E-PT

     After reading Mr. Bo Yang's book, *The Ugly Chinaman*, I was deeply moved. I don't agree with all of Mr. Bo Yang's views, such as the romanization of Chinese characters and the idea that China should blindly copy the West because the West is more advanced. However, Mr. Bo Yang's sharp writing truly opened a new window for me to understand contemporary Chinese social phenomena. There are two views on personality among Chinese people: one is the ideal personality, which appears in the works of sages and exists in people's minds; the other is the realistic personality, which is prevalent in real life and represents people's true expectations of themselves. Under this expectation, there is basically no sense of guilt in doing things. As for the ideal personality, this is what everyone expects of others. People hope that others can be like those described by sages, while they themselves use a different set of standards to judge themselves. The result is that no ...

     Verbal attacks and written criticism are the literati's trump card. They may have been unable to reason with ignorant and rude soldiers, they may have been weak and frail from hunger and cold, they may have sung praises amidst moral confusion, and they may have been powerless to even kill a chicken while toiling in the fields. It is this very group that has propelled the progress of social civilization, and it is also this very group that has hindered it. They can be gentlemen throughout history, or they can be villains. The distinction between a gentleman and a villain often lies not in their knowledge, but in their character.     In my view, a literati is not yet a wise man. Perhaps he is already a learned scholar, a renowned figure of great talent, or a favored minister who rises to high office. Knowledge has made him wise, but it also prevents him from escaping the limitations of "literati mutual contempt," not to mention his inability to remain neutral...

     The simple and honest villagers, filled with joy, took time out of their busy schedules and, undeterred by the long journey, gathered at the town's theater to watch a grand opera. This grand opera is actually Jinju, a type of opera contrasting with Errentai (a type of folk opera). The lovely villagers, for ease of remembering, aptly call it "grand opera." Watching a grand opera is the most important event in the village. Temple fairs and trade fairs invariably feature performances by grand opera troupes.     Grand opera is deeply loved by the villagers; it is a solace for their weary hearts and a substitute for their spiritual life. It is like a river, flowing with the endless joys and sorrows of the villagers. This year, coinciding with the National Day and harvest season, the town invited the Jinyuan Jinju Troupe from Taiyuan City, Shanxi Province, to perform in our town to celebrate the completion of the new theater. The villagers were overjoyed and spen...

     Xiaojing's due date is approaching, and which hospital to give birth in has become a daily topic of debate in the family.     Xiaojing's husband thought they should go to the First People's Hospital because it's the largest hospital in the city, with the best doctors and the most advanced equipment. Xiaojing's mother-in-law, however, thought they should go to the Women and Children's Hospital, believing it specializes in childbirth and that they'd been doing their prenatal checkups there, so it couldn't be wrong. Xiaojing's father-in-law insisted on sending his daughter-in-law to the Second People's Hospital, for a simple reason: the vice president there was his classmate, and no matter how good the hospital was, it couldn't compare to having an acquaintance there—it would be easier to get things done with connections…     The whole family argued about this every day, eventually comparing prices from three different hospitals. They found...

     I remember living in a bungalow in the old town. One of my neighbors was a kind and gentle old man. His bright eyes and agile movements made him seem much older than his eighties. I think this was inseparable from his love of life, his positive and open-minded attitude.     In his spare time, he loved to grow flowers. The bright red azaleas, evergreen orchids, fragrant white magnolias, and the thousands of willow branches with their drooping green canopies in his yard were all planted by him. Whenever I passed by his house, the delicate fragrance was intoxicating. He was always busy in his flowerbeds, watering, arranging, fertilizing, and loosening the soil, finding contentment and peace in his work. He often said, "All things have a spirit; treat them well, and they will be grateful." The flowers seemed to understand his words; every spring, the flowers in his yard would bloom in unison, a truly delightful sight.     The old man loved gardening a...

     A group of fish swam happily in their watery world, their home clean and clear. The fish were extremely content. One day, one of their companions, playing in the river, fainted. The mother fish rushed her little fish to the fish hospital. The fish doctor said, "The little fish has been poisoned by drinking unclean water." While receiving an IV drip at the fish hospital, the little fish wondered, "Why was I poisoned? Our home in the water has always been clean and comfortable." The little fish felt helpless, thinking that it would never be able to swim out to play again and would have to stay at home, and it was very unhappy. The mother fish cried out, "Who can give my child back a clean home?" "     I remember the river in front of my house. Back then, it was teeming with fish and shrimp. You could easily catch several pounds with a fishing net, and those fish and shrimp were big and plump. Especially after rainy days, there were even more fish; ...

