"A second of history can move you, a hundred years of history may weigh heavily on you, and ten thousand years of history will shock you."
Zheng Qing repeated these words, myriad images and scenes emerging in his mind, trembling from the vicissitudes revealed in the phrasing.
The classroom was silent.
The little elves sitting along the edge of the blackboard seemed like sculptures, silent and immobile.
The sky was cloudless.
The early autumn sunlight was a bit dazzling, filtering through the bright floor-to-ceiling windows, appearing somewhat pure and somewhat distant.
Many people were immersed in this elegant and profound mood.
More people had recorded the teacher's words on the title page of their history textbooks as a reminder.
Xiao Xiao sat upright, his hand tightly gripping the brush, the other pressing hard on his notebook, taking notes with such intensity as if he wanted to stuff his whole being into the notebook.
