The world of film and television begins with Hikaru no Go

Teacher Liu picked up the chalk and wrote five characters on the blackboard: "Serve the People." Each stroke was written neatly, and chalk dust fell in a flurry, sticking to the edge of the podium and accumulating into a thin layer.

The blackboard was plastered with cement. Over the years, much of the black paint had faded, revealing a grayish color underneath. Sometimes the chalk would slip when it touched the remaining black paint, making a squeaking sound that was slightly harsh.

After finishing writing, she put the chalk back in the trough, turned around and opened the textbook. The corners of the textbook were curled up. She pressed down on the curled corner with her palm, but couldn't.

First, she read the text aloud. She didn't read it fast, and although she had a slight accent, she pronounced each word clearly. She paused for a full beat where she should have paused and emphasized for half a beat where she should have emphasized. Even those sitting in the last row could hear her.

The text tells the story of a soldier named Zhang Side who died when the charcoal kiln collapsed while he was burning charcoal. The leader wrote an article for him, saying that everyone has to die, but the meaning of death is different. To die for the interests of the people is heavier than Mount Tai, while to die for those who exploit and oppress the people is lighter than a feather.

"Because we serve the people, we are not afraid of criticism if we have shortcomings."

When Teacher Liu read this sentence, her pace slowed down by half a beat. After finishing, she closed the textbook and placed it on the podium. The hard cover of the textbook hit the wood with a dull thud.

"Read along with me now."

The voices of fifty or sixty people were mixed together, uneven, some fast and some slow, and words that could not be recognized were blurred and quickly drowned out by the surrounding voices.

The classroom was stuffy. It wasn't hot in October, and the windows were open, but with so many people crammed into one room to read aloud, the air was still thick, carrying a smell of chalk dust and old books.

Zhang Rui followed along, his mouth moving, but he didn't make much noise.

He noticed a detail: there wasn't a single "maybe" or "probably" in the sentences in the text; every sentence was decisive and clear.

Zhuang Tunan read very carefully, his voice neither too loud nor too soft, and he pronounced each word accurately. When he read the sentence "People always have to die," he paused slightly, and his voice trailed off half a beat after that. Others had already read "Heavier than Mount Tai" before his voice finally fell.

After reading it twice, Teacher Liu began to teach the new characters.

He picked up the chalk and wrote the character "鸿" on the blackboard. After finishing, he turned around, holding the chalk in his hand, his fingers covered in a layer of white chalk.

"The 'hong' in 'hongmao' refers to a wild goose, and a wild goose's feather is very light. Mount Tai, on the other hand, is in Shandong and is the foremost of the Five Sacred Mountains; it is heavy. Heavier than Mount Tai, yet lighter than a wild goose feather, do you understand?"

"Understood—"

The sound was drawn out, and a few people in the front row nodded, while others in the back row echoed in unison.

Teacher Liu wrote a few more words and taught them one by one. When she got to the word "sacrifice," she didn't pause deliberately. After she finished writing, she put down the chalk and patted the dust off her hands.

"Comrade Zhang Side sacrificed himself for the interests of the people; his death is heavier than Mount Tai."

She didn't explain the two words further, but simply read the sentence from the text again.

"Can anyone tell me what this text is mainly about?"

Several hands were raised, and Zhuang Tunan raised his hand steadily, his arm neither straight nor bent, his fingertips not exceeding the top of his head, as if he had been measured. Teacher Liu called on him.

"This text tells the story of Comrade Zhang Side sacrificing himself for the people's interests. Chairman Mao said that dying for the people's interests is heavier than Mount Tai. We must serve the people wholeheartedly."

Teacher Liu nodded: "Sit down."

She called on another boy in the back row. He stood up and said almost everything, but he missed the words "wholeheartedly". Teacher Liu didn't correct him. She just said, "Sit down," and turned to the next page to continue teaching the words.

A gust of wind blew in through the window, lifting the corners of the papers on the desk and then letting them fall back down.

Zhang Rui pressed down gently with his hand, the indentation of the pencil draft beneath his fingertips, the paper texture digging into his fingertips.

The textbook lay open in front of me, the five characters "Serve the People" still there, the ink uneven, some dark and some light, the darker areas glossy, the lighter areas slightly seeping through the paper.

The school bell rang three times along the same railway track.

The bench creaked, and people surged out.

Zhuang Tunan stuffed his textbook into the desk drawer, the spine hitting the wooden board with a dull thud. He turned to the side and asked, "Want to play pool?"

Zhang Rui had never played billiards before, but he still stood up and followed along.

The gymnasium was a low room behind the teaching building. The door was open, and it was dark inside. In the darkness, you could see a row of wooden grids nailed to the wall. In the grids, rackets, jump ropes, and a few deflated basketballs were stuck in the grids. The basketballs had been patched, the patches were not cut round, and the stitches were crooked.

An old craftsman, around fifty years old, sat by the door. His blue cloth hat was pulled down to his brow bone. He was bent over repairing a badminton racket. Half of the string was broken and dangling. He took the broken string off and wrapped it around his fingers, one loop after another.

Zhuang Tunan walked over and asked to borrow two rackets. The old master didn't look up, nor did he stop what he was doing. He just nudged a bench next to him with his knee, indicating that he would take them himself.

After browsing for a while, I took out two pairs from the shelf and placed them on the windowsill. Then I took out a ball from a cardboard box next to the windowsill. It was white with a rough edge around the seam. There were seven or eight more in the box, all old, some of them yellowed.

After thanking the master, Zhuang Tunan handed a racket to Zhang Rui.

The surface is made of natural wood, without any adhesive, just a bare board. There are a few shallow scratches on the surface, and some deeper ones are inlaid with ash. The handle is worn black and shiny, showing how many hands have gripped it.

Zhang Rui weighed it in his hand; it was lighter than he had imagined, and felt empty in his hand.

He had only ever seen other people play table tennis on TV, and always in venues like the Olympics.

The players' pool paddles were covered with something, red on one side and black on the other, making a crisp sound when hit.

The playground is located between two buildings. Three platforms are placed side by side on the open space. The cement-plastered platforms rest on brick legs. Most of the green paint has peeled off, revealing the gray-white base. A row of bricks in the middle serves as a net. Dry moss, grayish-green, is stuck in the gaps between the bricks. Some bricks are crooked, probably because they were hit by balls, but no one bothers to straighten them.

There were already people at a table on the side; two boys were playing. The ball bounced with a muffled sound, and when it hit a sand hole, it even curved, bouncing low over the edge of the table. The boy on the other side reached out to grab it but couldn't reach it. The ball bounced to the ground, rolled around to the corner of the wall, and got covered in dirt.

Zhuang Tunan walked to the empty table, bounced the ball a couple of times on the surface, but it didn't bounce high and landed slightly off-center. The cement surface was uneven, so he couldn't quite predict the direction the ball would bounce. Finally, he handed the ball to Zhang Rui: "You serve first."

Zhang Rui stood at one end of the table, holding the ball in his left hand and the racket in his right, with the racket face up, and tossed the ball upwards.

The ball wasn't tossed high enough and fell sideways. I swung my racket to reach it, but the edge of the racket hit the side of the ball, sending it flying off the table at an angle and rolling to the ground.

When the paddle hits the ball, the sound is dry and not crisp at all.