Parents today often have only one or two children. Precisely because they are few, they are precious. Naturally, we want to give them the very best. And just as naturally, we want to give it to them as early as possible. We want them to have a strong start — to absorb knowledge quickly, to become capable in every way, to stay “ahead”. When I first began designing learning materials for my own child, I had exactly the same mindset. Whenever I introduced a new character, I wanted to include everything connected to it — every possible word, even idioms if I could fit them in. I believed that as long as the child memorised enough first, understanding would eventually follow. “Don’t worry if you don’t fully understand it yet — just remember it first.” That was what I believed at the time.

But my child responded — not with words, but with silence. They couldn’t retain it. They became quieter. They still listened politely and nodded, but the spark of engagement was gone. When we closed the book, that familiar sense of excitement — I’ve learned something today! — had disappeared. They did not yet have the language to say: “Give me time. I can’t take all this in at once.” But their behaviour said it clearly enough.

In every kind of work, there are constraints — time, resources, people. And when designing learning materials for children, I gradually realised that the greatest constraint of all is time. Childhood itself is limited. After sleep, meals, and daily life, there are only so many hours left in a child’s day. And the amount of time a child can remain genuinely focused on learning is even smaller. So I began asking myself: How can this limited time be used most effectively?

And strangely enough, my thoughts turned to scientific experiments. When scientists want to understand something clearly, they isolate variables. They focus on changing one thing at a time. So I began applying the same principle to learning. Each lesson should focus on just one new thing. That became my strategy.

Simplicity.

Each lesson should feel so simple that the child feels they are playing, not studying. Each session should end before the child becomes tired or bored. And ideally, the material should be so clear that the child can understand it with very little explanation.

This was not easy.

I began removing anything unnecessary — anything the child could not yet truly absorb. Again and again, I simplified. Each revision had to become shorter, clearer, and more focused than the one before. And gradually, something changed. My child’s energy returned. The engagement came back. And unexpectedly, I also developed a deeper appreciation for the Chinese language itself — how refined it is, how precise it can be.

Later, when the materials were published, I was often tempted to add more. More features. More content. More “value”. But each time, after careful thought, I chose restraint. Because children — especially children under six — need stability, clarity, and a sense of reality. When their inner world feels stable, learning happens naturally. Over time, I came to realise something important:

Simplicity is not a lack. It is a strategy.