Snow Scene in a Prosperous Age (1-4)

page views:1 Publication date:2023-06-11 14:18:18

This

is the second part of my planned incest tetralogy, a sibling story.

The first part, "Return to Paradise," is about mother and son,

and the third part, "Where is the Heart," is about brother and sister

. Please search for these on this site.

This is not a work that will provide
readers that kind of stimulation, you don't need to read on. The first half of this story will have virtually no erotic content. There will be
more in the middle, but I don't think it will provide readers with any related stimulation.

Also, this is not a work with a bizarre or epic plot.

I simply want to try to write some stories about fate and life.

Ordinary people. Perhaps you know people like those mentioned in the story.

Because this is how it was when the synopsis of this novel first came to mind.

Ten years ago, in the summer and autumn, our country was hosting a world-renowned grand event. The word "golden age"
was everywhere , like the beginning of a new history. Around that time, many other major events occurred, and my life
was also turned upside down; I became a husband and father, entering a new phase.

Ten years have passed, and many memories from that time have become blurred. But I always remember one scene:
it was the morning after a typhoon swept through my city in southern Guangdong. I was driving across an overpass
when I inadvertently saw two legs dangling from the opening of a trash can under the bridge—human legs.

The person's upper body was completely submerged in the trash can. I never knew the person's age, gender, or
appearance… My car sped past the overpass, and all I knew was that he or she was dead.

A person dying isn't anything strange. Ten years ago, I began to
understand death to some extent. Before that, my grandparents, mainly my grandmother and maternal grandmother, had
passed away one after the other within a short period. Besides my own relatives, other deaths had stirred up huge waves in my mind. For example,
at the beginning of that year, I learned about the process of a three-year-old girl in Chengdu starving to death.

Death always makes me sad or angry, sentimental or contemplative. But that corpse under the overpass made
me start thinking about a strange question for the first time. Especially after I had my son, I couldn't help
but wonder: when that person was born, were the people around him smiling?

Yes, I never thought about why he or she died—whether it was the system or human nature, chance
or inevitability, fate or society… I only thought about one thing:
when he or she came into this world, were the people beside him smiling? Like when I first held my son?

Some questions will never be answered.

But from that moment on, I felt an urge to write something, and I began to have
the outline of this story. This urge was so strong and has lasted until now that I think it can be
described as a "sense of mission. "

From the first time I started writing *Return to Paradise*, I carried a strange sense of mission. This
is probably different from most authors.

But at that time, I was very shallow, and I had countless questions in my mind. I repeatedly pondered
questions about human nature and fate, and also about the future and way out of civilization. To answer these questions, I began to seek help from religion.

Now many people know that I am a half-Christian; it was indeed shortly after that that I began reading
the Bible and going to church to listen to sermons. However, I have never been baptized because I have a strong aversion to the church and the
believers , just as I abhor Buddhism. As I mentioned before, I studied art, and at the end of the last century,
while still in university, I visited many Buddhist sites to sketch and study art history.
After traveling across much of China, from the Mogao Caves to Mount Wutai, I felt I could no longer practice Buddhism.

I also find it strange that religions often become distorted in China. Everything in Buddhism is linked to money;
the more money you have, the greater your merit. I don't believe this is the meaning of the philosopher who attained enlightenment under the Bodhi tree. Its doctrines are
undoubtedly good, and so are those of Christianity. Christianity is even better because it doesn't judge people by their wealth. Going to
church is free, and getting a Bible is free, but the believers I know always use intimidation, threats, or
moral blackmail to promote their doctrines, which I find unacceptable. I've read the Bible many times, and I'm certain this isn't the Lord
's will. Therefore, I feel I can only be a half-Christian, reading the Bible, Confessions, and The City of God
to understand the Lord's meaning, instead of listening to those distorted interpretations.

Thankfully, my efforts weren't in vain. Nearly ten years have passed, and many of my questions have been answered.
For example, initially, I didn't understand why the Bible says humans are born with original sin, yet can still be redeemed.
"You built Zion with your blood, and Jerusalem with your sins," "Two kinds of love created two cities: the city of God,
created and the earthly city, created by man's love."
What were these two diametrically opposed, even conflicting, viewpoints about? I later understood that religion is essentially a reflection on the essence of human nature, converging with Marxism.
Marx expressed a similar view in a letter to Engels: "The fact that humanity comes from the animal kingdom determines that
humanity cannot escape its animalistic nature," and also said, "The difference between humans and animals lies in the fact that humans are social."

