Chapter 141 Teaching
"Xiaomei, are you okay?"
"We are so worried about you. We are about to have art class. I thought you would not draw the tree with me."
"Ah! How can you be okay? Your head is bleeding! Your father is a bad guy!"
"Xiaomei, Xiaomei, I will treat you to some candy. My parents bought it for me when they went home for the New Year. I only eat one in two days. When I finish eating, my parents will come back. Now I will share the candy with you! You should be happy too!"
After Lin Xiaomei bandaged her wound, she took the candy handed over by her classmate and whispered thanks.
"No thanks, no thanks, let's go to class together!"
"But Teacher Jingzhen hasn't come back yet, and Teacher Huang can't draw, so why don't we practice calligraphy!"
"Practice calligraphy?" Quan Heng counted the time and used it as a relaxation, "Have you ever written calligraphy?"
"Yes, yes!" A child immediately took out all the brushes in the small cabinet in front of the classroom, "These are all, there is no ink, Teacher Jing has always used water as ink, writing on the stone, and you can write again after it dries."
Quan Heng nodded, took out a brush and checked the tip of the brush slightly, then dipped it in water and started writing.
She rarely wore a black shirt today, with her cuffs neatly rolled up, and the warm jade beads fell on her white wrists. Her fingers were slender and even looked a little pale against the dark color.
The sun outside the window was warm yellow, and the undried handwriting was blurred on the bluestone slab.
Quan Heng raised his wrist and lowered his eyes. The sunset light fell flatteringly on her long eyelashes. The lines of her cheeks were soft, revealing a kind of beauty that was almost magnificent and fragile.
Huang Xiu couldn't help but breathe lightly, and was touched by the purity of this nothingness for a moment.
Quan Heng raised his eyes as if he had noticed something. His pure black eyes revealed a little coldness wrapped in his usual gentleness. Just one glance made people tremble with fear, as if the thin soul was seen through at this moment.
"What's wrong?" Quan Heng smiled gently.
"Ah, nothing." Huang Xiu shivered inexplicably, and then vaguely thought it was an illusion, "Maybe there was a gust of wind just now, it's a bit cold."
"Really?"
Quan Heng just smiled and didn't expose her excuse after a moment of nervousness.
She has personally experienced life and death several times, and experienced the ups and downs that ordinary people cannot experience in several lifetimes. She crawled out of those dark pasts step by step. Even if she finally rhymed a calmness and gentleness beyond her age that was almost absurd, she still considered herself "hypocritical".
Good is not pure, and evil is not clean.
So there are always moments when these things that have eroded into the bones will come out uncontrollably.
——The lotus cannot be unstained by mud.
"Then I will continue." Quan Heng lowered his eyes and continued to write.
Her calligraphy and Chinese painting are both of extremely high standards, and she is as graceful as a startled dragon with one stroke.
The children beside her couldn't help but wow.
"Your calligraphy is so good?" Amian said, "Do reporters have to learn calligraphy now?"
"Not really," Quan Heng said truthfully, "It's just because I need it."
The people above Quan Heng wanted to contact before either liked playing chess or calligraphy and Chinese painting. Using money to buy auction items as sincerity was not enough. Only if he could learn it himself could he take advantage of it better.
All umbrellas that need others to hold up cannot withstand the real storm.
This is even more true for power struggles. The struggle for power and interests between different classes has always been a never-ending struggle. The absolute initiative must be held in one's own hands.
She has endured all this little by little.
The only thing to be thankful for is that she learns things very quickly.
"Meijuan, your writing is so ugly, but mine is not good-looking either."
"Our writing is all so ugly."
The primary school students all laughed. Quan Heng took one of the children's hands and said gently, "Relax your arms."
The child blinked, and his arms really stopped exerting force. He let Quan Heng lead the writing. This movement really turned decay into magic. The brush writing on the stone slab immediately stood up in spirit, becoming chic and beautiful.
The clear handwriting covered the traces of immaturity, and it seemed like a subtle inheritance in a trance.
Huang Xiu looked at this scene and was actually a little moved.
It is said that the handwriting is like the person. Being able to teach the children so patiently and correct them bit by bit can also be regarded as taking care of this word.
At least his character is impeccable.
"You are very patient when teaching, are you a calligraphy teacher?" Huang Xiu asked.
What is this question?
Quan Heng's heart moved slightly, and he let go of the child's hand, saying: "I have taught the children at home before."
However, Sang Ting has no patience for ink and brush, but he was very attached to her when he was a child, and he was afraid that she would throw him away in a blink of an eye. He was not interested but did not want to leave, so he could only bite the bullet and practice calligraphy.
But as he practiced, he became calm, and even turned a deaf ear to everything around him.
Now he can barely write recognizable big characters, and occasionally he creates a new style of cursive calligraphy.
However, Quan Heng does not expect Sang Ting to do anything to make steady progress. As long as he does not fly over the eaves and walls, everything will be fine.