Zheng Zhaoxing, Ding Li, and a group of others were taken to the police station for further investigation.
Although the incident had occurred two years prior, thanks to the serious attention and powerful joint investigation carried out by the public security department and various other departments, the final verdict was handed down — Zheng Zhaoxing, Ding Li, and a number of others had bullied and beaten Liang Jiashu, causing him minor bodily injury, which constituted the crime of intentional assault.
In accordance with relevant laws, Ding Li and the other perpetrators were sentenced to six months or more of criminal detention or surveillance, and placed on record. As for Zheng Zhaoxing, victims came forward one after another to speak out against his wrongdoing. After investigation from multiple angles, Zheng Zhaoxing was found guilty of intentional assault and several other crimes; the sentences were combined, and he received the maximum term of criminal detention.
The last time anyone at school saw Zheng Zhaoxing was when the police escorted them away. Zheng Zhaoxing and his group were ashen-faced, heads hanging low in dejection.
The one word everyone unanimously thought of was: deeply satisfying.
This affair had finally come to a close.
In response to the incident, the education department launched a large-scale anti-campus-violence campaign across city schools. Shengao also established psychology classes specifically designed to counsel and provide an outlet for adolescents who had suffered psychological trauma as a result.
Upon entering Shengao, red appeal banners hung everywhere. At the very center of the incident — the classroom of Class Three, Year One — Old Liu informed everyone of the outcome.
The entire class fell silent. Every person lowered their head, weighed down by private thoughts; the atmosphere was heavier than it had ever been.
Old Liu removed his glasses, wiped the lenses, and began to speak: “I’ve always said you are the most particular class I’ve ever taught, and that’s truly the case. I used to teach at a public school, then resigned and came to Shengao — this private school — to support my family. You are the first cohort I have led here. It was my negligence toward you that brought about today’s result. But, children—”
“What kind of side quest are you choosing to run in your life? The world is not simply black or white — but when you seek out hatred, hatred will come seeking you in turn. You have left behind violence, darkness, anger, and malice in this world, and those very things will consume you whole. The people you have hurt will grow up, go to work, gather with friends — and yet on some day they will still wake from a nightmare in tears. Why should good people be made to carry the weight of your wrongs forever?”
Liu Xiping put his glasses back on and quietly swept his gaze over every student in the room below. His tone was more solemn than it had ever been:
“Furthermore — psychological bullying is also campus violence. The level of suffering caused by mental pain is no less than that of physical pain.”
The words were not harsh, and were relatively mild in tone — yet they struck every single student, pressing on each of their hearts like a heavy stone. After a long moment, someone let out a very faint sob, and then the sounds grew louder and louder.
It was awakening. It was also repentance.
Fortunately — you all still have the chance.
Once her aunt learned of the matter, she feared her child would be affected by it all, and had already arranged for Lin Weixia to transfer schools. However, because the process was complicated, Lin Weixia still had two weeks left at Shengao.
After this entire series of events, the atmosphere of opposition that had pervaded Shengao disappeared. Everyone seemed to have awakened, and also seemed to grow up overnight — no longer playing those games of isolation, clique-forming, and taking sides.
Fang Jiabei had pushed back her bangs and tied her hair up, revealing a pair of delicate, refined brows and eyes. She no longer wore those dark-toned clothes, switching instead to bright, light-coloured ones — her whole person looked sunny and fresh.
Labels like “fish-scale girl” and “freak” vanished; people began calling her Fang Jiabei. She also had more and more friends — the kind who walked to and from class together, who could read comics together.
Everyone was changing for the better — everyone except one person.
Ban Sheng had not reappeared.
Although the video had pixelated everyone’s faces, malicious individuals still spread rumors, and public opinion still dealt some damage to the reputation of the Ban family’s company.
Word had it that Ban Sheng’s father had put him under house arrest for half a month.
Others said Ban Sheng was going abroad.
When Lin Weixia heard these things while doing her homework, she didn’t know why, but she wanted very much to cry.
Liang Jiashu was a presence beyond a friend, like family.
Lin Weixia had wavered many times. She had no god’s-eye view, could not see the hidden side of all things — she could only think from her own standpoint, and then act accordingly.
