"Well..." Che Zhenyu said softly, "This is... the sadness of missing you."

Ouyang Guang exhaled slowly. The emotion came and went quickly, like morning mist, but the sense of reality at that moment made his heart beat faster.

"But," Che Zhenyu suddenly raised his voice, "this is not strong enough. The real yearning should be..." He made a gesture, "long and deep, like a thorn, gently piercing the softest part of the heart."

"I'm sorry, teacher." His voice was as calm as a pool of dead water. "I... can't imagine it."

Che Zhenyu's expression became serious. He approached Ouyang Guang and lowered his voice: "Acting does not require you to really experience those pains, but to use skills to reproduce the common emotions of human beings. Now, I want you to imitate - have you ever observed the sadness of others?"

Ouyangguang's eyelashes trembled slightly. He thought of the drunk and crying office worker he saw at the entrance of the toilet shop last month; he thought of the male protagonist's face in the movie that turned pale instantly when he received the news of his lover's death;

He took a deep breath, his shoulders slumped slightly, and the corners of his mouth drooped unconsciously - this was imitating the expression of the office worker. Then he raised his hand, clenched it into a fist and pressed it against his lips, as if to block the sob that was about to come out - this was an action in the movie. Finally, his eyelashes trembled slightly, and his eye sockets tried hard to squeeze out some moisture.

"Good! That's it!" Che Zhenyu suddenly clapped his hands, "Everyone, look at his micro-expression changes!"

Ouyangguang maintained this state, but his heart was at a loss. He seemed to be looking at the world through frosted glass, acting sad, but his heart was calm enough to analyze the movement of every muscle. This sense of detachment made him feel at ease but vaguely uneasy.

"Now, deepen this emotion." Che Zhenyu continued to guide, "Imagine that you will never see him again..."

"Teacher," Ouyang Guang suddenly interrupted him, his voice was soft but clear enough, "Can I try another way?"

The classroom fell silent instantly. Not many people dared to interrupt Che Zhenyu, let alone a trainee from Class D who had just been there for a week. Ouyang Guang could feel that everyone's eyes were focused on him, but he just stared at Che Zhenyu's surprised face calmly.

"Tell me about it." Unexpectedly, Che Zhenyu did not get angry.

Ouyang Guang's fingers unconsciously rubbed the seam of his pants: "I... may not have experienced real loss. But if I want to express sadness..." He paused, "I want to try to express the feeling of impending loss."

Che Zhenyu's beard curled up: "Go on."

"It's just... everything is fine now, but you know it will end one day..." Ouyang Guang's voice became smaller and smaller, and he suddenly realized how childish his words were. Isn't this just a childish whining?

But Che Zhenyu's eyes lit up: "Interesting. Come on, try it."

Ouyangguang took a deep breath. This time he did not deliberately control his expression, but let his thoughts drift to those hidden fears - the tears that his mother held back when she left and the fine lines on her eyes, the exhaustion and lumbar discomfort that his father felt every time he came home from overtime work late at night, the increasingly old faces of his grandparents and grandfather...

A dull pain suddenly spread from his chest. It was not a heart-wrenching pain, but a dull pain like the sea water slowly rising and drowning his breathing bit by bit. His brows unconsciously knitted, not in an exaggerated twist, but in a slight, almost imperceptible tremor. The corners of his mouth were still flat, but there was a barely perceptible tremor on his lower lip.

The most amazing thing was his eyes - there were no tears, but a distant look, as if he was looking through the person in front of him into an uncertain future.

The classroom was silent.

"Wonderful." Che Zhenyu said softly, rarely without exaggeration, "This is...premature sadness."

Ouyang Guang slowly exhaled, and the strange feeling of detachment returned. He did feel a trace of real emotion just now, but it was fleeting, so fast that it seemed like an illusion.

"But," Che Zhenyu suddenly raised his voice, "real sadness is not so...clean." He gestured, "it should be messy and ugly, and make you forget how to control your expression."

Ouyangguang pursed his lips. He knew that Che Zhenyu was right - he was just acting a "decent" sadness, like the protagonists in TV dramas who cried gracefully. What does real pain look like? He really didn't know.

"Next week's homework," Che Zhenyu said to the class, "watch three real people crying and record the details of their expressions." He turned to Ouyang Guang and showed a rare gentle expression. "You have ideas, but performance cannot rely on imagination alone. Find the answers in life."

When the bell rang for the end of get out of class, Ouyang Guang was still sitting in his seat without moving.

The trainees left the classroom in twos and threes, and a few girls from the acting department secretly looked at him.

Ouyang Guang's fingertips unconsciously stroked the smooth surface of the white jade Guanyin. He clearly felt the warm touch of the jade. This was the jade pendant that he had never taken off since he could remember.

"This is to bless us to grow up long and safely."

The image of his mother putting the Jade Guanyin on his finger appeared in his mind - he was too young at that time and could not remember the specific circumstances, but the feeling of security was deeply engraved in his memory.

He thought of his great-grandmother again, the centenarian who would stuff him with red envelopes with her trembling hands every Spring Festival. In early spring this year, the 105-year-old great-grandmother passed away peacefully in her sleep, and her family said it was a happy funeral.

Recalling my great-grandmother's hands - covered with age spots, but warm and dry. She would always give him an extra red envelope, saying "buy some candy for us kids."

Will I ever be able to hold her hand again? A strange bitter feeling suddenly came over me. It wasn't a heart-wrenching pain, but a faint, sweet and bitter nostalgia.

The air conditioner suddenly switched modes and made a beeping sound. Ouyang Guang was startled, and the jade Guanyin on his neck swayed slightly with his movements.

At this time, a girl passed by him and whispered: "I really envy you."

She only said one sentence, but Ouyang Guang understood. That kind of pain is not an assignment, not a performance that can be turned on and off at any time. It is a brand, a permanent scar.

When I walked out of the teaching building, the heat wave hit me. When I looked up, the night sky was dotted with stars.

Ouyang Guang took out his cell phone, hesitated for a moment, and dialed the number at home. When his mother's familiar voice sounded, he suddenly felt his throat tighten.

"Mom," his voice was so soft that it was almost inaudible, "you...do you have regular physical examinations every year, right?"

The 14-year-old boy looked up at the starry sky and thought seriously for the first time: Maybe some courses do not require advance preparation.