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Underdog Killer

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In the noon of September 14, Sun Wukang, a 32-year-old high school teacher, was found dead in his office, his carotid artery severed in a vicious knife attack.

The murder suspect, Lei Ming (alias), was a 16-year-old senior in Sun’s class, Class 30, at the No 2 Senior High School of Linchuan, one of the most elite schools in Jiangxi Province, where more than 70 students are packed into each classroom, where they are hot-housed for three years in preparation for the all-important national college entrance examinations. The aisles in the classrooms are so narrow that barely a single student can squeeze between the tightly-packed rows of desks.

Crammer School

Lei’s school, the No 2 Senior High School of Linchuan, ensures top marks through an intensive “crammer” timetable and rigorous, discipline. Seniors are permitted only one half-day off every Sunday afternoon, and spend every other day confined to classrooms from 7 AM to 10 PM, with only short breaks in between classes.

One of China’s so-called “college entrance exam factories,” the No 2 Senior High School of Linchuan churns out batch after batch of university recruits who are painstakingly sifted into ever more specialized academic units from the moment they arrive. Only the top students are admitted into the top-tier classes, which groom youngsters for entry into the prestigious Peking and Tsinghua universities in Beijing. Others have to make do with second- and third-tier provincial universities.

In competition with other schools for the best junior high graduates, the No 2 Senior High offers to pay tens of thousands of yuan to those families that promise to enroll their academically gifted children. Further resources are allocated depending on how many top students go on to secure places at leading universities. Yet more revenue comes from “fees,” essentially bribes, paid by parents keen to get their less-gifted children into this prodigy factory. This can cost families anything from a few thousand to 24,000 yuan (US$3,900), depending on their child’s junior high test scores.

New arrivals are sorted into their relevant classes then graded nonstop for three years through a barrage of tests and examinations, with their performance and grades evaluated and posted publicly.

College enrollment quotas are imposed upon each class, in effect meaning the individual teachers’ prospects hinge on securing college places for a set number of students. Everything, from teachers’ salaries to class sizes, rely on meeting these quotas.

In terms of its narrow targets, the school’s system works. Of 150 students from Jiangxi Province admitted to Tsinghua and Peking universities in 2012, 12 graduated from the Linchuan No 2 Senior High School.

However, with their income and reputation at stake, faculty, especially the staff in charge of class management, are under no less pressure than their students. Sun was feeling the heat, as his own class was not meeting the expectations of the school’s leaders.

Lei’s parents paid 6,900 yuan (US$1,130) to secure admission for their son, who was six points below the requirement. He duly placed in Class 30 along with 70 other students occupying 72 desks Lei was allocated two desks at the back of the classroom. At the time of the murder, Sun Wukang had taught Class 30 for just over one semester.

The first ever postgraduate from his home village, Sun had taught chemistry at the No 2 Senior High School since 2008 after graduating from Jiangxi Normal University. Born in an impoverished village in the mountains near Linchuan, Sun himself was held up as an example to the school’s students from humble backgrounds, and was officially commended by the school as an “outstanding teacher.”

Sun managed his class through strict discipline, and was quick to rebuke those he deemed lazy or impertinent, and regularly making an example of those who dared to play with their cell phones in class. Students slacked off were given stern warnings that if they failed to gain a place at a decent college, their best hope would be migrant work in a nearby city.

Heavyset, 5.4-foot Lei was reportedly a quiet, easygoing classmate, though he tended toward indolence and showed little interest in lessons. His personality clashed with that of his diligent and inflexible teacher.

After being seated in the third row because of his short stature, Lei asked to move to the back row of the classroom. One of his close friends told reporters this was because he wanted to nap without being disturbed by the teachers’ “lecturing.”

Once he was in the back row, classmates said, Lei busied himself with his beloved online games. He was an overnight fixture in the local cyber café, and was often late for school, if he showed up at all. He gained a reputation for either sleeping or gaming his way through all his classes.

While his grades slumped, however, Lei was popular with his classmates, and even performed a comedy sketch at the school’s Chinese New Year’s party in 2012, which, according to his sister, brought the house down. She recalled to reporters that her brother had spent a long time rehearsing his routine at home prior to his performance.

However, at Linchuan No 2 Junior High, only grades mattered, and soon Lei’s friendship circles shrank as the academic pressure piled on and they got their noses to the grindstone.

“I’m tired of school life. Every day is just a repetition of the day before,” Lei wrote on his microblog.

Isolation

At this time, according to friends and classmates, Lei fell in love with the Fox series Prison Break, and began to model himself on the lead character, even copying his hairstyle and dress. He sought solace in a reduced circle of fellow online gamers, and most faculty turned a blind eye to the cyber cafés springing up on the back row so long as the students involved weren’t being disruptive. Sun, however, Lei’s class supervisor, wouldn’t tolerate students who weren’t willing to fall in line.

An altercation over Lei using a cell phone to allegedly cheat on a test led to his handset being confiscated. Lei then threatened to beat his teacher with a stool unless the cell phone was returned, and Sun backed down.

These conflicts slowly escalated, until finally, the day before Sun’s murder, Lei was rebuked once again for using his cell phone in class. Lei refused to allow Sun to confiscate his handset, and Sun retaliated by moving Lei’s desk into the corridor outside the classroom. When a classmate eventually talked Lei into giving in to Sun, Sun refused to confiscate the cell phone, instead ordering Lei to “crush it on the ground.” Lei refused, and another fight ensued which resulted in Lei walking out of school.

Sun telephoned Lei’s migrant-worker parents on the afternoon of September 13 to inform them about the incident and his decision to expel Lei. The student’s father then ordered his son to travel to Fuzhou, Fujian Province, where both his parents worked, to explain himself.

A classmate who visited Lei at his home on the night of September 13 later told investigators that Lei had a knife beside his pillow. The classmate advised Lei to apologize to Sun and write a repentance letter.

Lei agreed and confessed that he did not want to drop out of school and go to Fuzhou. According to Lei’s sister, their parents had forced her brother to promise to finish senior high before learning a trade. She told investigators that Lei later called at the school’s office to apologize to Sun, only to be rebuffed and told he needed to formally submit an application to quit school.

Surveillance video taken on day of the murder shows Lei wandering outside Sun’s office for several minutes before finally entering. Sun’s body was found shortly afterward.

That same evening, Lei called his sister in Shanghai to ask what sentence he might get for killing his teacher. Horrified, she urged him to turn himself in to the police, which he duly did.

“My father did not finish high school and my mother barely finished junior high,” Lei Fang (alias), Lei’s sister, also a former graduate of the school, later told the media. “My parents hoped my brother and I would go to college.”

The murder has shocked families in Linchuan and nationwide, and while Lei remains in custody awaiting trial, some are asking if academic achievement, long held up as the zero-sum life goal in Chinese society, is worth dying, or indeed, killing for.