It was not that she hadn’t hesitated. But one thing after another appeared like fog — she couldn’t see clearly. For the sake of the truth, she had strived to keep her reason and composure, and exposed everyone.
In everything that had happened, Lin Weixia had not been in the wrong. The only person she had wronged, once she knew the truth, was Ban Sheng.
As the college entrance examination drew ever closer, mock exams large and small multiplied. Often it was only when the class-end bell rang that one could lay one’s head on the desk and close one’s eyes for a brief nap — and upon waking, the desk would be piled with test papers, one’s arm pressed down upon sheets that the school had printed itself.
Upon waking, the wrist would be smudged with black ink.
For the final-year students, physical education and elective courses had been cancelled — those periods were frequently claimed by other core subject teachers. The moment anyone caught a glimpse of the mathematics teacher approaching, everyone wailed miserably and shoved whatever music textbooks they’d just pulled out back into their drawers, then took out their test papers.
It was busy. Lin Weixia had also adapted to this high-intensity study rhythm — at least this way, there was no spare time to think of other things.
Only occasionally would she think of him.
Those thoughts she deliberately suppressed — once they crept out through some crack in the depths of her heart —
They would be like the palm fronds growing wildly beyond the window, shooting upward without restraint, impossible to press back down. When the leaves blocked the only sliver of sunlight overhead, breathing became difficult.
After finishing her homework, Lin Weixia’s shoulders and neck ached, and she would instinctively look out the window.
No longer was there a delinquent-spirited young man lazily leaning against the railing playing with his drone, deliberately stirring up mischief by opening a can of cola to startle away a girl trying to chat him up, and then making a whole group of people laugh as they scattered.
Or a girl standing there, head tilted back, feigning a pitiful look and pouting at the young man, while he didn’t call her out on it — instead raising his hand in front of everyone to pinch her face, smiling as he raised an eyebrow and said, “Does your father deign to let you coax him?”
Instead, it was a few students gathered together, resting while comparing exam answers.
Lin Weixia felt a sudden pang in her heart and drew her gaze back to her left. That empty desk beside her was quickly occupied by someone else, piled high with a jumble of books and test papers.
On top lay a fallen leaf from a fiddle-leaf fig tree — it must have been blown in by the wind from outside.
A week had passed. It had already yellowed.
Lin Weixia began buying milk for herself. Every day on the way to school, when she passed the convenience store while buying breakfast, she would buy a carton of Morning Light milk — and after evening self-study she would buy another.
In the evening after returning home, Lin Weixia stood at the entryway and changed her shoes, then casually placed the milk on the dining table. The black school bag strap slid down to her snow-white wrist, and she slowly prepared to walk back to her room.
“Sis, why do you buy milk every single day? You buy it and then don’t drink it — the whole house is piling up.” Gao Hang took a can of cola from the refrigerator.
Cartons of milk were stacked up on the dining table, and the refrigerator was also packed full of Morning Light sweet milk. That stuff had a shelf life of only a year — there was no way they’d finish it. Gao Hang grumbled inwardly.
Lin Weixia stopped in her tracks. Under the glowing light, her fair cheeks carried a trace of bewilderment. She came back to her senses and replied: “Is that so? Force of habit.”
Life went on as usual. Lin Weixia attended and left classes in her customary way. No more bullying would occur at this school — a scene of harmonious peace prevailed, and everyone had finally come to understand that whether it was verbal or physical, all forms of bullying were bullying.
Lin Weixia was not ostracized because of all this.
Only on this particular matter — Ban Sheng was the one who had suffered the most. When people gossiped behind closed doors about the two of them, nearly everyone felt it was unfair to Ban Sheng; and when they brought up Lin Weixia, their tone carried reproach.
Lin Weixia knew of these accusations. She accepted them.
Two days before her transfer, in the final days at Shengao, Lin Weixia came out of the office building carrying a stack of exercise books, her dark lashes lowered, drifting off in habitual thought.
As she walked, she suddenly wasn’t paying attention, her foot slipped, and she fell straight to the ground with a sharp crack. White test papers scattered in all directions not far from her.
