Mr. Wang is the smartest person in the world in my eyes, he is very knowledgeable and knows everything, but every time I meet him, my heartbeat frequency must not be as clear as mine.

He wore a pair of gold-trimmed glasses, and was very thin, but his shoulders were very broad. During class, I couldn't help but look at his bright eyes, and when my husband saw the necessity, he tapped me on the head with his long, thin fingers.

In Mr. Wang's class, he often asked me what I was thinking, and I just lowered my head and picked up the pen to scribble some sentences from the Book of Poetry. He didn't care, he just continued to lecture. At that time, I finished writing a collection of pre-Qin poems in his clear voice.

I often feel that Mr. Wang, who teaches Chinese Chinese, is like a son in the Spring and Autumn Period, who walks out of painting and returns to poetry.

Once, when I was staring at my husband, he bent his index finger and tapped lightly on the top of my mahogany desk, asking me what I was thinking about again. I didn't dare to look up at Mr. Gentle's gentle and half-playful eyes under the gold-wire trimmed frames, so I could only pick up the pen at hand and write to him:

The mountains have trees and branches, and the heart is pleasing to the king

The gentleman was stunned for a moment, and then tapped my head with a pen: "You are still young, this kind of thing, you should keep it and think about it later." I nodded tremblingly and smiled at him, a smile that seemed to use all my strength.

It was a turbulent year and the students' petitions on the streets became more and more intense, and I went out into the streets with everyone to figure out what was going on. I stood there and didn't know what to do.

Suddenly my arm was grabbed, and I turned around and saw my Mr. Wang, his bangs swaying slightly in the wind covering his slightly furrowed brow.

"Why are you running here, come with me, don't you want to listen to my class?"

Looking at his serious look, I nodded, and he smiled and took me away.

Peking was finally unsettled, and my parents were ready to take me to Hong Kong for refuge. On the day I left, I said goodbye to my husband. I can't remember the situation that day, but I only remember my husband saying lightly, "You want everything to be well." Then his resolute back disappeared at the end of the alley.

It has been ten years since I returned to Peking again. Over the years, I have been looking for news from Mr. Wang, but there has been no response. Back to the private school of my childhood, the sound of laughter and playfulness has long since disappeared.

When I learned from his family that Mr. Wang, who taught Chinese at the time, had been assassinated 10 years ago for participating in the march, my tears broke out.

Before leaving, my husband's mother handed me a letter.

"He often mentioned you to me when he was alive, and this letter was written when you left Beiping, and I don't know why he wrote this letter but never sent it. Now that you have returned, I will give it to you for him. ”

I bowed to my husband's mother and returned to the small house where I had once lived.

Opening the letter, he smiled a little self-deprecatingly, and struck a match to burn it.

The mountains have trees and branches, and the heart is happy

Until I died, I didn't have a heart for anyone.

When I finished typing the last word in my notebook, I couldn't wait to show it to Wang Yuan.

"Our Morning Star is not bad, such a good writing can be seen at a glance that it is my true biography...... Eh, don't hit me, I was wrong, I was wrong. ”

"Hmph."

"Morning Star, you say, will Wang Junkai be with Xia Qingtian?"

"Yes."

Why would it be? Because only I know that Lin Xingchen likes Wang Junkai, and Wang Junkai also likes Lin Xingchen.

And Xia Qingtian looks exactly like Lin Xingchen.