     Before moving to this neighborhood, I rented a place in the suburbs. Passing by the alleyway, a familiar scene flashed before my eyes…     At night, the residents at the alleyway's entrance would turn off their lights and go to sleep early. Only one house had its light on all the time, and a middle-aged woman sat at the door. At first, I didn't pay much attention. But after seeing her more often, I started to notice. This woman seemed to be waiting for someone, and upon closer inspection, I saw she was holding a pillow in her arms, which she claimed was her child. I overheard from several other residents at the alleyway that the woman had a child late in life. When the child was six, he went to play in the river and stayed there for half a day. Someone saw the child's body and ran back to tell the woman. She rushed to the riverbank, saw her drowned child, and suddenly went mad. During the day, this woman, with disheveled hair, would sit by the river for hou...

 　　It's almost 3 a.m., and a torrential downpour is pouring down outside, seemingly trying to wash away the unpleasant, unspoken sorrows of the day. I, probably because I took a long afternoon nap, am still awake. I remember someone telling me to read some writing when I have time; it can be very rewarding. 　　Perhaps it's because I always have someone by my side when I encounter difficulties that I don't feel life is so unbearable. But ultimately, many people will leave. Maybe some things can only get better if you endure them yourself. 　　On these sleepless nights, I need to keep reminding myself that things will get better, that things will get better. Even though I know the current situation is terrible, and things might get even worse in the future, it's okay. It will all pass. Whether it's pleasant or unpleasant, as long as you want it to, it will pass, right?

 　　"My clothes grow looser, yet I have no regrets, for I am wasting away for her." The song of Farewell My Concubine, a tale of heroism, has left behind an enduring sorrow. 　　Red-tasseled spears, golden armor, meteor hammers, swift steeds—the land of Yan and Huang, teeming with heroes, fearless against a hundred men. Countless trials of life and death forged their heroic nature. In those days, he lifted a cauldron with one hand, his might boundless, but heaven was jealous of his talent, leaving him only with tears streaming down his face by the Wujiang River. 　　That beautiful figure, it carried away my thoughts. In that vast sea of ​​people, I chose you, a promise made on the Stone of Three Lifetimes, five hundred glances in a past life. I roamed the world with my sword, just to win your smile; my iron cavalry trampled through mountains and passes, just to reach the willow-lined streets east of Luoyang. 　　The swing, long since without its butterfly rope, the ivy, no longer as...

 　　Today is July 16, 2017, the fifth day of the "Sailing" social practice team's rural outreach activity at Shangrong Primary School in Qinba Town, Wuchuan City. Although the typhoon made landfall in Hainan, our area was also affected, experiencing torrential rain. 　　Despite the heavy rain during the day and the low-hanging black sky at night, some stars still managed to shine. A few wisps of gray-white clouds drifted across the inky black sky, making it resemble a traditional Chinese ink painting. There was no bright moonlight, only the black sky, but thankfully, the stars kept us company in this lonely night. Due to the influence of Typhoon Talas, the fourth typhoon of the year, there weren't many stars in the sky. Compared to the starry night two days ago, today's stars appeared dim and lifeless, their light faint. However, these dim and faint stars adorned this vast ink painting, their twinkling adding a touch of charm to this otherwise monotonous scene. 　　The...

  On July 13th, the third day of the "Sailing" social practice team, a new course—calligraphy—began. The students initially showed great interest in calligraphy. When the teacher brought calligraphy tools such as brushes and Xuan paper into the classroom, many students came over to observe curiously. The   class began with the teacher introducing the structure of the brush and how to hold it. The students watched with wide, curious eyes, then picked up their brushes and followed the teacher's steps to imitate the brushes. After correcting the students' grips, the teacher demonstrated a basic stroke in regular script—the horizontal stroke—on the blackboard. The students practiced on their paper, and their movements were quite impressive. Due to time constraints, the students only learned the horizontal stroke in the morning. In the afternoon, the teacher taught them the vertical stroke and the dot stroke. After practicing the basic strokes,   the students, under the te...

To improve children's practical skills, help them understand the hardship of labor, and foster a greater appreciation for the fruits of others' labor and their current happy lives, the "Three Visits to the Countryside" team—the Qihang Social Practice Team—decided to conduct labor education. Labor practice is the foundation of labor education. The labor class focuses on practical work, integrating ideological education into the process. It organically combines ideological education with cultivating good habits and acquiring knowledge and skills, striving for a unity of practicality and education. Based on the actual situation, the Qihang Social Practice Team included "weeding on campus" in the labor curriculum. On the day of labor class, students brought weeding tools from home, such as hoes and sickles, to school. They lined up and marched to the school playground to begin weeding. Each class had its own designated area, and everyone spread out, each occupy...