A piercing pain radiated from her kneecap. Her fair elbow had scraped the fine gravel, and a jarring sight of exposed flesh appeared.
The pain was so severe that Lin Weixia broke out in a sweat on her forehead. She tried to stand but found she couldn’t muster any strength whatsoever. Some students in the corridor hurried past her without stopping; others leaned against the railing discussing questions, paying no attention.
Not a single one helped Lin Weixia to her feet.
Lin Weixia lowered her eyes. After a moment, a hem of green skirt appeared in her line of sight, with a glimpse of a snow-white ankle below. She followed the line upward — it was Senior Cheng Wusuan.
She had come back to Shengao to take care of some business today and happened upon this scene.
Cheng Wusuan crouched down and extended her hand.
Senior Wusuan was wearing a green spaghetti-strap dress today. Her soft hair fell loose behind her, revealing slender arms. The stretch of collarbone peeking above her neckline was as white as long-frozen moonlit snow — breathtakingly beautiful.
Her dark lashes trembled slightly. Gazing at the outstretched hand before her, Lin Weixia reached out and placed her hand upon it. Under everyone’s watchful eyes, Cheng Wusuan grasped her firmly and helped Lin Weixia to her feet, then supported her, intending to bring her to the infirmary.
Lin Weixia limped on one leg, her weight leaning against the girl beside her. As they passed the corridor of Class Three, Year One, she heard a burst of laughter — even with hands pressed over mouths, faint scattered snickering still filtered through.
Clearly, Wusuan heard it too.
Lin Weixia had no intention of paying any attention, and was about to walk forward, when unexpectedly Wusuan pulled her to a stop. She swept a cool, sharp gaze over every person present:
“A mob without a mind of its own.”
“From what I’ve heard, throughout this period of time you’ve all been praising her, haven’t you? The forum comments said she was a good person. Now that one person comes out to criticize her, a whole group of you pile on — do you have no capacity for independent thought?” Cheng Wusuan looked at the girl who had been laughing with her hand over her mouth. Her tone was slow and measured. “Do you know everything that happened between the people involved? Are you Ban Sheng himself? Yet you immediately leap out to condemn her.”
Cheng Wusuan’s red lips opened and closed as she looked down at them, carrying an authority that pressed down upon them: “Senior will give you one piece of advice: blindly going along with the crowd, losing your own individuality and capacity for thought — that is not a good thing.”
The book Wusuan had recently been reading, The Crowd, had written — “When an individual becomes part of a crowd, their intelligence drops sharply. In order to gain acceptance, people are willing to abandon their sense of right and wrong, trading their intellect for that sense of belonging that makes one feel so safe.”
Looking at this scene now, it was exactly so.
The group exchanged glances with one another, faces burning with a shame that could not be concealed. One by one they bowed their heads. The crowd automatically parted to make way, and Wusuan led Lin Weixia away from the teaching building.
During this period, Lin Weixia’s appetite had not been very good. Little did she expect that in her final days at Shengao, it would be Wusuan who watched over her while she ate in the canteen.
In the canteen, Cheng Wusuan set down her spoon and looked at her: “He isn’t doing very well. If you want to know anything about him, message me on the weekend.”
“Okay.” Lin Weixia mechanically chewed her white rice.
Today also happened to be her birthday. She had turned eighteen.
“Senior, can you do me a favor?” Lin Weixia raised her eyes to ask.
Cheng Wusuan didn’t pause for a moment before replying: “Sure.”
“I haven’t even said what it is yet, and you’ve already agreed.”
“There are very few people I’m fond of.” A warmth curved the corner of Wusuan’s lips.
“Thank you.”
After returning home, Lin Weixia took out her phone and dialed Ban Sheng’s number. From the receiver came a gentle female voice: “We’re sorry, the number you have dialed is currently switched off.”
Her little finger suddenly curled inward. Lin Weixia looked up Wusuan’s contact information and sent her a message.
The screen lit up quickly. Wusuan sent an address and told her to go there on Saturday afternoon at four o’clock.
