The world of film and television begins with Hikaru no Go

After the lights were turned off, the room became dark.

Moonlight streamed through the window lattice, dappling the ground in patches. As the moon moved, these patches of light also shifted slowly.

Lin Dongzhe turned over, put his arm around Zhang Rui, and quickly fell asleep.

His breathing was even, his mouth was slightly open, and a little drool dripped onto the pillow.

Lin Wufeng and Song Ying were talking in the next room, their voices very low, and it was impossible to hear what they were saying.

Occasionally, Song Ying would chuckle, followed by Lin Wufeng shushing her, probably to say, "The children are asleep."

Later that night, Lin Dongzhe called out in his sleep, "Mom."

After shouting, he turned over, kicked off a corner of the blanket, and fell asleep again.

Hearing this, Zhang Rui reached out and pulled the blanket up, covering Lin Dongzhe's shoulders.

The moonlight shone in, and the patches on the ground moved slowly.

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Before dawn, there were already noises coming from the kitchen.

First came the sound of an iron hook lifting the stove lid, then the sound of a water ladle hitting the edge of an iron pot, and then Song Ying's low voice urging Lin Wufeng to leave.

"Buy some sesame seed cakes and fried dough sticks, and make two bowls of soy milk. Hurry back, the children need to go to school soon."

The gate creaked once, then fell silent again.

Zhang Rui sat up. In the bed next to him, Lin Dongzhe was still asleep, his mouth half open, one arm hanging out of the blanket, his fingers slightly curled.

Zhang Rui tucked the arm back under the covers, got out of bed, and put on his shoes.

Breakfast was laid out on the square table. The pickled vegetable dish contained homemade pickled mustard greens, chopped up and drizzled with a few drops of sesame oil, placed in the middle of the table.

Soy milk was heating in the iron pot on the stove. It was freshly made by Lin Wufeng. He poured it into the pot, added half a bowl of water, and it was bubbling away.

The sesame seed cakes were placed in a bamboo basket and covered with a cloth, but they were still hot.

The fried dough sticks were folded in half and arranged on a plate, fried until golden brown, thick at both ends and thin in the middle. When torn apart while still hot, you could see the soft dough inside.

Lin Wufeng had finished his meal, placed his bowl and chopsticks on the table, and left.

The debugging of the new equipment at the factory isn't finished yet, so I need to get to the workshop as soon as possible.

When I came back from washing up, there was a schoolbag on the table, containing three notebooks, two pencils, an eraser, a fountain pen, and a bottle of ink...

They're all brand new; you can tell they were put in a lot of care.

In contrast, Lin Dongzhe's schoolbag was hanging on the chair next to the bed; it was dark blue and the shoulder straps had been sewn twice.

Zhang Rui didn't say much and quietly sat down at the table.

Song Ying served him a bowl of soy milk: "Drink it while it's hot. The sesame seed cake with lots of sesame seeds is yours. Take a bite and don't spill any on yourself."

After finishing her work, she went to wake Lin Dongzhe up.

Lin Dongzhe, who had just gotten up, came out of the inner room, rubbing his eyes, with a tuft of hair sticking up and one slipper on the wrong foot.

Seeing Zhang Rui eating breakfast, she instinctively wanted to sit down at the table, but Song Ying urged her to go wash up.

When Lin Dongzhe returned from washing up, Zhang Rui had already finished eating. He casually tidied up the used dishes and chopsticks, stacked them together, and prepared to take them to the kitchen.

Song Ying took it from him and gently pressed him back onto the stool: "I'll take it, you eat with your brother for a while longer."

Zhang Rui was already full, and he didn't intend to be polite in this regard, since he wasn't staying for just a day or two.

But since we're not allowed to do any work, let's take good care of this younger brother.

Lin Dongzhe was clearly perfunctory when he washed up. The area behind his ears was still dry, but he did wipe his hair with water twice. One tuft of hair that was sticking up was pressed down, but another tuft sticked up again.

