Volune 1 / Chapter 34: “Stand-Up History” Class

The first two periods on Tuesday afternoons were always a source of joy.

Why? Because they were both minor subjects—meaning students could relax and do pretty much whatever they wanted, as long as they didn’t disrupt the class.

But the last two periods on Tuesdays? Not so joyful.

They were both physics.

While Mr. Yè Yǔ, the physics teacher, had a laid-back teaching style and wasn’t overly strict, it was still a core subject. Most students had to stay focused. The moment you zoned out, you risked losing the thread entirely.

Sometimes, a concept would seem easy during the lecture—but the minute you tried solving problems, you’d realize you didn’t understand a thing.

This didn’t just apply to physics—it was true for all science classes.

Still, before physics began, there was time to enjoy a little freedom.

“Xuěyáo, what’s the next class?” asked Wáng Jiālè as she rummaged through her backpack.

“You have your own schedule sheet, don’t you…” Mò Xuěyáo muttered in exasperation, but still pulled out her pen case and took a glance at her schedule.

“Hmm... Geography and History.”

“Oh right, that’s it. On Tuesdays, after politics class, we always have Geography and History.”

Though Geography and History each had their own textbook, the school combined them into a single period. It made sense—historical events often tied closely to geography, and connecting them helped with memory.

China was a vast country, rich in culture and history. Even with years of schooling, the curriculum barely scratched the surface of its 5,000-year-long saga—let alone the finer details.

Wáng Jiālè had only asked about the second class of the afternoon, but a few boys in the room suddenly whooped with excitement.

“Oooh—next up is Stand-Up History Class!”

Stand-Up?

Mò Xuěyáo’s face was blank with confusion.

But instead of explaining, Wáng Jiālè just gave her a mischievous smile. For someone who usually loved answering questions, she was being oddly cryptic this time. “You’ll see when class starts.”

Curiosity piqued, Mò Xuěyáo found herself quietly looking forward to it.

Second period began as scheduled.

A young male teacher with a round face burst into the room like a gust of wind, his footsteps oddly in sync with the rhythm of the class bell.

“Heyo! Good afternoon, my fellow teens! Excited to see this whirlwind of a man back again?”

“Eww—” the whole class booed in unison, boys and girls alike.

For a moment, Mò Xuěyáo felt like she wasn’t in school but watching a Spring Festival Gala skit.

After all, for the average person in this era, watching stand up comedy acts or xiangsheng (Chinese crosstalk) was pretty much limited to Chinese New Year.

“Clearly, you all missed me. Don’t fall for me now—being this handsome is dangerous. I’m a menace to society, no age group is safe!” With a dramatic toss of his head, Mr. Guǎn Péng flipped open the history textbook with one hand. “Alrighty, let’s pick a page at random. Whatever we land on, that’s today’s lesson!”

And sure enough, it looked totally random.

Mò Xuěyáo couldn’t help but be impressed. This meant he didn’t prep the class in advance—he had to be familiar enough with every topic to pull off this “improv-style” teaching.

“Alright, nice! Landed on Unit Two, Lesson Five. Let’s take a look… Ah, the First Sino-Japanese War! Everyone turn to that page.”

Just as Guǎn Péng cleared his throat to begin, Liú Xiǎowěi raised a hand and protested.

“Mr. Guǎn! If you’re picking the page randomly, what’s stopping you from cheating?”

The class quickly chimed in with agreement.

“Oh? And what do you propose then?” Guǎn Péng asked with amusement, clearly unbothered by the challenge to his “Teacher's authority.”

“We should get to pick!” Gāo Yuán ,was already shouting. This somewhat perverted little fatty's favorite thing was stirring up trouble.

“Sure, you pick.”

Everyone broke into noisy discussion, each person shouting out their favorite topic. Chaos reigned.

“Wait, wait! At this rate, we’ll waste the whole class just deciding. Time is precious, people! Let’s speed this up. Hmm… I heard we’ve got a girl here who just returned after a month of absence. Where is she?”

Mò Xuěyáo felt instantly targeted…

Seriously? Was her return that big of a deal? Even the history teacher knew about her?

“There, there—” Wáng Jiālè pointed straight at her, wearing the smuggest grin imaginable.

“Good, let me take a look... never mind, too lazy to check the name list,Ah This girl—wouldn’t you say she’s the class beauty?” Guǎn Péng’s words made Mò Xuěyáo flush bright red, all the way to the tips of her ears.

Her face even felt warm.

Class beauty? If anything, she’d rather be called cool—or heroic.

“Mò Xuěyáo , right?”

“…Yes.” Her hands trembled slightly as she picked up her textbook—only for it to slip out of her fingers and fall open on the desk.

Just as she was about to retrieve it, Guǎn Péng stopped her.

