The world of film and television begins with Hikaru no Go

Song Ying stood at the door, glanced at Zhang Rui, and her lips moved as if she wanted to tell him something, but she had already said what she needed to say on the way, so saying it again would be redundant.

I was still a little worried, so I watched for a while longer.

Song Ying didn't leave until Zhang Rui waved goodbye to her as he left the office with the director.

The air above the playground was crisp and clear. The cinder track was bleached white by the sun. A few withered leaves were swept by the wind and tumbled twice on the ground before coming to a stop.

The director walked slowly, his hands behind his back, whether intentionally or out of habit, it was unclear.

The hallway was dimly lit, and as you turned in, you could only see the figure in the dark blue Zhongshan suit in front of you.

Several handwritten slogans were pasted on the walls on both sides of the corridor. The edges of the paper were curled up, one of them was half fallen over, and the other half was still stuck with paste, which was yellowed.

The classroom doors were all closed, but through one door you could hear the teacher speaking on the podium, sometimes low, sometimes high; one class was chanting something in unison, but it was hard to hear clearly, only a drawn-out buzzing sound.

The director stopped at the door of the classroom in the middle of the corridor and leaned half his body inside.

"Teacher Liu."

A female teacher in her early thirties was writing something on the blackboard when the chalk stopped in mid-air and she turned her head.

She was wearing a gray cotton coat with the sleeves rolled up to her wrists, and her hair was tucked behind her ears with a black hair clip.

Hearing the director's call, he put down the chalk, dusted off his hands, and walked to the door.

"This is a new transfer student, assigned to your class." The director patted Zhang Rui on the shoulder. "Take good care of him."

Teacher Liu glanced at the headmaster with slight surprise, then nodded and turned her gaze to Zhang Rui: "What's your name?"

Zhang Rui.

Teacher Liu didn't ask any more questions. She put one hand on Zhang Rui's shoulder and led him inside.

Zhang Rui followed them into the classroom. The door was made of wood and felt very heavy. It was painted with reddish-brown paint, with the lower half being slightly darker. There were a few cracks in the paint near the door frame.

There's a glass panel above the door frame; I wonder what the design principle is, but it's probably to increase the amount of natural light inside.

The podium faced the door, and the blackboard was hanging on the back wall, wiped clean, with only half a piece of chalk lying in the lower right corner.

The moment I entered, dozens of eyes turned to look at me from their seats.

Two boys in the back row were pushing each other in the aisle, but when they saw the teacher come in, they immediately returned to their seats and sat up straight.

Teacher Liu walked to the lectern, propped one hand on the edge of the table, and scanned the area below.

"This is the new student." After saying that, she turned around and looked at Zhang Rui with a slightly encouraging expression. "Please introduce yourself to your classmates."

Zhang Rui was not intimidated. He picked up the broken piece of chalk and wrote his name on the right side of the blackboard.

The chalk made a soft rustling sound as it passed over the painted surface, and the chalk dust fell onto the wooden floor of the podium, accumulating into a small clump of white.

After finishing writing, he put the chalk back in its place, turned around, and said: "Hello everyone, my name is Zhang Rui, and I am very happy to meet you all."

His voice wasn't loud, but his enunciation was clear and his demeanor was poised and confident, which truly impressed everyone.

After a moment of stunned silence, a classmate in the back row led the applause in welcoming them.

Teacher Liu looked at the words on the blackboard. The strokes were neat and the structure was stable. It didn't seem like the writing of a child this age. She felt that it was better than her own handwriting.

Remembering the director's instructions, I had a better understanding of the situation.

"You sit there first, at the same table as Zhuang Tunan. I'll go to the registrar's office to get your textbooks and bring them to you later."

Teacher Liu was referring to the empty seat in the third row from the back by the window. Zhang Rui walked over with his backpack, and a boy named Zhuang Tunan, who was sitting on the outside, stood up and gave up his seat.

As he passed by, Zhang Rui glanced at him briefly. His first impression was that he was thin with slightly thick eyebrows. Their eyes met briefly, then he looked away, only to glance back again.

Zhuang Tunan sat down again only after Zhang Rui sat down next to him.

The first thing I did after sitting down was to gather my things from the middle of the table toward myself, and I also deliberately pulled my arms back a bit.

The table was hollow, with several scratches and a small patch of dried ink on the wooden board.

Zhang Rui took his backpack off his shoulder and held it in his hand. He was hesitating whether to put it directly inside when a few pieces of paper were handed to him from the side.

It was the kind of notebook paper that had been used before, with unevenly torn edges. One side was printed with lead type, and the other side was arithmetic drafts with messy pencil marks, erased and rewritten, leaving faint marks.

"You can use a pad."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Zhang Rui flattened the paper, carefully laid it out, and then put his schoolbag inside.

During the break, Ms. Liu came by.

Holding a few books in his hand, he walked to Zhang Rui's table and put them down one by one.

"Take the textbooks for Chinese, arithmetic, and general knowledge first, and complete the workbooks later. If you don't understand something, ask me, or you can ask your classmates."

The three books stacked together weren't thick. The Chinese language book was on top, and its cover was a dark yellow with a hint of red, featuring a line drawing—a worker holding a steel shovel, with a chimney and a red flag behind him.

The lines are thick, the ink is heavy, and the print is off by half a finger's width.

The spine of the book has no binding thread; it is saddle-stitched.

Turning to the next page, the paper was rough and yellowed, so thin that the words on the back were visible through it. The smell of ink was pungent, and if you got close, you could smell the sour odor of paste.

The arithmetic textbook has gears and ears of wheat printed on its cover, while the general knowledge textbook is the thinnest, with only the words "General Knowledge" on the cover and a line of smaller print below: "Trial Textbook for Elementary Schools in JS Province".

Zhuang Tunan glanced at the three books on Zhang Rui's desk, flipped to the lesson he was going to study that day in his Chinese textbook, and laid it out between the two of them.

"This lesson."

Zhang Rui looked down at the title, "Serve the People," which took up an entire line in bold.

Below is an illustration: a young man who looks like a soldier stands on an earthen platform, with an old locust tree behind him and rolling mountains in the distance.

The school bell rang, its sound muffled and lingering from the other end of the corridor.

It was a section of old railway track hanging under the corridor. He tapped it three times with an iron rod, and the whole row of classrooms could hear it.

Teacher Liu came in through the front door, walked to the podium, and put her lesson plan on the corner of the table.

The corners of the lesson plan book were worn, and when it was put down, it kicked up a speck of chalk dust, which floated briefly on the edge of the podium before settling back down.

The class monitor shouted for everyone to stand up, and a few people scrambled to their feet on the bench. Some bumped their legs against the edge of the table, causing the bench to slide back half an inch. Some stood crookedly and then straightened themselves. Some slammed their textbooks on the table as they stood up, kicking up a cloud of dust.

"Hello, teacher!"

The sound was drawn out, with the front row being half a beat ahead of the back row; the faster ones had already finished their notes, while the slower ones were still trailing off.

"Hello, students, please sit down."

A sound of clothes rubbing against the bench surface; the cloth trousers rubbed against the wooden bench, making a rough, scratchy feel.

The group was rather slow, constantly shifting their position after sitting down, probably trying to find a more comfortable posture.

The bench is a single piece; when two people sit together, if one moves, the other person sways too.