Pingyang Mansion is a thousand-year-old ancient town on the bank of Fen River and an important town in southern Shanxi. The long history has accumulated rich resources for this land, and also accumulated rich cultural nutrients.
Over the past decade or so, with the development of underground resources, the ancient culture that had been silent in history has gradually regained its vitality. Private schools, this kind of antique in the pile of old papers, are loved by people again.
Sanyou Private School is such a renovated antique.
This private school is located in a bookstore on the ground floor of Yunhua Community.
The name of the bookstore is Sanyou Bookstore.
The private school teacher is also the owner of this bookstore. His surname is Wu. He is short and chubby. He wears a pair of black-framed round glasses. He has a habit of clasping his fists when greeting people, which makes him famous in the entire community. He gained an inexplicable respect and was called "Mr. Wu" by everyone.
Mr. Wu’s private school is very small, with only one teacher and one student.
The gentleman is Mr. Wu.
The student is a boy named Zheng Qing from a household in Yunhua Community.
Yunhua Community is a model building community developed by Binh Duong Municipal Government in the 1990s. Although from today's perspective, this community is indeed small in size, with only nine residential buildings, the geographical location of this community is excellent.
To the east of the community is a bustling commercial street, across from the east gate of the community, facing the largest supermarket in the city. To the west of the community is Pingyang College, the only institution of higher learning in Pingyang City; to the south of the community is the provincial key middle school, Pingyang Experimental Middle School; next to the experimental middle school is the province's leading private school, Jinnan Middle School. Coupled with the city-owned key primary school across the street, students in the community who are unlucky do not need to go two blocks away from birth to college graduation.
Zheng Qing felt that he was only one step away from that legendary life.
The elders in Zheng Qing’s family have many school teachers. My grandfather is a professor at Pingyang College, my father is a teacher at Jinnan Middle School next to the community, and my mother is a teacher at Pingyang Primary School across the street from the community. Other uncles and aunts are also active in these teaching buildings. For as long as he can remember, he has listened to the shrill ringing of the bell at school. When he was a little older, he ran around in the playgrounds of several schools.
But no matter how he ran, his life seemed to be trapped in this playground and teaching building.
Circle.
Zheng Qing held a heavy brush and wrote this word on the white rice paper.
“Concentrate and don’t forget what you are here to do.” The wooden ruler in Mr. Wu’s hand knocked lightly on the table, making an intrusive thunk sound.
Zheng Qing took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, tried his best to clear his mind, and tried to describe the post in front of him.
In fact, at the beginning, Zheng Qing practiced calligraphy with his grandfather. As an old-school intellectual, Professor Zheng is not only good at handwriting, but he also has very strict requirements for the younger generation.
Before the age of six, I memorized ancient poems and essays.From three hundred thousand, to three hundred Tang poems, to lyrics, music, and classical prose selected by the old professor himself. When you learn to speak, you begin to learn to read and memorize classics. Zheng Qing and his other cousins began a difficult and seemingly endless endorsement career under the old professor's thumb.
Day after day, no Sundays, no winter or summer vacations.
When I was six years old, I stopped just memorizing books and started learning to write.
From the beginning of holding the pen, one point, one horizontal stroke, one stroke, one stroke, the dotted lines of the Tianzi grid are filled with Zheng Qing’s boring childhood; the ink pool of the inkstone is filled with Zheng Qing’s Clear the tears of suffering.
I was pulled out of bed at six o'clock in the morning and started practicing morning post. I had to finish writing fifty big characters before breakfast. I started morning recitation after breakfast, and I had to memorize the designated chapter at noon, and then Practice some more big characters. After lunch, I took a nap for half an hour. After getting up, I continued to recite and practice calligraphy. After dinner, I continued to recite and practice calligraphy. At nine o'clock sharp, he was driven to bed. From this time every day until before going to bed, Zheng Qing was happiest.
Because he can think freely without having to practice Chinese calligraphy or memorize ancient prose.
But having random thoughts is very frustrating.
Every time Zheng Qing falls asleep after having random thoughts, he always falls into a messy dream. Like a splash-ink landscape painting, it is ethereal and abstract, making it impossible to capture but yet still chasing after it.
Whenever he wakes up from such a dream, he always yells, is covered in night sweats, and often feels sluggish for a day or two. The family just thought he was having a nightmare, so they took good care of him, and the corresponding homework would be relieved for a day or two.
For Zheng Qing, these days are as happy as a holiday.
After all, the days of nightmare can only be met but cannot be sought.
When he was relatively young, it was difficult for Zheng Qing to enter this dreamland, and he would only have nightmares about once every six months. Perhaps it was a strong desire in his heart, but as he grew older, Zheng Qing's nightmares became more and more frequent, and the situation gradually became worse.
At first, he just woke up yelling. Then gradually, he began to sleepwalk. Sometimes when he woke up in the morning, he would be horrified to find that he was sleeping on top of the large cupboard at home, and he had no memory of how he got up there; sometimes, he would sleepwalk to the balcony, and then He would sing an incomprehensible song and then crawl back into bed silently to sleep; sometimes, he would even pick up his brush in the middle of the night and draw a large piece of strange talismans.
As the nightmare gradually worsened, Zheng Qing began to suffer from headaches.
At first, his family thought he was trying to hide and didn't pay much attention. But just to be on the safe side, I also went to a specialized hospital in the city to take X-rays. The doctor couldn't see anything wrong and could only attribute it to the fact that the child was under too much pressure and needed to balance work and rest.
It wasn’t until one day that Zheng Qing started banging his head against the wall to relieve his headaches that the family became nervous. Professor Zheng found his old classmates and took Zheng Qing to the provincial capital and the capital, visiting famous hospitals, butNothing was wrong, but Zheng Qing's headache symptoms were getting worse day by day.
In the end, Professor Zheng followed the advice of his old friend and asked Zheng Qing to rest in peace and use conservative methods to alleviate his condition. After returning from the capital, Zheng Qing no longer needed to get up and go to bed on time, endorse books, or practice calligraphy.
But this method of complete relaxation did not make the situation better, but made him have headaches more frequently.
At that time, Zheng Qing was eight years old.
It was also in the spring of that year that Mr. Wu came to Yunhua Community with his pair of black-rimmed round glasses, and opened this ancient restaurant in the No. 3 storefront facing the street. There is a bookstore in Sanyou.
Professor Zheng is an old-school intellectual, and Mr. Wu from Sanyou Bookstore also happens to be a knowledgeable cultural person. Over time, the two old people became close friends in painting and calligraphy.
On a weekend afternoon, Zheng Qing followed the old man to Sanyou Bookstore again. Professor Zheng and Mr. Wu made a pot of tea and discussed Zhang Zhongjing's The Golden Chamber. Zheng Qing picked up a copy of Harry Potter and read it happily.
When he saw the lightning scar on Harry's forehead giving him a severe headache, Zheng Qing seemed to feel the same way. He seemed to have a headache himself, and his mood suddenly worsened. Sighing, closing the book, Zheng Qing shook his head, only to find that the hallucinatory headache was actually real.
A severe headache struck suddenly. Zheng Qing only had time to hum "Headache", then rolled his eyes, fainted in front of the two old people, and began to convulse.