He sat down at the table, reached for the sesame seed cake, took a big bite, and sesame seeds fell everywhere—on the table, on his pants… and a few even rolled under the table.

He was completely unaware and took another bite.

Zhang Rui picked up a fried dough stick from the bamboo basket, folded it in half, broke it in two, put half of it into Lin Dongzhe's soy milk bowl, and placed the other half on the side of the plate.

"Soak it in soy milk before eating, let it absorb all the soy milk before picking it up."

With his mouth full of sesame seed cake, Lin Dongzhe mumbled an "Mmm," then used his chopsticks to press the half-eaten fried dough stick into the soy milk. Once it had absorbed enough, he picked it up, took a bite, and his eyes lit up: "Delicious!"

Zhang Rui's lips twitched slightly. He soaked the remaining half of the meat in the soy milk, then stood up, patted Lin Dongzhe's pants, and then used a rag to gather the sesame seeds on the table and wiped them clean.

When Song Ying returned after washing the dishes, she stood at the doorway of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. She saw the two brothers sitting side by side at the table, but instead of going over, she just stood there and watched for a while.

Lin Dongzhe finished the last sip of soy milk, pushed the bowl away, ran to get his schoolbag, and then turned back to urge, "Brother, hurry up!"

Zhang Rui walked out with his schoolbag on his back, while Lin Dongzhe had already hopped into the yard, his schoolbag bouncing on his back, the white-stitched patch on the shoulder strap particularly conspicuous in the morning light.

Song Ying took off her apron and came out of the kitchen, casually tidying her hair, and called out towards the courtyard gate, "Wait for your brother! It's his first day there, he doesn't know the way!"

"Okay—"

The two children's voices came out of the courtyard one after the other. Song Ying locked the door and followed behind.

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The cotton mill's affiliated school is located on the east side of the factory area, about a ten-minute walk away.

Despite being an affiliated school, it is quite large, with both primary and secondary schools located in the same area. The two teaching buildings are situated to the south and north, separated by a playground.

The playground is made of yellow earth. We had just pulled up the grass during the summer vacation, but it stopped growing after winter, leaving only a few clumps of withered yellow stubble.

The track was paved with cinders, and it made a rustling sound when you stepped on it.

Two basketball hoops stood on the edge of the playground, the paint on the backboards peeling off and the metal rims rusted.

Today is Monday, and students are coming and going at the school gate.

Some carried schoolbags, some held several textbooks with covers wrapped in old newspapers, and some even held half a steamed sweet potato in their hands, peeling it as they walked.

A teacher wearing glasses stood at the school gate, a newspaper rolled up in his hand. Seeing a student running too fast, he shouted, "Slow down! We won't take responsibility if you fall!"

Lin Dongzhe stopped running at the school gate and turned back to wait for Zhang Rui.

After taking Lin Dongzhe to the first-grade classroom, Song Ying led Zhang Rui to the administration office.

The teaching office was located at the far east end of the first row of bungalows. A wooden sign hung at the entrance, with words written in red paint. Several pieces of the paint had peeled off, revealing the grayish-white wood underneath.

The door was half open. Inside, there was an old desk with a stack of notebooks on it and an enamel mug next to it with the words "Serve the People" printed in red on a white background.

The director was a man in his forties, with his hair combed back, his forehead shiny, and he was looking down at a roster.

Hearing footsteps, I closed the roster and looked up.

Song Ying handed over the transfer documents, which the director took, flipped through, looked up at Zhang Rui, his gaze shifting back and forth between the photo and the man himself, and then nodded.

"All the paperwork is complete."

He put the materials back on the table, opened a drawer, took out a notebook, picked up a pen, and wrote a few words.

The pen tip moves slowly across the paper, each stroke a neat and regular script.

After finishing writing, he stood up and said, "Come on, I'll take you to the classroom."

Song Ying subconsciously took half a step forward, but the director waved his hand: "No need, I'll take him there. You can go back."