deskmate in the painting

VIII. Seeing is Believing, Hearing is Deceiving

That evening, I was still shaken by the events of the day. Thankfully, I had managed to keep my mouth shut; otherwise, things might have turned out much worse. At least my mom's delicious cooking was a comfort that helped me forget the day's troubles.

Our family had a habit of sitting in front of the old black-and-white "Feiyue" TV while we ate dinner and watched the news.

The anchor's clear, resonant voice filled the room: "Good evening, everyone. Today is January 12, 1991. Welcome to the evening news. The main story today is: Under the wise leadership of the Central Committee, we have successfully resolved a severe social disturbance initiated by reactionary elements. The nation's security has been maintained, and social stability ensured..."

"Reactionary? Just like that?" My dad suddenly muttered.

"Hey, what's it to you? Stop talking nonsense!" My mom scolded him.

"What's all this about reactionaries and things ending?" My curiosity was piqued, and I asked them.

"Kids, some things are better left unsaid. You'll understand when you're older."

"Do you know Xiaojing's father from your class? He's one of these so-called reactionaries..."

"Oh, must you always talk?" My mom snapped at my dad.

"What's wrong? He's old enough to know some things!" Dad argued back.

"What? What's so secret? I saw Xiaojing's dad today at school. He even beat up Zhang Jun..."

"What?" Both of my parents exclaimed.

"Why? Has he gone mad?" They asked.

I started recounting the events at school, watching their reactions carefully. They furrowed their brows and shook their heads with sighs.

When I got to the part about Xiaojing's father chasing Zhang Jun, my mom couldn't help but laugh, but my dad's expression remained stoic. After I finished, he said, "Professor Tan is in trouble."

"Professor? You mean the hero from the news is a professor?" I asked.

"Yes, he's a professor at the Central Academy of Fine Arts and a national-level painter," Dad explained.

"No wonder Xiaojing is such a good artist," I mused.

"He's the reactionary mentioned in the news. He got assigned, or rather demoted, to be a deputy principal at your school. Now, it seems he might not even keep that job," Dad continued.

"But didn't you say Mr. Zhang from our class is the next deputy principal?"

"Ah, old Zhang? He always plays these games. Poor Xiaojing," Dad sighed.

"Yeah, Xiaojing is a pitiful child," Mom said, sounding a bit sad.

"What are you talking about?" I had so many questions.

"Xiaojing's mother passed away a long time ago. She lives with her father. Don't bully Xiaojing anymore, understand?"

"But, but she's a thief..."

"Nonsense!" Dad's tone turned sharp. "Have you ever seen her steal anything?"

"But everyone says so," I protested timidly.

"Silly child, seeing is believing," Mom said with a sad smile.

That night, for the first time in my life, I couldn't sleep. My mind kept repeating Mom's words: Seeing is believing.

Eventually, I fell asleep, but I kept dreaming. In one dream, Xiaojing smiled at me as I sat beside her, watching her draw various flowers and animals. Suddenly, the purple pencil in her hand broke. She looked at me, tears stubbornly welling in her eyes. I searched for several pencils like hers and slowly handed them to her.

In another dream, I was at school borrowing a hammer. Mr. Zhang handed it to me, and I said, "Teacher, I'm just borrowing it, not stealing, right?" Mr. Zhang looked at me, his lips moving, but I couldn't make out what he was saying.

Zhang Jun's half-face appeared behind him, his lifeless eyes staring at me with a cold, eerie green glow.

I jolted awake, sitting up in bed, feeling a strong urge: I need to return the pencil to Xiaojing...