Paintings of Terror

Chapter 255: Schrodinger’s Cat

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A ripple-like notification sound rang. One side of the room suddenly lit up like a huge screen.

“Wow—that’s amazing!” Dong Yao and Qi Mu Huan praised with slight exaggeration. GTj6fN

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Among the three newbies who had been embroiled in emotional disputes, one of them let out a gasp, but now the veteran members were too engrossed to pay attention. Because at this moment, this massive screen was displaying a series of text.

“Dad, I don’t like school.”

“Oh, why don’t you like it?”

“I don’t like rote memorization, and I don’t like teachers forcing us to answer questions according to a set formula. I think, as long as we can provide answers that can capture the core and the true essence of a problem, it should be enough. Just like what you told me, Dad, to seek the real and eliminate the false, to see the essence through the appearance. All those flowery and superficial things are meaningless burdens. Whether it’s a question in the humanities or the sciences, concise and refined language is the essence, and getting rid of the routines and cumbersome steps is practical.” sHTd1z

“You’re absolutely right, my child.” ɴᴇᴡ ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀʀᴇ ᴘᴜʙʟɪsʜᴇᴅ ᴏɴ Novᴇ(l)ꜰɪre .ɴᴇt

“But schools and teachers don’t teach us like this. In the humanities, they demand rote memorization, not a single word can be wrong. In the sciences, we have to answer according to the formulas and routines in the books. They don’t allow you to take a different path. I believe that what we should really be learning in school is how to think correctly and flexibly about every question, not how to memorize every question and its answer in order to get a good grade.”

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“My child, the phenomenon you’ve mentioned is indeed a problem. It’s a characteristic of exam-oriented education, and the overall environment makes it difficult to change in the short term…”

“But Dad, you always tell me not to curb my imagination and creativity, but I feel that my imagination and creativity are being stifled. OgtkhU

I don’t like school. The teachers often consider my ideas as weird and unruly. They always feel that I am deliberately going against them and causing trouble. My classmates also thought that I’m a weirdo and that my thought processes are not on the same wavelength.

But I feel like they’re turning into a group of rigid robots who only know how to apply the formulas and sentences from the textbooks verbatim to everything — I don’t want to become like them. Dad. I feel like I can’t breathe in this environment. I hate teachers stuffing me with those theorems, axioms, rules, and texts…

I can’t take it anymore, Dad! I want to die. I don’t like them, I don’t like this. I’m too depressed, I want to break free, I want to leave here!”

“—No!… No… Son… Son, be good. Open your eyes, son, look at Dad… You haven’t left Dad, have you? You must still be here, son. Wait for Dad, son. Dad is going to find you and read with you, play with you, explore fantastical ideas with you… Dad will go find you right now…” 9jDL2V

Below these lines of text, there were several lines of handwritten text that exuded chaotic emotions:

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