Chicken Soup

He was silent for two seconds, then spoke.

“I’m not very good at public speaking.”

A wave of light laughter rippled through the auditorium, easing the tension significantly.

Ryan continued, “So, I won’t tell you things you can already find in books. I will speak directly of reality.”

At these words, several teachers froze in surprise, while the students' interest was visibly piqued.

Ryan put down the documents in his hand, his voice steady.

“Let us start with a fact. After graduation, most people will not work in a job they actually like.”

The auditorium instantly fell silent.

“Because in reality, interest is not the first consideration. It is income, and rent, and coal. It is whether you can afford an extra piece of bread for dinner.”

The smiles on many of the students' faces slowly faded. They began to listen intently.

Ryan continued, “I come from the East End. Many people go straight into the factories after graduation. Some go to the docks, some become apprentices, and some cannot find work at all.”

“So, in my view, the so-called choice of career is first and foremost about survival.”

There was absolute silence in the auditorium. Sunlight streamed down through the high stained-glass windows, and dust motes drifted lazily through the air. Everyone was listening with rapt attention.

Ryan looked down at the young faces before him. Suddenly, he thought of the yellowed death records in the archive. He thought of the bloodstains in the East Port warehouses, and of those who would never have the chance to sit here. His voice softened slightly.

“Of course, only after you survive do you have the right to consider the future, your ideals, and what kind of person you want to become.”

“And education is meant to give you that power of choice.”

This time, the auditorium fell completely silent. Even the teachers stopped whispering.

Because everyone could hear it. This was different from the school's usual pretty platitudes. This was someone who had truly walked out of the bottom rungs of society. He was speaking of reality, and this reality was far more persuasive than any motivational story.

The applause lasted for over ten seconds before the auditorium fell quiet once more.

At this point, a female teacher in the front row stood up. “If anyone has questions, you may ask them now.”

The moment her voice fell, several girls immediately raised their hands.

They had clearly been holding back for a long time. The teacher pointed to the second row, and a blonde girl stood up. She was visibly nervous, but she still spoke up earnestly.

“Mr. Ryan, if a woman joins the archive, will there be a large gap in pay?”

As soon as this question was asked, many heads snapped up. Even several teachers looked over, as this was a matter of concern to everyone.

Ryan was silent for a second, then nodded. “Yes.”

The auditorium instantly grew quiet.

He continued, “The gap isn't particularly large when you first start, but there are fewer opportunities for promotion. Supervisory roles are basically dominated by men. That is the reality.”

No one spoke, because everyone knew he was speaking the truth. It was true for London's banks, government departments, and firms alike.

Disappointment showed on many of the girls' faces, but Ryan did not stop.

“However, if your goal is simply to survive, then a clerical job paying three pounds a month is still far more valuable than fifteen shillings in a factory.”

“At least you won't lose an arm because your skirt gets caught in a machine.”

The auditorium suddenly became very still. Some of the girls instinctively lowered their heads.

Because they had seen, or at least heard of, such things happening in factories.

Ryan continued, “Of the people who froze to death in the East End last winter, more than half had jobs. Having a job does not equal safety; only a stable job brings safety.”

Someone in the back row suddenly raised her hand. This time, it was a dark-haired girl. “What if we get married? Does the archive dismiss married women?”

Many people instantly grew tense. Even Irene looked up, for this was another highly practical question.

Ryan thought for a moment. “They won't actively dismiss you, but your promotions will be affected. Furthermore, many families themselves do not wish for a wife to continue working.”

A low murmur immediately broke out in the auditorium. Several girls looked visibly upset.

They studied hard and read diligently, only to potentially give up their careers for marriage. It was absurd, but it was reality.

Ryan looked at them and suddenly added, “However, those who have an income will always have more choices than those who do not.”

The auditorium fell silent in an instant. Many looked up.

Ryan's tone remained calm. “Even if it is only three pounds a month, that is your three pounds. It is not a handout from someone else.”

The air suddenly turned quiet. These words clearly carried more impact than what had come before. Even several teachers were stunned.

Irene sat in the back row, staring blankly at Ryan on the podium.

She realized that the way Ryan spoke now sounded less and less like an ordinary youth from the East End. He lacked the aloofness of the nobility, and he didn't preach the grand theories that teachers loved. Yet every single word was so grounded in reality—a reality so stark that no one could refute it.

Then, a third girl stood up. She wore a school uniform that had faded from being washed too many times. Her family was clearly of modest means.

“Sir, what if we continue our education? Is it worth it?”

This time, even the teachers fell silent, because this was the core dilemma of Harrington Academy. Continuing higher education meant more tuition fees, a heavier burden on the family, and an uncertain future.

Ryan was silent for a few seconds, then spoke slowly.

“If your family can afford it, then keep studying. Knowledge will not immediately give you bread, but it will make it easier for you to get bread in the future.”

A light chuckle echoed through the auditorium, and the atmosphere finally relaxed.

Ryan smiled as well. “But if your family is already struggling to put food on the table, then survive first. Only those who are alive can read the next book.”

Several teachers looked at each other, their expressions somewhat complicated. Because schools usually wouldn't say such things, yet they were the truest words.

Time passed slowly, and more and more questions were asked.

About work. About marriage. About income. About the future. Ryan answered almost all of them seriously.

And the atmosphere in the auditorium gradually shifted from the initial stiffness to a genuine exchange.

Until, by the end, even the female teacher maintaining discipline noticed that there were more people taking notes today than during their usual classes.

Outside the window, London's pale grey sunlight spilled down through the high windows, falling upon rows of deep blue school uniforms, upon the sight of those girls bowing their heads to write.

It suddenly made Ryan think of the East End boys' school.

Also graduating, but the boys thought about where they could earn a wage, while these girls thought about how they could gain the right to choose their own lives.

This was probably the most cruel aspect of this era, and also its truest reality.