On the campus of No. 1 Middle School, you can see a girl with long hair and a slender figure. As a spoiled girl from an early age, as a "school beauty" in No. 1 Middle School, she is as happy as a bird that can just fly, and she is as proud as a colorful Phoenix.
But who would have thought that this simple happiness and pride disappeared without a trace when she was in the third year of high school that year, she fell in love with her Chinese teacher.
She was eighteen years old that year.
She is me.
On the campus of No. 1 Middle School, you can also see a tall and thin figure, dressed in a suit and personable; he has won the championship of a new regional teaching star for two years in a row; his Chinese has ranked first in similar schools for several years in a row; he is also a well-known freelance writer whose novels, poems and essays are frequently reported in the newspapers.
What fascinates the students is his charming Putonghua.
The sound is like a magnetic force that seeps into your heart and lungs and tickles you.
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I particularly like to hear and watch him read argumentative essays or press releases, his face is solemn and his eyes are bright, and every word seems to stand up, with the elegant demeanor of "cold face Luo Jing" on CCTV.
He was 25 years old, and he was Lin Sen.
When I was in the first and second grades, I admired Mr. Lin very much. When I was in the third grade, I became a student of Mr. Lin. I unexpectedly multiplied this worship into a fanatical love for him.
I like Chinese classes, and every day I am eagerly looking forward to the appearance of his elegant figure. If there is no Chinese class one day, I will feel that something is missing and my heart is hopeless.
I found that I fell hopelessly in love with Mr. Lin when he went to the region to be a judge of the Putonghua contest.
Teacher Lin left, melancholy and loss suddenly covered me, and my heart seemed to be taken away by him.
I walked into the classroom with my classmates, but I didn't know what the teacher was talking about.
My mind is full of the shadow of Mr. Lin. Now I calculate where Mr. Lin has been, now I guess what he is doing, and now I worry about whether something will happen to him. I am so obsessed with it that I have no idea that the teacher asked me to get up and answer the question.