hurled another shot at the hoop.

This time, the ball crashed against the rim and rebounded rapidly.

For a moment, Watermelon was caught off guard, and when he turned, he saw the ball rolling to the other half of the court—right to the feet of a boy in a white shirt and black sweatpants.

Watermelon was about to shout for the new kid to toss the ball back.

But the next instant, he saw the boy quickly scoop up the ball, dribble twice with practiced ease, then charge toward the basket at the far end.

Reaching the paint, the boy gathered the ball in both hands, planted his feet, and exploded upward, switching the ball to his right hand as he rose.

He soared so high his head nearly reached the backboard, and with his right hand, he slammed the ball toward the rim.

There was a loud “whoosh”—but alas, the ball struck the edge of the rim and not the net.

Landing steadily, Lin Nan glanced at the hoop. He realized his dunks were still unpolished—he often missed.

He picked up the ball and was about to try again when the school broadcast suddenly blared:

"All freshmen, please return to your assigned classrooms immediately!"

Lin Nan stopped, hurled the ball energetically back to the other side, and called out to the three, "Thanks!" Then he dashed toward the teaching building.

Zhu Bo—the boy with the fighting spirit—was the first to react. He ran forward, caught the ball, and watched Lin Nan’s retreating figure with a look of exhilaration.

Turning to his friends, he said, "Looks like we’ve got a real powerhouse for this year’s league!"

Screw added, "Even though he missed, you could tell from his leap and technique that he’s dunked before. Are all the freshmen this strong now? He looks, what, thirteen or fourteen? Maybe one seventy-eight? And he can already dunk?"

Screw felt a twinge of self-doubt. He’d earned his nickname partly for his height—one eighty-five, the tallest among the school’s basketball players—and partly for his favorite NBA player.

But despite his height, he still couldn’t dunk.

Dunking wasn’t as easy as it seemed.

Screw couldn’t help thinking of the training programs on MasterTalk. Had he truly practiced every single day? Did he really love basketball as much as he claimed?

At that moment, something changed in Screw’s eyes. Perhaps, for his final year of high school, for this unprecedented national basketball league, for the dream that haunted his heart, he would have to give more than ever before.