"The battle has finally begun!" With each ring of the bell, we stood on the three-foot-wide platform of our teaching careers. The night before, my heart was filled with anxiety and unease; I tossed and turned, unable to sleep soundly. This was the most uncertain lesson I'd ever given; there was no trial lesson, just a direct entry into the battlefield. Now, it was finally our turn.With the children's greetings of "Hello, teacher!", our nervousness subsided. Our eyes and hearts were filled with them, thinking about how to guide their thinking and elicit the answers I wanted. The topic of this lesson was embryonic development, and we were teaching second and third graders. Because there were some technical terms like "fertilized egg," "placenta," and "umbilical cord," we used comics and videos to help them understand more vividly. The students were particularly excited when we explained fetal heart development and the mother...

It seems that cyberbullying has become so rampant lately that even ignoring it doesn't guarantee escape.This year is my first year fully immersed in society. It's also been extremely easy to break down—yes, mentally! Neither work nor relationships seem to be going my way. I definitely need to keep trying at work , but as for relationships, I shouldn't force things . If you can't get close to someone, it's better to just withdraw.

 　　Half the year has passed, and each time I go to class, my feelings are different. Last time, I was secretly pleased that students asked me questions, and I felt a great sense of accomplishment when I answered them. But now, the students are the ones leading me in conversations about life and the world around me. 　　Standing in the corridor, I watch the homeroom teacher confidently lecturing on various materials announced by the leaders, while the students below 　　seem to be just going through the motions. The study room is the most harmonious place. The top students are writing furiously with their heads down, while the struggling students are fidgeting and scratching their heads, seemingly trying to figure out problems, but they just can't seem to get anywhere, feeling anxious and frustrated. Soon, my thoughts wander off somewhere else, and I stare blankly at something. There are always one or two couples in the corner of the classroom, whispering sweet nothings and playfully te...

　　I love waking up to their smiling faces, their warm greetings of "Good morning, teacher!" That day, my mood is as bright as sunshine. I love their earnest and eager-to-learn attitude in class. They love asking "why, why?" and even when I can't answer immediately, they're not embarrassed to admit they don't know either. I love holding hands as we stroll and play ball on the playground. After dinner, with the sunset still in the air and a gentle breeze blowing, they want to stay by your side, so sweet and adorable. I don't know when it started, but I no longer find their noise and crowding annoying; instead, I increasingly love playing with them. I'm infected by their childlike innocence; their direct expression of love for us is so heartwarming. These past few days, it's been more about mutual learning between us and the students. They've helped us slowly rediscover a long-lost mindset: the world is beautiful, and we must keep moving ...

 　　I wrote something last night, but it wasn't very well written, so I deleted it. This morning, however, I felt a pang of emotion, a feeling that lingered in my mind. I couldn't help but write down some of my feelings. 　　As expected, this morning, Xiao Nan's gift to us was a sudden downpour during the flag-raising ceremony, catching us off guard from our sentimental and melancholic mood. Perhaps this is its true nature. Previously, Xiao Nan had brought a continuous rainstorm from Qingming Festival to the Summer Solstice. This unpretentiousness is her true nature, and it's what we find most unforgettable. 　　Xiao Nan is our paradise, with its fallen petals, fragrant grasses, and tranquil paths adorned with shallow moss. 　　I believe the simplest world is the tranquility of nature and the pure sincerity of human relationships. Xiao Nan is more like a sanctuary for all of us. We were already forced into our twenties, one foot in the ivory tower of university, the other expo...

 　　 The lights were dim, the grayish color of a concrete road at dusk. It was noisy all around, the kind of sound that seemed to rush in from all directions, assaulting my ears with a painful intensity. 　　 The drinks were awful, the music was awful. 　　 Sitting in the farthest spot from the dance floor, quietly observing, subtly watching, I stealthily entered this run-down, unknown, low-class bar, observing the stories of those living a life of drunken stupor in such rudimentary conditions. 　　 I longed to discover souls with stories among these people; I desperately hoped to find the inspiration I craved, yet which had long since dried up. 　　 Everywhere I looked, there was only groaning, sickly intoxication. But this wasn't what I was looking for. 　　 A head slowly lifted from a corner, and I quickly scanned it. 　　 Her bloodshot eyes met mine. What eyes they were! Huge eyelids hung like canteens, ready to burst forth from any corner, washing over her young, beautiful face. Her 　　 eye...