Zheng Yuanyuan ran lifelessly, but the feeling like an appendage could not be shaken off, she only dared to look at the swaying road in front of her, because she didn't know if she would see that terrible grimace again if her eyes were skimmed to the side. Pen, fun, pavilion www. biquge。 info

There was a bright light from a corner in front of it, which was the light of the evening self-study in the teaching building. Zheng Yuanyuan was very happy, she had never looked forward to the boring and boring evening self-study.

Walking around the corner, she finally saw the familiar figures of her classmates. In her joy, she didn't notice that those previously lively faces had become a little dull.

Zheng Yuanyuan walked into the classroom, knocked on the class quite solemnly, and shouted, "Report!" ”

The teacher on the podium turned his head, a hint of an inexplicable smile appeared on the corner of his mouth, and said softly:

"Please come in, Zheng Yuanyuan."

She quickly ran into her seat and sat in her seat, but she was not in a hurry to say anything to her classmates. The series of horrific events made her have no idea who she should trust, and she forgot that she still had a pale human skin mask on her face at the moment. She just gasped for breath, the fresh air rippling with the joy of the rest of her life.

"So, today's art class begins!" The teacher on the podium said calmly.

"Art class?" Zheng Yuanyuan was shocked, looked up, and found that the teacher standing on the podium was not the English teacher before he went out, but a strange man.

Looking at the surrounding students, the originally unreal figure suddenly became more illusory. One by one, they vanished into the midst of the teachers, their bodies gradually becoming transparent, then turning into specks of dust that merged with the air.

"Listen to me! Listen to me! Don't leave me! Don't leave me! Watching the classmates around him disappear one by one, the strange man on the podium suddenly yelled wildly, and his words were restless and restless.

He ran to the middle of the classroom, clutching the dust in the air with his hands that didn't exist. Yet, every time his hands were in one place, those bodies disappeared in that place.

"Come back! Come back! The man, who claimed to be the art teacher, became more and more frenzied, and he ran around the classroom restlessly, mixing the dust with it.

Finally, there was not an illusory figure in the classroom, and all the students were scattered in the air, like those April catkins, flying in the air, and finally dissipating in unknown corners, except to add some trouble to the people in the city.

The art teacher finally stopped, and he stood in the middle of the classroom, covering his face with his hands, and choked up:

"Why... Why has no one ever wanted to listen to me. Nana didn't want to see me, the students ignored me in class, and even my parents hated me for being unproductive. ”

"Tick."

A tear fell on the floor of the classroom, wetting the marble that had witnessed the years, and also hitting Zheng Yuanyuan's heart.

"Teacher, don't cry, I'm willing to listen to your class."

"Really? You really want to listen to my lessons! Listen to me! The art teacher suddenly shouted excitedly, he looked at Zheng Yuanyuan in disbelief, his eyes were full of excitement and joy.

"Yes, I do!" Zheng Yuanyuan looked at the performance of the art teacher just now, and suddenly recalled his performance in art class and music class. Because these courses do not count towards the final exam score, almost no students are willing to listen to these sub-subject teachers, and they are extremely disrespectful in their classes.

However, Zheng Yuanyuan is different from others. Because, her mother is an associate subject teacher, and she listens to her nagging too much at home, and the school will also have special respect for those ordinary sub-subject teachers.

"Let's get started, Zheng Yuanyuan." The man didn't know when he had stopped his tears and gave Zheng Yuanyuan a huge smile.

"Today, we're going to study Chapter 7, The History of Impressionist Painting." After the art teacher finished speaking, he took out a bloody textbook from the podium and began his explanation.

Strangely, Zheng Yuanyuan did not feel afraid, on the contrary, she listened very seriously and devotedly, and even interacted with the teacher from time to time. The teacher patiently answered them one by one, and even took out a finger bone made of human blood as chalk and drew and explained it on the blackboard.

When there are some inappropriate parts in the painting, he will even take out a blackboard eraser made of a broken hand and revise the omissions on the podium.

Zheng Yuanyuan had never found that she could listen to the content of a lecture so seriously, but it was in such a strange environment that she did it. Just when she thought that everything would go on so calmly and beautifully, there was a sudden crisp "click" sound of high heels stepping on the floor outside the door.

She turned her head to look and saw a woman with heavy makeup standing disdainfully outside the window, her eyes squinting at the art teacher standing on the podium.

"Zhang Wenyuan! You bastard! I don't want to see your garbage, meaningless love letters next time! Really, how old you are, and like a child, you ran to my unit to deliver me love letters! I already have a boyfriend! With that, the woman took out a pink envelope from her bag and tore it off in front of the art teacher.

"Xiao Qian! How can you have a boyfriend! How could that old man with a beer belly and a fat head be your boyfriend? What else can he do besides being an executive in your company...."Before he could finish speaking, he was interrupted by a sharp voice.

"I don't want you to say that about my boyfriend!" The girl screamed, as if she was a little ashamed to interrupt Zhang Wenyuan.

In Zheng Yuanyuan's eyes, the original man with a charitable face disappeared in an instant. His figure became blurry and flickering, but it grew bigger and bigger, and his face turned red, looking at the girl in front of him in disbelief.

The once peaceful classroom was gone, distorted and hideous. The pale yellow desks in the classroom suddenly came to life, curly, and there were some faint pores on them, like folded human leather desks.

The electric light no longer flickered a soft white light, but turned into a strange blood red, making Zhang Wenyuan's already red face even more distorted and terrifying.

On the white wall of the classroom, there were bright red hand-scratch marks, and faces appeared in the marks, as if they were wailing something that no one could understand.

Zhang Wenyuan, an art teacher, became the center of the classroom, and everything around him became blurry and distorted. His hands clasped his head tightly, and then he used all his strength to tear at his scalp, scratching out blood marks.

"Why! Why! Don't stay away from me! Xiao Qian! Xiao Qian! Come back, I beg you, come back quickly! The man's screams echoed through the small classroom.

Zheng Yuanyuan felt as if everything was moving away from her, and he was on the edge of the endless void.

Yanjiang High School, the 4th year of its establishment.

Because of the large number of "problem students". The relationship between teachers and students is particularly poor, and because of the problems of the school management, even the salary is often released. The teachers of the whole school fell into a state of panic in the school. They are not interested in teaching, and because of the arrears of wages, they are unable to properly handle their interpersonal relationships.

Art teacher, Zhang Wenyuan is one of them.

Pursuing his artistic dream since he was a child, he gave up the opportunity to work in a foreign-funded company and chose a job as a middle school art teacher with a meager salary. But because the students in middle school were busy with the college entrance examination, art was not taken seriously, and he was teased and teased by students every time he took art class.

During that time, even his girlfriend who was in college with him looked down on him and interrupted him and shut him up without even letting him say a complete sentence.

No one knows what a blow all this is for a student who has only lived in an ivory tower.

No, perhaps, the school building from which he jumped down, saw in the bloody corpse the endless bitterness and anguish of a imprisoned soul.

When dreams become the opposite of reality, the only meaning of persistence is pain, why should we hold on?

Perhaps, it's just for the pain.