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I was fifteen when I met Kenji. With my mother going north to Beijing and my stepfather's family being well-off, I was lucky enough to attend a girls' high school. It is said that this school is funded by the English Christian Church, which not only teaches the four books and five classics in private schools, but also teaches western languages by a blonde from the other side of the Atlantic. There is something called natural science in my course. I don't understand, and I don't understand why a lady is called a lady. It's just that her blonde hair reminds me of the omelet in my hometown, which is yellow, soft and sweet. Looking in the mirror is an ancient prose professor in the school. According to my senior, he was just admitted as a scholar in the Qing Dynasty, but fortunately, he had several friends who had studied abroad, and he also loved learning western languages and had a deep knowledge of ancient Chinese, so he was able to teach in this school.
The impression of Jian Zhi always seems to be that the blue robe in the corridor is holding a stack of yellowed books in one hand, rushing by, or walking slowly in the dark corridor after school in the evening.
As I am a middle-class student, I only studied Tang poetry and Song poetry with my mother when I was a child, and four books on women's books with my husband when I was five years old, while I often went to the window of a private school to secretly read some Analects of Confucius and Mencius, but there was no western language at all. Cassandra is in charge. ...