Preface
My junior and senior high school experience followed the Hengshui model. When I first entered university, I occasionally dreamed about exams and would wake up startled. In recent years, I’ve begun dreaming about that period again—but each time, the feeling is remarkably soothing.
Main Text
Brother Sun Yinxuan of the Longxi Hall once asked us: “Have you ever had a dream where, upon waking, you felt as though a weight had lifted from your heart? Have you ever woken from a dream and found yourself unable to stop crying?”
This reminded me of numerous dreams in which I returned to high school. Initially, I’d dream about exams and jolt awake in panic. Gradually, however, the dreams became freer—though the high school remained the same, I in the dream was no longer me.
Last night, in this dream, from my perspective, a classmate launched an unprovoked verbal attack against me (the specifics and details aren’t worth mentioning—they’re irrelevant). In the past, I would have responded sharply and defensively. This time, however, after briefly feeling anger and hurt, I calmly observed the entire situation from a detached, holistic perspective: I understood why he was angry, recognized what I ought to do—and acted swiftly. When classmates stepped in to defend me, I explained that my behavior, even if unintentional, had triggered his emotional response.
After resolving this issue, I realized I hadn’t completed a single assignment for winter break. A flicker of panic arose—but then I accepted it calmly: “Well, it’s not done. It’s too late to catch up now anyway. I’ll just carry on with whatever needs doing. Worst case, I’ll call my parents—or even take a beating.”
At the same time, as I pulled out a blank assignment notebook, I noticed several notes tucked inside—handwritten by a girl I’d secretly admired (again, their content isn’t important). Yet, having spent the entire holiday without opening my schoolbag to do homework, I hadn’t contacted her for two full months 
. My classmates all knew she’d placed something in my bag, and reacted with a complex mix of shock and regret—unanimously agreeing I’d missed my chance, and that she was surely furious by now. After a brief wave of pleasant surprise mingled with regret, I once again accepted things calmly, packed up my bag, and prepared to go find her and explain.
Then I woke up—feeling as though something deep inside had loosened, leaving me profoundly at ease. Reflecting afterward, I realized this sense of release in my dreams mirrors my real-life process of letting go.
In reality, I no longer get angry when others are angry—so in my dreams, I don’t either.
In reality, I no longer panic over unfinished tasks—so in my dreams, I don’t either.
In reality, I no longer agonize over missed opportunities—so in my dreams, I don’t either.
As I grow step-by-step in reality, my dreams let me revisit those past experiences—and discover they weren’t nearly as terrifying as they once seemed.
Postscript
Eight years after escaping the Hengshui-style education system, countless students continue rushing headlong into this quagmire—and suffering.
I struggle to change their parents’ minds—and even more so, to shift the students’ own perspectives.
So I offer this essay as a modest illustration of one possibility: The Hengshui model is merely one part of life.
You may not have chosen to enter it—but you have always held the power to walk away.