Today is Friday, May 21, 2088, the first day of the intercalary fourth month.
It was a calm, uneventful day; looking forward, summer vacation was still a month and a half away, and looking back, midterms had just passed two weeks ago. It was, in short, a simple, repetitive, unchanging day.
Simon spent the day bored, sketching in the classroom. He didn't pay much attention in class anymore, and the teachers didn't really bother him. He couldn't use his phone, and when he wasn't in the library, sitting in the classroom all day felt like being in prison.
Again, Simon didn't have many friends.
A character sketch, if he was fast, took half a class; if he was slower, it was still less than a full class. He could be faster, but he often got lost in the details.
Nowadays, every child has one or two special skills. In Simon's class, you could easily put together a band, or an Olympiad math team, or even a basketball or soccer team. Three students could play the erhu, a dozen had excellent calligraphy, one played the pipa, most girls could dance, six earned money by contributing to e-magazines, and three or four had won various competitions.
However, this was only in the advanced class; children in regular classes weren't quite so extraordinary.
Simon actually didn't quite agree with children so young pushing themselves so hard. Not everyone is a genius, and not all effort can bridge the gap in talent. Especially in this era of highly polarized educational costs, on one hand, the universal universal of compulsory education ensures everyone receives an education above the international standard. On the other hand, the rise of online learning platforms, which are another form of tutoring, means that to learn advanced knowledge and receive guidance from good teachers requires a large sum of money.
Precisely because everyone can learn, it's even harder to stand out. Money alone isn't enough; spending money on education is merely gaining early access to advanced knowledge. Once one touches the ceiling of humanity's scientific system, it comes down to effort and talent. But then again, how many people can reach that point?
The modern knowledge system is incredibly vast, so much so that even after constant specialization, very few people reach the end of any single path, transforming from learners to expanders. The last universally recognized polymath was Thomas Young, who died in 1829. Since then, no multi-field expert has emerged.
The old saying goes, 'Where there are people, there is a jianghu,' but in fact, 'Where there is a jianghu, there are people.' Society and nature are the same: some eat meat, some are vegetarians; bees collect nectar, mosquitoes and flies collect blood. Every ecological niche is filled by a species, every task by a profession.
In that sense, self-awareness is actually more important than effort.
Simon never thought of becoming a scientist. He was curious about knowledge, but only to that extent. He was more willing to live a carefree, pastoral life as an artist. If he ever really couldn't make a living, he'd then consider using his currently developed brain to do research and earn money.
"It's done," Simon put down his charcoal stick, turned to Su Xiangli, who was looking on expectantly, and smiled, "Come look, I drew it super realistically, right?"
In the drawing, Su Xiangli was sprawled on her desk, sound asleep, her head resting on her arm, her small face like a water balloon pressed against a clothesline. Drool flowed from the corner of her mouth, highlighted by Simon, and the water flow effect was indeed super realistic.
Su Xiangli was furious, grabbing Simon by the neck and shaking him vigorously. "Die!"
Simon: ε = ε = ε = (~￣▽￣)~ Gotta go, gotta go.
He stood up, broke free from the little demoness's clutches, and was about to scurry out the door when he ran straight into the Class Teacher.
"Simon! What's with all the rushing! Go back and sit down. Classmates, all sit down. We have a task for our next class meeting."
Two minutes before class, the Physical Education Teacher strolled in, greeted the Class Teacher at the podium, and then shouted, "All boys, follow me!"
The Physical Education Teacher was a short, stocky middle-aged man with dark skin and bright eyes. He was rumored to have come from the military, always habitually stern-faced, but was actually a very cheerful person. Thus, he often had a stifled-laugh, poker-faced demeanor. His left leg was broken for some unknown reason and replaced with a bionic prosthesis. He wasn't at all shy about it and often rolled up his pant leg to show the students.
Don't let his straightforward and jovial personality make you think he lacks education; the Physical Education Teacher also came from a prestigious university. Occasionally, if another teacher was sick, he could fill in. The time Simon kicked Shao Zhanqing into the hospital, it was the Physical Education Teacher who covered the class.
If Simon were to evaluate him, this Physical Education Teacher, surnamed Yuan, was truly good, but he didn't like to prepare lessons and loved to ramble. Often, half a class was spent telling stories, a quarter on advanced topics, an eighth complaining about the shortcomings of contemporary education, and only the remaining eighth was on point.
The first thing he would say when he walked in during those few days he subbed was always, "Where did we leave off last time?" Followed by, "Did we talk about functions? Huh? Science class? Oh, what did we talk about then, little balls, little blocks? Oh, decomposition of forces, right? Okay, I got it!"
It turned out that after talking for half a class, he realized he hadn't asked for the specific content of the previous class from the beginning. "Isn't it in the book? Decomposition of forces? Oh, that's next semester's content. Never mind, let's just cover it all together."
In short, he was a very careless, amusing, and well-liked teacher among the students.
The boys giggled as they followed Teacher Yuan to the projection room in the comprehensive building. Along the way, other classes were also restless; the entire fifth-grade floor was noisy. Some classes' boys had already returned, some were still sitting in their classrooms. Simon and his classmates were led by the Physical Education Teacher towards the comprehensive building. Everyone discussed animatedly along the way, asking the returning groups questions, but they just mysteriously shook their heads, keeping silent.
Simon walked in the middle of the group with his hands in his pockets, Zhang Yingxuan and Zhou Ping each with an arm around his shoulders, looking like a classic trio of rascals.
Zhang Yingxuan used to be a very proper good boy. Now, he was either led astray by Zhou Ping or had become more mischievous himself. In any case, he wasn't so stiff at school anymore, often appearing as a cheerful, goofy character. It made one lament that time is truly a butcher's knife, grinding down a socialist successor into a Slavic gargoyle gnawing on spicy strips while squatting on a chair.
The group poured into a small projection room in the comprehensive building. Two classes grouped together, filling the room. The comfortable, wide-backed chairs made everyone relax. In the darkness nearby, someone shouted something, then the projector lit up, and the students watched in shock as a diagram of human anatomy appeared on the screen.
This was a sex education class.
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