When I first connected these two different expressions, it was both enlightening and incredibly
fascinating. My ultimate question has been answered, and I can now view it with optimism. I owe these thoughts
to those ancient philosophers, and I thank the Lord for explaining my questions about human nature and guiding me in the direction of redemption.

However, religion can only give me unwavering faith and may have imbued my works with the most basic and fundamental
ideas, but it doesn't help the act of creation itself.

As I mentioned before, I haven't received any professional training, and before *Return to Paradise*, I had never written
an article longer than a thousand words. My creations can only draw nourishment from my own reflections and understanding of the works of predecessors.
Of course, my reading volume is quite considerable, ranging from Jin Yong, Gu Long, Wen Ruian, and Liang Yusheng to Sanmao and Qiong Yao, from
classic masterpieces available in bookstores to Lu Xun, from *The Hunchback of Notre Dame* to Seton's animal stories, from *The Count of Monte Cristo* to *A Sportsman's Sketches
*... Generally speaking, I enjoy reading but don't seek deep understanding; I've read most works no more than
three times, and I don't know how much I've learned. Among all the books I've read, *Dream of the Red Chamber* is the most
unique .

I read this massive masterpiece quite early on, probably in junior high. Initially, I only vaguely understood it, but
the book possessed a strange magic—even though I didn't understand it, it was still interesting to read. It wasn't until
about ten years ago that I began to grasp its basics, after reading it approximately seventeen times. However,
it was only in the last two years, after I gained some writing experience, that I truly understood this great work.

The more I read, the more I understood, and the more I admired its greatness and
the guiding significance it offered for literary creation. While it's said that there's no absolute first in literature, among all the ancient and modern, Chinese and foreign literary works I've encountered
, *Dream of the Red Chamber* is unparalleled in both artistry and thought. Regarding writing techniques,
since I haven't received professional training, I can't offer a professional critique, but one point is enough to
impress anyone who has ever written: in the first eighty chapters, a mere 500,000 words, Cao Xueqin portrayed
dozens of vivid characters, ranging from imperial concubines like Yuan Chun to peasant women like Granny Liu,
and even figures like Lin Daiyu, who has become an iconic part of Chinese culture. All the characters are three-dimensional
, not stereotypical, and so complex that they are still not fully understood. Beyond the characters, there are countless
classic scenes deeply ingrained in our culture: Daiyu burying flowers, burning her poems to sever her lingering affections, Granny Liu visiting the Grand View Garden…

In terms of its thematic depth, *Dream of the Red Chamber* has reached unprecedented heights. As a tragedy, its
depth and breadth are unparalleled by other works. I once said that I agree with a Western literary scholar's view:
tragedy is the brilliance of the soul that shines forth when an individual faces an inescapable fate. *Dream of the Red Chamber*
undoubtedly captures this perfectly. It is a tragedy about facing fate; dozens of distinct
characters each confront their destinies in dozens of different ways, yet ultimately meet the same end—
all crushed and shattered by the cruel winds of fate. Therefore, Lu Xun said: "A mist of sorrow pervades the magnificent forest."
Countless readers have said it's a book of disillusionment, leaving them feeling only oppressed after reading it…

But *Dream of the Red Chamber* is not merely a depiction of disillusionment and decay; more importantly, it celebrates noble and beautiful
souls , praising the brilliant humanity that blossoms under the crushing weight of fate. The "Burial of Flowers
" is not a lament of sorrow and grief; "At the ends of the earth, where is the fragrant mound?" clearly expresses a questioning of the heavens, echoing Qu Yuan's "Heavenly Questions." For example
, Xiangling's fate was particularly cruel: kidnapped as a child, sold from place to place in her youth, possessed by Xue Pan, beaten
and tortured , and ultimately humiliated and abused to death. But *Dream of the Red Chamber* not only depicts these events but also her tireless
pursuit of poetry. It is this element that makes the tragedy great, transforming it into a masterpiece.

