The school stood desolate and silent, appearing utterly abandoned from a distance, yet upon reaching the dusty grounds, one could see two or three neat rows of students sitting squarely in the classrooms.

The main building was a single-story affair, comprising just two classrooms; it was meagerly equipped, showing no semblance of prosperity or hope.

We wandered around the playground, hoping to find someone nearby to glean some information, when a childish voice drifted from inside a classroom: "Teacher, there are people outside..."

Moments later, a man emerged—small, thin, and dark-skinned, clearly middle-aged. His shirt was adorned with eight or nine patches, and his trousers bore even more. In this day, fifty years after Uncle Lei Feng passed, those patches were a heavy weight on the heart.

The middle-aged man walked directly toward us and began, "Are you here for aid?"

This question stumped both Wang Jue and me. Had he asked our purpose directly, we would have explained we were here to gather historical and geographical information about the area. But his words were loaded with expectation, assuming we were benefactors. Looking at the shabby schoolhouse and his threadbare clothes, neither Wang Jue nor I could bear to disappoint him.

After a long silence, Wang Jue pulled out his wallet, extracted a thick wad of bills, and spoke first: "We were just passing by and wanted to see the children. We didn't prepare gifts, but please accept this small token so they can study well!" With that, he pressed the money into the man’s hand.

The middle-aged man thanked us profusely, and the children inside the classroom erupted in joyous cheers upon seeing the money—a scene that only made the situation feel more profoundly painful.

He then ushered us into a small lean-to beside the classroom to rest. This space was even more primitive than the classrooms; the walls were erected from a few mismatched wooden planks, and the roof was covered with scraps of felt—it likely lacked even the most basic function of keeping the rain out.

We sat down on two large stones serving as stools. The 'table' was nothing more than a wooden plank balanced atop a stack of bricks.

"Call me Old Qin! It's not easy for you gentlemen to travel all this way! What line of work are you two in?" Old Qin asked warmly, grabbing a thermos and pouring two bowls of water for us. Cups, a true luxury, were nowhere to be found in this humble room.

"We are surveyors, hoping to learn about the local geography," Wang Jue replied, ever skilled at turning situations to his advantage. This answer, we reasoned, would allow us to naturally segue into asking about Mount Jingyin.

"Haha," Old Qin laughed heartily. "What do you wish to know? Anything I can help you with, I certainly will!"

"When was this school built?" Wang Jue adopted an air of meticulous consideration, beginning to steer the conversation slowly toward the real mission that brought us here.

"It’s been quite some years. The first cohort enrolled twelve years ago—just five little children, and the classroom was only one small shed. After I sent those students on their way, I’ve taken in seven more classes consecutively. Now, this school has two classes, with over twenty children in each, and the teaching staff has grown from just one to two."

We could sense the pride woven into Old Qin’s words. Despite its decay, this school was the result of more than a decade of his hard work; the growth from five students to two full classes was an achievement he would forever cherish.

"Before the school was built, what was this place like? Has there ever been a mountain here historically?"

Old Qin lifted his bowl, took a sip of water, and continued: "Before, this was just a flat expanse of land—uninhabited and uncared for, which is why I decided to build the school here."

This answer left both Wang Jue and me feeling considerably disappointed; it seemed our journey had been in vain.