C71

If the human soul could break away from the body, then what could it see?

Was she still the same person?

Zhuang Li felt that her eyes were covered by a piece of cloth. She was in the hospital? Duan Weilan was by her side? Is Mom here? It shouldn't be, Duan Weilan should know that she didn't want her mother to worry about him …

There was the sound of a whistle.

"Child, why aren't you looking at the road!?" "From now on, you have to go to your own painting class. Mom can't send you off anymore!"

Zhuang Li touched his eyes. It was actually a toy.

Had a toy covered his eyes? She took it off and found herself standing in the middle of the street, one hand holding it, the other held by a warm hand.

She raised her head to look at the owner of the palm …

Mom...

She immediately started to sob loudly in the middle of the street, turning around and hugging her mother's leg.

His mother was very tall, and he wasn't even at her waist yet. She didn't care about this, she just wanted to hug the person in front of her, as if she was afraid that she would disappear the moment she let go …

"You damn child, aren't you just going to class by yourself? What's there to cry about? Let go! This is the middle of the road!"

"Mom!" She continued to lean on her without a care, crying her heart out. She buried her head into her body, her nose filled with her mother's warmth and the fragrance of the kitchen food.

"Mom …"

Her mother who was by her side was still very young, so she raised Zhuang Li up by herself. The unit didn't pay well and began to lay off workers. She was one of the first to be cut.

But our child still needs to eat, and still needs to go to school …

Her family wasn't well, and she had no parents to rely on. The children had to be raised on their own, so she started two jobs, one to help people sell things in the grocery store and the other to help them buy food in the school cafeteria.

Every day at five o'clock he would get up, go to the wholesale market to buy various vegetables, deliver them to the school cafeteria, and rush to the day shop to work.

If she had free time at night, she would bring Zhuang Li to set up a small stall on the road to buy some toys for children.

Although it was tiring, but in the end, she still had to support her child. With some extra money, she reported a painting class to her child, which Zhuang Li liked very much.

This time, the memories were even deeper in Zhuang Li's mind. She remembered the incident when she was young, when she went to the painting classes to paint, she herself had to watch the kids from other families sign up for a special class every day. She was very envious, so her mother saved her living and reported one to her.

At that time, Zhuang Li was only six years old.

She carried her mother's schoolbag as she happily prepared to go to class. Her mother specifically asked her boss for an hour of leave to send her to her first class. Although the class was held very close to home, his mother was still worried. Moreover, his mother was always busy, it was difficult for her to find time to eat. It was rare for the two of them to have the leisure to bask together in the afternoon sun on the street.

In the mid-nineties, before the streets were paved with asphalt, before they were covered with a layer of dust, before there were elevator apartments, before there were more bungalows and five or six floors of buildings, she vaguely remembered the road to class, walking along the main road until she turned right at a kiosk. It was an even older building, which, she'd heard, had been the manor house of the former owner, but had been turned into a small school after the landlord had been killed.

The teacher who had taught her calligraphy had rented a classroom there on the Double Day break and taken in a dozen students. His surname was Bai, and his handwriting was exceptionally good.

Zhuang Li followed him and learned the script, as well as the small charms. Later on, she began to study Chinese painting. She was quite talented in painting, and later became an art student. Although as an art student she was mainly tested for drawing sketches, sketches and colors, in the end, her heart was inspired by that Mr. Bai.

Mr. White was a retired old teacher in his sixties. He was born during the war, and he had the manner he had at that time. He sat on a very high platform, slits his eyes, and crossed his legs. The students were all obediently writing their own posts. Every few minutes he would walk down from the platform to see how the students were doing. He walked slowly, hands behind his back, a long ruler in one hand.

Zhuang Li had been beaten up by him quite a few times …

Her mother led her all the way down to the bottom of the school. She could vaguely hear the sounds of children playing upstairs. Zhuang Li raised her head to look at his mother. It had been a long time since she had seen her mother, and although her mother was still very young at that time, she was still very tired due to her hard work. There were a few wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and a strand of silver hair at her temples.

She was wearing an old dress, but it was clean.

"Go up yourself. In the future, we will all go to school by ourselves. "

Hearing these words, Zhuang Li's mouth congealed, and was about to cry again … Two seconds later, she actually began to cry.