Only after truly understanding *Dream of the Red Chamber* did I truly realize my own shortcomings and deficiencies. I did
say after my first work that literature is for both criticism and praise, and I tried my best to do so. However, it wasn't until recently,
through *Dream of the Red Chamber*, that I realized criticism and praise should be inseparable, like the two
sides . The crueler the fate, the more it highlights the brilliance of humanity; conversely, the more beautiful and noble the soul, the more it
reflects the darkness and cruelty of reality and fate.

In my previous works, I almost always neglected this aspect due to a lack of deep understanding, resulting in
substandard works. For example, in *Return to Paradise*, I focused on depicting the brilliance of humanity without simultaneously engaging in criticism,
leading to a fairytale-like unreality. In *Dust and Soil*, I overemphasized the depiction of cruel fate and
dark reality, neglecting the brilliance of humanity, a point pointed out by many readers. It
wasn't until *Where is the Heart* that I finally paid attention to both aspects simultaneously, yet even then, I didn't delve deeply enough.

These are my limitations and shortcomings. Fortunately, I have finally recognized these shortcomings and
consciously hope to change myself.

Ten years ago, after seeing that corpse, I conceived the basic idea for *A Magnificent Snowscape*,
even before *Return to Paradise*. But I never started writing it, knowing my abilities
were insufficient —in writing skills, literary concepts, and intellectual depth. Now, however
, I'm different from when I wrote *Return to Paradise*. I have millions of words of writing experience, have clarified many questions, and have a deeper
understanding of literary creation itself. I feel it's time to attempt this challenging task, to conclude one phase and move on to the
next .

Of course, attempts may fail. And this is still a work of a phase. If I can successfully complete it in
three years, it will mark the end of my first decade of literary creation. I hope this work will portray
several successful characters and create several memorable scenes. I hope to achieve both
critique and praise simultaneously.

I hope I can do it, and I will try my best.

Thank you to those who are willing to read this rambling and read this novel.

Let's begin.

Epigraph: Awaken

, you who sleep in the dust, and sing! — Isaiah, Book 1, Old Testament, Broken Jar — Oil painting by Gretz (France), First Stroke 　　: Snow Clears The snow fell thick and fast, blanketing Jiangcheng in silver. The world was vast and desolate, with only a few faintly glowing red, telling people that the biggest snowfall in half a century was finally nearing its end. 　　The world in the snow was cold and silent, but there were exceptions, such as the campus of a high school on the edge of Jiangcheng. The heavy snow could not cover the vitality of the teenagers in their prime, especially since this was the first break of the year. Although the children had to stay in the classroom because of the bad weather, the excitement of the new semester more than made up for it. Almost every classroom was filled with groups of students talking loudly or laughing and joking, except for one that was different. 　　It wasn't that the students here were anything unusual; the only difference was the classroom itself. In this classroom…

Instead of desks, easels were placed on the walls, and various plaster models,
such as . The walls were covered with paintings, ranging from reproductions of Picasso and Monet's oil paintings to
student sketches with immature brushstrokes.

This was an art studio.

Inside were the students of the second-year art class at this high school. Although they were studying art, most of these children
didn't seem to have developed much of an artistic temperament yet.
They chattered incessantly like their peers, discussing all sorts of strange topics:

"Yeah, people are freezing to death back in my hometown in Hunan..."

"After all, it's a once-in-a-century snowfall, so losses are inevitable. Luckily, the weather forecast says it'll end soon, and
many places have already cleared up."

"Strange, why are there so many once-in-a-century or once-in-a-millennium snowfalls these past few years?" "

I don't believe it! I don't believe it! How could Gillian Chung be that kind of person!" "

If you don't believe me, come to my house after school and see for yourself. My brother downloaded the whole set of photos on his computer! Gillian Chung's,
Cecilia Cheung they're all there! Tsk tsk, if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn't believe it either."

"Really? I want to see it too."

"This Bird's Nest is amazing. I don't care, I definitely have to get my dad to take me to the opening ceremony, it's
summer vacation anyway."

"Yeah, summer vacation! Then I want to see the Water Cube, that's simply dreamlike."

"You're dreaming! We'll be seniors this fall. You think you can just play all summer? You'd better study hard and
attend tutoring classes!"

"Fang Xueqing, I heard you won a national first prize?"

