Zhang Zhong also felt something when he saw the snow falling, so he put aside his usual "talking about literature" and turned to talking about snow with the students.
After letting them speak freely, the students below looked at me and I looked at you, but no one spoke first.
Zhang Zhong raised the corner of his mouth and said, "Why, you don't have anything to say?"
"Teacher Zhang, I have it."
The boy who just spoke raised his hand.
Zhang Zhong smiled and nodded at him, "Then tell me."
"Teacher Zhang, when it snows this time, the first thing I think of is the book "The Snowman" you wrote before. It is my favorite thriller and suspense novel. I still remember the plot in it, and even
I remember many of the characters’ lines, at that time..."
"Okay, okay." Zhang Zhong pressed his hand on him, and then said with a smile, "No need to say flattery."
"Hahaha."
When Zhang Zhong said this, there was a burst of laughter in the classroom. The boy who raised his hand lowered his head in embarrassment and muttered, "This is what I say from the bottom of my heart..."
"Okay, let me give you a hint. Have you ever read any text about snow that has left a deep impression on you when you are reading?" Zhang Zhong said.
"Teacher, does ancient poetry count?"
"certainly."
"A man in a boat and a coir raincoat fishing alone in the snow on the cold river. Teacher, I like this sentence better."
"Well, "Jiang Xue" by Liu Zongyuan."
"The window contains the snow of thousands of years in the Xiling Mountains, and the door holds the ship thousands of miles away from Dongwu."
"Du Fu's Quatrains is pretty good."
"I know the snow is heavy late at night, and I hear the sound of breaking bamboo."
"The wind shakes the bamboos across the door, and the mountains are filled with snow when the door opens."
“It’s so snowy in Chang’an that it’s hard to find birds.”
…
Someone made a start, and the classroom suddenly became a scene for reciting ancient poems. The students searched for all the poems about snow that they knew.
Zhang Zhong saw that they had gone astray and said quickly, "It can be ancient poetry, but it is not limited to ancient poetry. This is not a poetry conference. I mainly want you to express your thoughts."
The classroom, which was originally as lively as a vegetable market, became quiet again. Everyone was thinking about what Teacher Zhang meant by this. Is this an exam?
Thinking of the exam, most students felt a little nervous and put on a posture of being prepared.
Seeing how nervous they were, Zhang Zhong originally wanted to say a few relaxing words to ease their mood, but then he thought, it would be easier for Huaxia students to put some pressure on them.
Without waiting for them to raise their hands, Zhang Zhong directly clicked on someone, "That girl in the red dress in the third row of this one."
The girl who was clicked stood up reflexively.
"Is there anything you can share with us about Xue?" Zhang Zhong asked with a smile, trying his best to appear amiable.
The girl thought for a while and said, "I think snow represents pure love. I hope we can look back in time and grow old together with deep affection. The most beautiful state of love is just like this snow, floating together, falling together, and going to the end together."
"
Zhang Jian nodded: "I hope that there will be time to look back and grow old together with deep affection. This is a very poetic sentence. Thank you for sharing. Please sit down."
The girl breathed a sigh of relief and sat down slowly.
"This is the boy wearing glasses in the second row." Zhang Zhong named him again.
"Teacher, I like snow, and the magical pentagons, hexagons, and octagons. When it snows, I stand on the balcony, stretch out my arms, open the window, and the wind will send them over. Deep in my palms, I think
I wanted to catch a piece, but it seemed to be in a hurry, and with the help of the wind, it escaped one by one from under my arm..."
The second boy who was called on probably figured out the routine and wrote a short essay for Zhang Zhong on the spot.
His literary talent is quite good, and writing on such a temporary basis is also a test of his skills.
Zhang Zhong nodded and said, "Very good, the next one is the one to the left of this classmate."
The little boy on the left side of the boy with glasses stood up and said, "Snowflakes fell on the trees, dressing up the trees. Snowflakes fell on people, and people seemed to turn into big snowmen standing on the ground. Snowflakes fell on the ground,
It accumulates into a thick layer, like a white carpet..."
The little boy didn't even start and started describing the scenery directly.
Most of the next few were similar. Zhang Zhong nodded in agreement with each one, but never made any comments.
Until one girl was called on, she said, "Actually, I don't like snow, because it's very cold. When I was a child, my family conditions were not good. There wasn't even a brazier when it was cold. If it snowed, I could only
I couldn't do anything while huddled under the quilt. My father would get up in the middle of the night to chop firewood. One winter, it was snowing heavily, and he had to drive the car to collect firewood. Later, his legs froze.
There are still sequelae to this day.”
Zhang Zhong looked at this girl, who was dressed in ordinary clothes and looked ordinary, but when she talked about these things about her family, her expression was very calm, not sad, nor inferior or pitiful.
A very strong and thoughtful girl.
Zhang Dian nodded, "Well, sit down."
After asking her to sit down, Zhang Zhong did not nominate anyone else, but said, "Many students just contributed very beautiful prose, and the writing style is very good, but what I want to say is that the one that satisfies me the most is
This last classmate."
"First of all, the reason why this classmate satisfies me has absolutely nothing to do with the nature of the story she told. I am satisfied entirely because she is truly expressing her feelings, no matter how plain they are.
Whether it is exciting, joyful or sad, these are all her own feelings. The beautiful articles written by others are indeed very literary, but they are obviously written to serve others. Maybe even you yourself don't know that you wrote them.
What exactly is it? It’s just that you have read enough books and mastered enough vocabulary. You think it will be good for others to write like this, so you just write it like this. But what I want to tell you is that real writing is to write about the heart.
something.”
Since this was mentioned, Zhang Zhong decided to say a few more words, "A real writer will always write only for his heart. Only his heart will truly tell him how outstanding his selfishness and nobility are. The heart makes him
Really understand yourself, and once you understand yourself, you will understand the world. You are college students now, and you no longer need to write things you don’t want to write in order to practice your writing skills like in primary and secondary schools. I just asked you what you think of when you see snow.
What, obviously, most of you are thinking about what I want to hear rather than what you really think, and that's not right."