“Hold on—let’s just go with that! Totally fair. No one knows what page it landed on.” He leaned in dramatically. “Ah! Unit Four: Yuán Shìkǎi’s Dictatorship. Excellent! Let’s begin!”

With a theatrical sweep of his hand through his hair, Guǎn Péng struck a pose like he was about to grab a mic and burst into song.

“Now, we all know emperors were the ultimate authority in ancient China. But were they happy? Not really. Most of them had little personal freedom and worked harder than anyone else. Yet, for some reason, people still wanted to be emperor—just to get their hands on absolute power.”

This was completely improvised. No notes. No prep. Just a smooth, casual opening to ease into the lesson.

“Take Yuán Shìkǎi. At first, people thought he’d be a great leader for the new republic. Then they realized he was power-hungry—and tolerated it. But when he tried to crown himself emperor? That was the last straw!”

“The Qing dynasty had just fallen. A new era had begun. Trying to bring back feudalism? What a joke!” Guǎn Péng spoke fast but clearly, every sentence crisp and punchy. “He hijacked the success of the 1911 Revolution. Sure, today we say he was a villain—but truthfully, he was pretty capable as a leader…”

“What kind of shady stuff did he do, then?” asked Liú Xiǎowěi, cutting in.

Guǎn Péng cleared his throat, ready to continue—when Liú suddenly piped up again:

“Hey teacher, what about Wāng Jīngwèi?”

“Dude, seriously? We’re on Yuán Shìkǎi right now. Stay with us. Don’t derail the train.” Guǎn Péng raised an eyebrow. “Now, back to our guy. Let me quote a poem—‘Draw the sword, slash in pride, rather die in youth than bow—’ Wait no, that was Wāng Jīngwèi’s poem! My bad!”

“Teacher! Wasn’t Wāng Jīngwèi considered to be ‘saving the nation in a roundabout way’?” another kid asked.

“Stop trolling, you little rascal. You’ve been professionally causing chaos since 1995, haven’t you?”

“C’mon! Even my mom hadn’t met my dad back then!”

“Fine. Then that extra 14 years—must’ve been from your past life,” Guǎn Péng shot back with a roll of his eyes. “Anyway, back to Yuán Shìkǎi. Yes, he was bald—but that’s not the point. Moving on…”

His class was basically a one-man comedy show. And he responded to every interruption from his “audience” the students like a seasoned stand-up comic.

Before they knew it, the period was over.

It had flown by so fast that even Mò Xuěyáo felt surprised—it barely felt like the class had started!

This was the kind of class students would actually be happy to have extended.

As the bell rang, Guǎn Péng couldn’t leave. A small group of boys and girls crowded around, bombarding him with curious questions—some silly, some genuinely complex.

Yet somehow, he answered them all with ease.

Even after the bell, he stayed.

It wasn’t until Yè Yǔ walked into the classroom that the crowd began to scatter.

“Ahem!” Yè Yǔ cleared his throat pointedly. The kids instantly dispersed.

“Already time for class again? Oh wow, next two are yours, huh?” Guǎn Péng turned to Yè Yǔ.

“Yep.”

“Double physics periods—nice, have fun. I’m out. Don’t forget our CS game after school. Everyone’s in. Don’t ghost on me!”

[ CS= Counter-Strike]

“…Class is starting. Just go already.” Yè Yǔ gave him a mock kick, and Guǎn Péng darted out laughing like a teenager.

Honestly, he didn’t act like a teacher at all.

So even teachers played video games.

Probably more than some students did.

But it made sense. Teachers were people too.

And people needed entertainment. Otherwise, they’d just be machines.

With Guǎn Péng gone, physics class began.

But it was hard for students—especially Mò Xuěyáo—to quickly shift gears after such an entertaining class. Her mind kept drifting back to that vivid, colorful journey through history.

Luckily, by halfway through, she managed to refocus. Mr. Yè Yǔ, already familiar with this routine, deliberately slowed the pace for the first half, only ramping things up once everyone had settled down.

After two intense physics periods, the moment the bell rang, Mò Xuěyáo’s attention scattered instantly.

Paying that much attention for so long was exhausting.

“Alright, class dismissed.”

“Wait, teacher, you didn’t assign homework!” A student shot up their hand.

A chorus of groans erupted.

The one who spoke up? Mò Xuěyáo’s front-desk neighbor—Ān Ruòsù.

He was… a little too righteous.

Even the class’s physics rep had stayed quiet, but not this guy.

“Oh, right! Homework, almost forgot—” Yè Yǔ quickly assigned the work, grabbed his teaching materials, and hurried off toward the office.

If it were before, Mò Xuěyáo might have thought he was rushing to prepare tomorrow's lesson content, but now she knew that teachers rushing to leave school might also be to-

Rush off to play games