"No... I didn't know..."

"I overheard my mom talking about it when she was playing cards with Teacher Hu. Teacher Cao will definitely
announce it ."

The ten-minute break flew by. When the bell rang, the children
reluctantly returned to their easels, but a few continued their conversation in hushed tones until the classroom
door opened, finally bringing silence to the studio.

A middle-aged male teacher, swept away by the cold wind, rushed into the studio, shutting out the snow and wind. He
brushed the snowflakes off his clothes, rubbed his hands, and walked to the podium. After a loud sneeze,
he called out in a slightly hoarse voice, "Happy New Year, students!"

"Happy New Year, Teacher Cao!" Most of the students responded with smiles, showing a
very harmonious teacher-student relationship. In fact, this Mr. Cao didn't really look like a teacher. He was short and stocky, his
medium-length hair was a mess from the wind and snow, and his round cheeks were flushed. His black down jacket
was stained with many colorful stains, and his hand-rubbing and breathing gestures lacked any artistic
flair. Coupled with his憨厚 (honest and simple) smile, he looked more like a construction worker than a high school art
teacher .

"Okay, okay," Mr. Cao continued to greet him while unzipping his down jacket and then
magically . There were teaching materials, several rolled-up sketches, a box of watercolor paints,
and finally, a bright red certificate of honor. He held up the certificate of honor, the fine lines around his eyes smoothing
out, and raised his voice, announcing, "First, some good news. Congratulations to Fang Xueqing from our class for winning first prize in
the recently concluded National Youth Painting and Calligraphy Competition. Fang Xueqing, please come up to receive your award."

All the students turned their heads in unison, looking at an easel at the back of the classroom. Their gazes were fixed on a
female student, who was hesitantly standing up. At first glance, the girl seemed unremarkable. She had
a bob haircut, was of average height, and was bundled up in a worn down jacket, yet she didn't
appear bulky at all; her figure looked slender, even somewhat thin.

The sudden good news left her bewildered, and she unconsciously looked around at her classmates, seemingly
trying to confirm the news's authenticity through their reactions. But in that brief glance,
her . Like most high school girls, she wasn't yet at the age where she meticulously dressed up,
so she didn't immediately attract attention. Only now could one see that her skin was as white as snow, and her delicate nose, sculpted
from ice, possessed a translucent quality. Her clear eyes were untouched by worldly dust, and her slender, verdant eyebrows were
slightly furrowed, carrying a melancholy that seemed inappropriate for her age. She exuded an elegant and refined air, captivating all who beheld
her.

"Fang Xueqing, go receive your award," a classmate behind her whispered with a smile. The girl then
realized what was happening and quickly walked to the podium with her head down.

"Congratulations," Teacher Cao said with a beaming smile, placing the certificate of honor into the girl's hand, followed by a box of watercolor
paints: "This box of imported paints is the prize." He looked at the girl with a smug smile, his face radiating satisfaction and pride,
his wide grin resembling that of someone who had just completed a major project. Then he raised his voice again: "The news
is a bit sudden. Fang Xueqing was supposed to go to Beijing to receive the award, but due to the recent snowstorm,
the subsequent award ceremony and other activities were canceled. The organizing committee directly notified us of the award and even sent the certificate.
Of course , the important thing isn't the formality of the award ceremony. This is
the first time a student from our No. 5 Middle School has won a national-level award since the school started its art class. Congratulations!" After saying that, he led the class in a loud applause.

In an instant, the applause from the students filled the entire classroom, making Fang Xueqing on the podium even more
uneasy . Her slender fingers gripped the certificate of honor and the box of watercolors tightly, and she lowered her head, not daring to move.
It wasn't until the applause subsided and Teacher Cao looked at her and smiled, "Fang Xueqing, say a few words to your classmates,"
that she raised her head, a faint blush already appearing on her cheeks. Her snow-white skin and this delicate
blush complemented each other, just as the ancients said, "Only when the skin is pale does one know the flower is most beautiful."

Fang Xueqing, who had initially been awkward and shy, now knew she would inevitably have to say something. Composing herself, she
suddenly became more confident. First, she bowed deeply, then raised her hand to tuck a stray strand of
hair before smiling and saying in a clear, melodious voice, "Thank you, Teacher Cao, for your continued guidance, and thank you everyone
for your help. Um… actually, I don't know what to say… I'm just very happy, really very happy. Thank you
everyone ." She then bowed again. Standing up straight, her beautiful face shone with pride and joy.