The next day, Lin Weixia took a long-distance bus to the Nanwan District. It was only after getting off that she realized the area nearby was apparently also one of Ban Sheng’s homes.
Lin Weixia stood beneath a palm tree and waited quietly for Wusuan to appear — but the person who came to meet her was, unexpectedly, Li Yiran.
Li Yiran was irritated the moment he saw Lin Weixia, and wanted to say a few things on his friend’s behalf — but when he saw her pale complexion, he held it back and said:
“She’ll be here soon. She sent me ahead to pick you up.”
Li Yiran led Lin Weixia deeper into the villa area of the Nanwan District. Along the way he didn’t say much; the atmosphere was silent. They stopped not far from a blue villa nearby.
“Ah Sheng — he can’t see you right now. He’s been confined at home.”
Li Yiran raised his hand and pointed. Lin Weixia followed the direction of his gesture and realized it seemed to be the house of the dog owner from before — the man who had beaten his dog.
The two of them had even argued with each other once over Ban Sheng turning a blind eye to how that animal was being treated.
Li Yiran and Lin Weixia stood beneath a tree. Before long, that man in his forties came out again.
“You two argued once before because of the dog, right? You remember.”
Li Yiran glanced at his watch and said: “Let me put it this way. There are a lot of wealthy people’s pets in this area — and a lot of stray dogs too. That underage German Shepherd was one the man had picked up. Since the stray dog had never been trained, it frequently stole food from the neighbors. People were unhappy about it, and the owner started beating the dog to train it not to steal. Of course, beating a dog is absolutely reprehensible. But that owner has a violent temper and some mental issues — the more you provoked him, the more he’d torment the dog. Ah Sheng had been living in this area long enough to know what kind of person he was, which is why he didn’t let you get involved.”
Lin Weixia stood frozen on the spot. So that was how it was. He was not cold or indifferent — he had always only been disguising himself as a villain. Everything had been her misreading of Ban Sheng, and she had even said such terrible things to him.
Li Yiran had his phone out and was looking down, sending a message to someone.
Before long, from far away, Lin Weixia saw Wusuan leading a dog out. Wusuan walked quickly toward her, and it was only as she drew close that Lin Weixia could clearly see that the dog Wusuan was leading was actually that very same German Shepherd — it had grown up considerably by now.
Lin Weixia instinctively crouched down and extended her palm.
As if guided by some unspoken connection, the puppy gazed at her with shining, liquid eyes and gently rubbed its cheek against her palm.
Wusuan and Li Yiran exchanged a glance, then she began to speak: “Actually, at the time, Ah Sheng had bribed the psychiatrist that man regularly saw. The doctor advised the man to give the dog away — essentially setting it free — and then he arranged for me to step in and purchase it. As it happened, I had a friend who wanted a dog, and she’s been taking care of it ever since.”
Ban Sheng had used strategy and wit; she had gone at it head-on.
She still didn’t understand why Ban Sheng had always had to disguise himself as someone cold, smooth, and indifferent, disregarding everything.
A single tear fell to the ground, instantly dissolving into the air.
All of this — was her fault.
“Weixia, Ah Sheng has been through quite a lot. He is actually a very good person,” Wusuan said.
“Ah Sheng is probably going abroad. His father had originally planned to send him out of the country before, but he refused — probably because of you. This time he doesn’t have a choice. He’s being sent away,” Wusuan continued.
“Didn’t his ID say he turned legal age last week? He still can’t make this decision for himself?” Li Yiran’s brow knitted with a frown.
Li Yiran’s lips parted as if he was about to say something, when suddenly a figure came rushing out from some direction, carrying a rich, wafting fragrance.
It was Li Shengran, who was just about to head out — no one knew how much she had heard.
Li Shengran glared at Lin Weixia with ferocious eyes, a gaze that looked as though it would tear her to pieces. She turned her temper on her own brother:
“Why are you telling her all this?”
Lin Weixia looked up and met a pair of almond-shaped eyes. Li Shengran’s eyes were reddened; her gaze drove straight toward her, her tone close to a curse, laced with cold laughter:
“You will never know what he has been through.”
“You are not worthy of him.”
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