Living Museum of Learning
窗门之间
Before Hongyuan's first class, his father, Qing, created a three-person WeChat group for Hongyuan, Donald, and himself.
The group began with a simple handoff:
“Hongyuan下课了”
Hongyuan is out of class.
Donald replied:
“Hi, Hongyuan. Nice to meet you here. ”
For the first time, the new learner was no longer being discussed through his father. He was simply there.
Hongyuan also brought two striking pieces of self-expression into the new relationship.
His WeChat display name:
怕开窗
Afraid to open the window.
And his avatar: a toy-like boy/girl lying among yellow flowers, wearing a blue scarf, with two enormous yellow leaves covering the eyes and both arms stretched wide.
The contrast was irresistible.
One says afraid to open the window.
The other looks almost completely unguarded.
Donald had already joked with Qing:
“好，不开窗，开‘门’。”
Fine. Don't open the window. Open a “door.”
Qing immediately extended the image:
“开往知识海洋的大门”
Open the door leading to the ocean of knowledge.
The new three-person group therefore needed a name.
Donald chose:
🖼️ 窗门之间
Between the Window and the Door.
It was a playful reference to Hongyuan's mysterious display name and the door that Donald had just imagined opening.
But “between” matters.
Nobody had to decide what the window meant.
Nobody had to explain the avatar.
Nobody had to decide in advance what Hongyuan would become.
There was simply a space between the window and the door where three people could begin talking.
The most important freedom appeared not in what Hongyuan was allowed to study, but in how freely he could enter the conversation.
Donald initially thought Hongyuan might be living at a boarding school. When he learned that Hongyuan actually lives at home, the possibilities suddenly expanded.
“泓垣如果住家的话，那咱们可以有无穷大的自由度啊。”
If Hongyuan lives at home, then we have practically infinite freedom.
“完全没必要把远程交流集中到周末。”
There is absolutely no need to concentrate our remote conversations on weekends.
“任何时间，任何时长。”
Any time, any duration.
“Donald 随时欢迎泓垣连线，当他完成学校作业之后，当他想休息休息的时候。”
Donald is always happy to connect with Hongyuan—after he finishes his schoolwork, or when he simply feels like taking a break.
Donald even corrected his own typo a few minutes later:
“*时长”
Duration.
Qing's response was wonderfully simple:
“好的，我们一步步往前走吧。”
Okay. Let's move forward step by step.
There was no need to turn this freedom into another rigid schedule.
The door could remain open.
Freedom of communication changes the nature of teaching.
A learner does not have to wait for the next officially scheduled lesson before asking a question.
He does not have to arrive with a completed assignment.
He does not have to know in advance what he wants to learn.
He can finish schoolwork, rest, become curious about something, encounter a problem, have an idea, or simply feel like talking—and the connection is available.
For a young person described by his father as somewhat reserved and not naturally comfortable communicating, this matters.
Communication itself can become something he learns through practice.
A strange username can become a conversation.
A peculiar avatar can become a question.
A question can become an exploration.
An exploration can become a lesson.
And a lesson can lead somewhere neither teacher nor learner expected.
Qing's role matters just as much.
He doesn't try to speak for Hongyuan. He creates the three-person group, gives his son direct access to Donald, and then steps back.
He also understands the value of moving slowly:
“我们一步步往前走吧。”
Let's move forward step by step.
That is support without taking over.
The father opens the channel.
The teacher keeps the door open.
The learner decides when to walk through.
And then, almost immediately, the door opened.
Hongyuan had just said:
“Hi”
Donald replied:
“Do you play 24 point game? 24 点扑克牌游戏。”
“Do you play the 24-point card game?”
“不玩”
“I don’t play.”
“Want to try one now?”
“Ok”
Donald gave him four numbers:
“5 6 6 9”
“Use all 4 cards to get 24 with + - x ÷”
Hongyuan answered:
“6x9-5x6”
Exactly right.
Donald didn't stop.
“Great! Now 4 4 10 10”
Four minutes later, Hongyuan came back with:
“（10x10-4）/4”
Again, exactly 24.
Donald:
“wow, amazing. Now: 5 5 5 1”
And just like that, their first conversation had become a game.
No introduction to memorize. No pressure to talk. No lesson to sit through.
Just a question.
A little thinking.
An answer.
Another challenge.
And another door appearing immediately after the first one.
Perhaps this is what “开往知识海洋的大门” can look like in practice.
“Open the door leading to the ocean of knowledge.”
You don't have to know what is waiting on the other side.
You just have to be willing to try the first step.
The game continued.
Donald:
“wow, amazing. Now:
5 5 5 1”
Hongyuan came back with:
“5（5-5/1）”
Donald immediately replied:
“💯”
Then, one minute later:
“but there is a typo”
The expression was not quite right. But by then, something much more interesting had already happened.
They had found a common language.
Not Chinese.
Not English.
Math.
A few minutes earlier, Hongyuan had been described privately by his father as relatively introverted:
“Hongyuan 比较内向”
“Hongyuan is relatively introverted.”
Donald’s response?
“我没觉得”
“I didn't notice.”
Of course he didn't.
Hongyuan didn't need to become talkative for the conversation to begin. He only needed a door.
And apparently, this particular door opened onto mathematics.