"Haha, alright, that's settled then." Teacher Cao clearly understood his student and didn't force her, but he
didn't ask Fang Xueqing to return to her seat either. Instead, he turned on the projector, and
a . He examined it for a moment, rubbed his hands together in satisfaction, and then said, "This is Fang Xueqing's award-winning
work, 'Starry Night.' Now, Fang Xueqing and I will talk about it together. First of all, Fang Xueqing's
painting borrows from Van Gogh's 'Starry Night,' adopting an Impressionist style overall. But please note that
Fang Xueqing did not completely copy Van Gogh's work. This is the difference between plagiarism and borrowing. Did you notice
why? — Van Gogh's work focuses on the starry sky itself, but the focus of Fang Xueqing's work is not
the starry sky. The focus of the painting is the figures of this couple under the starry sky..."

"Teacher Cao!" Fang Xueqing, who was standing to the side, suddenly interrupted Teacher Cao's explanation with unease.
Her expression but she explained very seriously, "These two people are not a couple, they are siblings."

"Ah—ah." Teacher Cao laughed sheepishly, patting his forehead. "Look at my memory.
You've said it so many times, but I still can't remember. It's siblings. Siblings." He glanced quickly at
the relieved Fang Xueqing, a hint of sympathy flashing in his eyes, before continuing with a laugh, "It's
not my fault, because everyone who sees this painting immediately thinks they're a couple. Several teachers
even asked me how a high school girl could paint such touching affection. Hahaha. It's just that you painted it
so well." Seeing Fang Xueqing's cheeks flush slightly again, he quickly ended the conversation: "Alright,
let's continue. Fang Xueqing, could you tell me about your thought process in choosing this theme?"

Fang Xueqing hesitated for a moment before slightly furrowing her brows and softly replying, "I just thought,
how wonderful it would be if one day I could look at the starry sky with my brother like this… so I painted what I imagined."
As she said this, the girl lowered her eyes, her voice clearly tinged with sadness.

It seemed that Teacher Cao completely understood why she was sad, and smiled, "Very good. After all, a work of art is
meant to express emotions, and to achieve that is success. And you have indeed painted a very beautiful and evocative
scene. Okay, everyone, continue to look at the composition of this painting. Although the main subject is a very stable triangular composition,
the two clusters of starlight that Fang Xueqing focused on depicted create a vertical and horizontal tension in the overall composition,
completely eliminating the rigidity that triangular compositions can easily exhibit, without overshadowing the main subject..."

Before they knew it, the first morning of the new semester had finally come to an end. Apart from Fang Xueqing's gouache painting,
Teacher Cao spent the entire morning explaining the other students' works. When the school bell rang, he finally managed a dry
laugh and said, "Alright, one last announcement: another national youth art competition is about to begin
. This year's theme is praising the motherland and celebrating this prosperous era, with the keywords being hope and dreams... We hope everyone will
participate enthusiastically. —Fang Xueqing, you're definitely going to participate, right?"

Fang Xueqing stood up again, her shyness tinged with confidence, and replied, "Yes,
I'll give it a try this time too. Thank you for your help, Teacher Cao."

"Okay, hahaha, why should I bother? I'm just waiting for you to bring back another first prize. Okay, sit down. Zhang
Jianyi, it was a pity about you last time. I originally thought you could at least get a third prize. Try again this time, I think
you have the ability. Liu Shenghui, you've improved a lot recently, I think you should participate. You two are not allowed
to back down ! Our class can't always rely on Fang Xueqing to win an award, right? Others should also
participate enthusiastically, maybe they'll win an award? Besides, whether you win an award or not is secondary, the important thing is to find your shortcomings. Okay,
come and register with me within half a month, the sooner the better. If you have any questions, just ask me. —Class dismissed!"

The art room erupted in a commotion, returning to its noisy state. Several students surrounded Teacher Cao to inquire
about the new competition, while the other students, either calling their friends or going alone, left the art room one after another in a short time.

