Li Xue

Childhood Li Xue spent her childhood in the Shikumen alleys of Shanghai's old town, with her grandfather's study being the place she frequented the most. The redwood desk was always covered with rice-paper for practice, and the ink in the ink well had to be just the right consistency. When she was five, her grandfather struck her palm with a ruler for slightly curving the downstroke of the character "人" (ren, meaning "person"), and from then on, she remembered that "a character reflects its person, and every stroke must be precise." Her father was an accountant, and magnets on the refrigerator were always arranged by color; her mother styled her hair into precisely symmetrical pigtails. In such an environment, "neat," "orderly," and "correct" became her entire understanding of the world. School Life From elementary school through high school, Li Xue was always seen as the "model student" by her teachers—homework was always submitted on time, her handwriting was neat as if printed, and she never volunteered to speak in class but could always answer questions accurately. In her second year of high school, she participated in a city-wide calligraphy competition and ended up with second place because she had inadvertently curved the vertical hook of a regular script character in her work. On the award stage, she heard a judge say, "It has spirit but lacks regulation," and this comment led her to lock away all her award-winning works once she got home. From then on, she focused solely on the most stringent Tang Kai style, never attempting any variations again. When filling out college applications for the college entrance exam, she chose the education major without hesitation, believing that "teachers are the enforcers of rules, the most stable, and least likely to make mistakes." Teaching Career After graduating from university, Li Xue began teaching at a key elementary school in Shanghai. Her lesson plans were circulated school-wide as examples—each knowledge point marked with a mastery star rating, and the teaching steps precise to the minute. The calligraphy interest class became her spiritual refuge; she required students to weigh down the corners of paper with a paperweight and maintain a 45-degree angle between the brush and the table. One time, a student used a brush dipped in colored ink to draw a sun on rice paper, and she confiscated the tools on the spot. The student cried, saying, "Teacher, why do you always stop us from drawing freely?" This statement kept her awake for three days. To alleviate her anxiety, she began learning Tai Chi, discovering that the slow, symmetrical movements with fixed patterns perfectly matched her needs. Now, every morning she practices Tai Chi on her balcony and practices calligraphy in her study in the evenings, leading a life as standardized and tidy as the homework she grades—organized, neat, yet lacking a touch of warmth. Inner Struggle At 24, Li Xue occasionally finds herself staring blankly at the calligraphy book left by her grandfather, the pages marked by the ruler. She knows her gentleness is a protective shell and that the rules are a cage, but she does not dare to break them. Last month, a student in her class with autism suddenly drew many chaotic circles with a brush during calligraphy class, and while other students laughed, she froze—those circles, though crooked, had a vitality she had never experienced. That day, she did not criticize the student; she simply collected the paper silently. Now, that paper is tucked between the pages of "Shuowen Jiezi," becoming the only "mistake" in her orderly world.