She felt dizzy, unable to remember what had happened to her. She was afraid that the person in front of her would disappear. She didn't know how long she would have to wait for the next time they met.

She had a vague feeling that a lot of things must have happened to her, but if she thought about it and couldn't remember it clearly, she seemed to remember the things that happened before her eyes more clearly.

She held her mother's hand and cried for a few more minutes. Finally, she was scolded by her mother, saying that the child just couldn't grow up. She then carried her notebook and brush and headed upstairs to school.

The tiny child still had two streams of tears on his face as he looked back at his mother. Finally, he appeared at the entrance of the classroom. This immediately caused the other children to laugh.

She didn't realize that her face was covered with makeup. It seemed that she really only had an IQ of 5 or 6 years old. What Duan Weilan, what part-time jobs, they had all been thrown out the window.

She found her seat and, without a word, took out her pen and began to write.

Her mother had ordered the book for her from an old newspaper. She was writing seriously, but the words she wrote were crooked.

"Extend your hand …" He spread open his hand, preparing to catch Zhuang Li's hand. In his other hand, he held onto the ruler, and slapped it with her hand. Hearing that sound, Zhuang Li felt pain in her hand …

She felt her scalp go numb as she handed her hand over. Mr. White knocked on her hand with his ruler, causing her to hiss in pain. But she didn't cry …

"Writing is like being a human being, upright and upright. Look at those words you've written, they look like they're malnourished... "

"Pa …" "Pa …" Another two ruler positions. Zhuang Li felt that her hand was already swollen …

Since he had to use his right hand to write, Mr. White would hit all the students with his left hand. No matter how many times he hit, it would always hit the same spot on his hand.

But Zhuang Li did not cry, nor did she complain. Her eyes were so devout.

His mother had said that he had to listen to his teacher. He was very obedient. If he had done something wrong, he would naturally be beaten. He deserved it.

After one class, Mr. White said he was very happy to give everyone a free lesson. What the heck? Once Mr. White's words came out, the children ran frantically towards the classroom entrance. Mr. White followed, setting up a wicker chair in the courtyard below. Next to him was an old teacup and a hot water bottle.

Zhuang Li originally wanted to follow him out, but after thinking about it again, Mr. Bai criticized her handwriting for not being proper. If she were to go out with those children and play, wouldn't she still be unable to write properly at the start of the next lesson? Her mother spent a lot of time trying to save money by sending him here.

After thinking for a while, she didn't stand up to play with the children, but spread out her brush and paper to continue writing.

After an unknown amount of time, she began to feel sleepy. The summer sun was not dazzling, but especially gentle. She was extremely tired, and even had the urge to sleep. She put down her pen and leaned against the desk. He slowly closed his eyes.

She wanted to cherish many things, wanted to catch them. But those things were like balloons that flew up, gradually moving away from her. He couldn't get it, nor could he let it go.

She remembered her mother telling her to work hard, wherever she was. When they had no place to live, when they had no money to eat, their mother would always say that the world was so big, and I had hands and feet, so how could I not be able to keep you alive? You are healthy and well too. How can you not live?

So no matter where he was, no matter where he was, he would grit his teeth and live a good life.

She had already forgotten those words for a long time. For some reason, these words suddenly appeared in her mind. She had many things on her mind, many things, but she couldn't figure them out.

She couldn't remember what had happened to her, but why was she so tired?

She did not know how long she slept. When she opened her eyes, the sunlight outside was exceptionally bright. It was a kind of cool and transparent light. From downstairs, the sounds of students playing could be heard.

After her eyes adapted to the warm light, she could clearly see a little boy sitting by the window, seriously writing.

Did he not go downstairs to play like himself?

The boy's silhouette was extremely delicate, as if it had fused with the light outside the window.

For a moment, Zhuang Li felt that it seemed that only the two of them were left in this world. She quietly watched the boy as she wrote. Although she didn't know what he wrote, she could vaguely feel that he was especially diligent in writing.

As she watched him write, she thought of the time when Mr. White had taught them. It was that kind of seriousness.

Time seemed to stop at this moment. The mottled shadows of the trees that were projected into the house from outside the window were like a painting scroll. Time was lazy. Cherish the present...

She just stared blankly at the little boy until he seemed to be tired of writing. He stopped writing, turned around, and in that moment, Zhuang Li's heart felt as if it hurt.

That little boy … It's Wang Su...