Fang Xueqing had been surrounded by congratulatory classmates during both breaks, which was quite bothersome. So
, after waiting a while, she politely declined several invitations to have lunch together and left the art studio alone.

The morning passed, and the snow finally stopped. The dark clouds were dispersing, and bright sunshine was
shining through . The first clear sky in half a month made the whole world feel transparent, and
the silver-clad landscape was breathtaking. The mountains and forests near the school, and the skyscrapers of the city in the distance,
were all visible , and the flowing river between them evoked a sense of tranquility. In that instant, Fang Xueqing
made her decision, knowing what kind of painting she should create.

This made her feel light and joyful, and her steps became light and bouncy
as she skipped along the corridor towards the stairwell. Seeing that no one was around, she quietly opened the certificate of honor. She had
n't dared to look at it closely before, but now, after carefully examining it, she couldn't help but secretly smile, her pale red lips pursed.

After all, she was still just a girl not yet seventeen.

Just as she was about to look at it a second time, a boy's voice suddenly called out from behind, "Xiaoxue!"
Upon hearing this voice, Fang Xueqing immediately stopped smiling, snapped the certificate of honor shut, lowered her head, and quickened
her pace to walk down the stairs. But the boy behind her was even faster, taking a few quick steps
to block her way at the bottom of the stairs, and said with an awkward smile, "Xiaoxue, you haven't talked to me for eleven days, and
you didn't play with me during the New Year. Now that school has started, please don't be angry anymore."

Fang Xueqing still refused to pay attention to him, and tried to squeeze past the boy with her head down. But the boy persisted,
spreading his arms wide to block her path, stammering, "Xiaoxue, I promise I won't fight anymore, really,
please don't be angry. You can hit me or yell at me if you're angry, just please don't ignore me, say something to me."

This boy was a good half a head taller than Fang Xueqing. Although he was only seventeen or eighteen, he was
already close to 1.85 meters tall, and his build was much stronger than most of his peers. Fang Xueqing looked like
a tiny doll next to him, clearly unable to force her way through.

So Fang Xueqing had no choice but to stop, raise her head, and glare angrily at the boy, saying, "From
kindergarten to elementary school, from middle school to high school, how many times have you said you wouldn't fight!"

While the boy wasn't particularly handsome, he had a broad face, a square forehead, a straight nose, and straight eyebrows—a rarity among boys these days.
He was once so masculine. But now, all his sharpness was gone. He awkwardly grabbed his short hair, looking at Fang Xueqing
with a worried expression, and said, "Xiaoxue, this time is different."

Fang Xueqing looked at the bandage on his wrist as he grabbed his hair, sighed, and her tone
softened : "You always have an excuse, I'm tired of hearing it. One excuse last time, another this time."

"Last time, last time those bastards laid hands on you... After I fought them,
no one dared to bother you anymore, right?" The boy looked at Fang Xueqing cautiously and whispered his explanation.

"It's because I didn't get angry with you last time that you've become more and more reckless!
Getting punished every year for fighting with classmates was bad enough, but this time you dared to catch a pickpocket on the bus! Look at your hand, thank goodness it was just a cut,
what would your uncle and aunt do if it were somewhere else?" Fang Xueqing grew angrier as she spoke, her already fair
face clouded with anger. "I'll pretend I don't know you now, so that if you... so that I won't get even angrier later
."

"I know, I know, I really won't fight anymore." The boy, though tall, could only nod
and bow , looking rather pitiful, desperately pleading, "From now on, even if I see a pickpocket, I'll be careful how I do it, I won't
act impulsively—yes, I'll call the police!...Xueqing, don't be angry, if I fight again, I'll get beaten to death—"

"Shi Xiaokai!" Fang Xueqing stomped her feet in anger, her delicate brows furrowed. "It's still the first month of the lunar year, what nonsense are you talking about
?"

"Huh? Oh... I was in such a hurry I didn't think that much." The boy chuckled awkwardly and stopped talking, but then didn't
know what to say next. Fang Xueqing sighed again and pouted as she began to scold him: "Little Kai, tell me,
how many times have you suffered for fighting since you were little? When you're not at a disadvantage, your aunt and uncle always have to apologize and pay for things. You've received
so many punishments, if you get any more demerits, it'll be hard for you to go to university. Your grades aren't good either, you still have a year and a half left, so you
should settle down and work hard, otherwise what will you do in the future?"

