In the summer of 2008, 12-year-old Lin Zhixia walked into the sixth grade classroom wearing open shoes and two socks of different colors.
The whole class burst into laughter.
He stutters, has low self-esteem, and has poor grades. He is the most inconspicuous person in the class. My mother stayed up late sewing clothes in the garment factory. My grandfather's memory became worse and worse, and he couldn't even say a complete self-introduction.
Everyone told him: You can't.
Until the transfer student Song Qinglang "dropped" a pair of socks on his desk and said in the most innocuous way: It's not a big deal.
Until my grandfather opened the yellowed copy of "Border Town" and said, "Shen Congwen also stuttered when he was a child."
Until the mother straightened her back in front of the teacher: "His name is Lin Zhixia, and he is my son."
A carton of milk, a dictionary, a handwritten reading plan—these insignificant lights shone into his dark world little by little.
From being bullied to fighting back for the first time, from counting down to being admitted to a key high school, from a teenager who dared not express his feelings to an adult who can shoulder responsibilities.
Twelve years, an ordinary person's counterattack.
There are no cheats, no systems, no adventures from heaven.
There were only readings day after day, exercises late at night, waiting at his grandfather's bedside, company with the sound of his mother's sewing machine, and the girl who was always waiting for him to eat in the cafeteria.
This is a story about "taking your time".
Dedicated to everyone who has ever felt like they were not good enough.
You don't need to be the sun. The light of fireflies can also illuminate a small area.