The boy didn't argue, but happily agreed repeatedly. His efforts hadn't been in vain, and he finally
made Fang Xueqing laugh. Then, gritting her teeth, she forced a stern face and said resentfully, "That's infuriating!"

"It won't happen again, it won't happen again, I'll change. I really will change." Seeing that Fang Xueqing finally smiled, the
boy grinned from ear to ear and seized the opportunity to say, "Everyone else has left, let's hurry up and go eat."

Fang Xueqing snorted and walked forward without saying a word. This time, the boy first stepped
aside , and then followed beside her, chatting idly: "Are you cold? Where are your gloves? Oh,
if you're not going to wear them, then don't. Wrap your scarf properly... Look, the sky is clear now. After lunch, shall we go build a snowman? Okay,
okay, no, no... By the way, your painting won first prize nationwide last time, let me see the certificate...
Come on , let's go, don't go to the cafeteria, it's first prize! We can't not celebrate, let's eat out!... Yes,
I saw several places open this morning, the beef noodle shop, Old Huang's stall is open, and that hamburger and milk tea
shop..."

As they spoke, the two had already left the teaching building, walking towards the school gate one after the other. Fang Xueqing had long since lost
all her displeasure, becoming as lively and playful as any girl her age, her tone
cheerful : "...Yes. A new competition." As she spoke, she deliberately avoided
the well-trodden path, instead mischievously crunching through the snow on the side of the road.

Shi Xiaokai followed closely behind, watching the adorable girl with a beaming smile, as if
nothing else existed in the world but her: "Xiaoxue is amazing. What are you painting this time?"

"Still gouache. I'm not very good at watercolors. Teacher Cao said that the freehand style is more important in watercolors. I can't quite
capture the essence of the subject."

"No, I meant what you're painting about." "

Oh, there's a specific theme this time. Newspapers and TV are all talking about
a golden age , so the theme this time is that golden age. Hope and dreams, that's all." Fang Xueqing suddenly stopped,
grabbed a handful of snow from the ground, and rolled it into a snowball as she continued walking towards the school gate.

Shi Xiaokai almost bumped into her, quickly stopped, and put some distance between them, then unconsciously
followed:

"Shengshi...show me when you're painting."

"Okay."

"By the way, what's the name of this painting? Last time it was 'Starry Night,' so this time it'll be 'Snowy Night'?"

"That won't do, always painting night scenes isn't good."

"I know, then this time you'll paint a sunrise!"

"Wow, when did Xiaokai become so smart?" Fang Xueqing suddenly turned around, her clear eyes wide as she
looked at Shi Xiaokai, a playful smile blooming on her cheeks:

"Then guess what it's called this time?"

Shi Xiaokai chuckled, but didn't dare to meet Fang Xueqing's gaze, instead looking into the distance:

"Hahaha, being with Xiaoxue makes me smarter. Let me guess...it's called 'First Snow After Sunshine'?"

"No, I won't put my name in the painting. Hehe. Guess again."

Shi Xiaokai glanced at her quickly, then pretended to be profound:

"Hmm...you're definitely going to draw your little brother again...I know, it'll definitely be called 'Rising Sun'!"

"I definitely won't use Xiao Xu's name! Xiao Kai, you're talking nonsense again!" Fang Xueqing pretended to be angry and raised her hand,
taking a step towards Shi Xiaokai, but slipped because of the snow. But Shi Xiaokai was paying attention to her,
so of course he wouldn't let her fall. He took a step forward and reached out to support her waist. After Fang Xueqing regained her balance,
both of their faces turned slightly red, and then they quickly took a step back. Fang Xueqing turned around shyly and walked towards the school gate,
with Shi Xiaokai still following behind her. The two of them remained silent for a long time. It wasn't until they reached the school gate that he
smiled again and said, "I really can't think of anything. Tell me, Xueqing."

Fang Xueqing turned around again, her expression had returned to normal, and she smiled slightly triumphantly as she replied,
"I'll only say it once. Listen carefully."

Shi Xiaokai quickly stepped forward and looked at her. Fang Xueqing then answered softly, word by word:

"The Snow Scene in a Prosperous Age".

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