1
On the podium, Mr. Tian tore up his essay My Dream page by page, like destroying a paper bird—ripping off its wings, then crushing its heart. The neatly written words about wanting to be a veterinarian turned into snowflake-like scraps that fluttered to the floor.
"Interesting writing," Mr. Tian's voice was soft, yet cold as frost. "Too bad it's as hopeless as the one who wrote it."
The paper fragments fell in front of Song Xiaoyang, like the season's first snow—or like the dignity stripped from him. A ripple of suppressed laughter spread through the class, as if a swarm of rats had crawled out from the floorboards to gnaw on his ears.
"What a waste of paper."
"Can't believe he wrote about 'dreams.'"
"Dead last in the class and still daydreaming?"
"Lowest scoring essay in the class." Mr. Tian adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, his eyes gleaming behind the lenses. "Empty content, poor structure, even the punctuation is a mess."
More snickers erupted. Song Xiaoyang stared at his trembling fingers, still bearing the indentations left by his pen the night before. He glanced quickly at Lin Xiaoyu—the only one who might still show him some sympathy—and saw her eyes already on him.
"Pick it up," Mr. Tian kicked at the paper scraps by his feet. "Take it home and rewrite it. Tomorrow, read it aloud in front of the whole class."
As Xiaoyang bent down to gather the torn remains of his dream, a sharp sting hit the back of his neck—someone had shot a rubber band at him. He bit back a reaction and kept picking up the pieces. The next shot struck his earlobe, a fiery pain that made him flinch. He heard Wang Lei's quiet snicker.
"Song Xiaoyang," Mr. Tian suddenly raised his voice. "Do your parents ever check your schoolwork?"
The papers slipped from his fingers. His mother, who passed away two years ago, used to check his homework every night.
"My mom, she..."
"Thought so." Mr. Tian cut him off. "A child without discipline turns out exactly like this. Tell your father to come to school tomorrow. I want to speak with him personally."
A knot twisted in Xiaoyang's stomach. His father hated being called to school. Last time, when he fainted during PE, his dad showed up and beat him with a belt three times, saying, "Boys don't get to be weak."
The bell rang. As Mr. Tian walked out, he added coldly, "Make sure you don't leave behind a single scrap of paper. Miss one, and you'll rewrite it ten times."
When the classroom finally emptied, Xiaoyang broke down in tears. His sobs fell onto the torn paper, blurring the ink that once carried his hopes. As he reached for the last piece under the podium, something caught his eye—a glint.
It was a photo of his mother, wearing a white lab coat and smiling in front of the clinic. He had secretly taped it inside his essay notebook. Now, someone had defaced it with red ink—a thick X drawn over her face, her gentle eyes gouged out.
2
The smell in the bathroom stall was like rotting iron.
Song Xiaoyang curled up in the last stall, clutching his torn backpack. His right middle finger throbbed in pain—Wang Lei had twisted it back deliberately when dragging him in, not stopping until it gave a sickening crack.
"This is for the hamster," Wang Lei had hissed in his ear, foul breath washing over his face. "We know it was you."
They had taken turns pouring bottled water over his head, saying it was to "wash his brain." Then Wang Lei had unzipped his pants and pissed on his uniform.
"Teacher Tian says you're trash," Wang Lei had said while buckling up. "Trash should look like trash."
Now, reeking of urine, Song Xiaoyang remembered how his mother used to bathe him when he was little, always adding a few drops of lavender oil into the water. Her gentle fingers scrubbing his back, humming an off-key lullaby. That smell, that voice—they were gone forever.
Someone knocked on the stall door.
"Someo—" Song Xiaoyang's voice came out hoarse, unrecognizable.
The knocking continued, rhythmic as a heartbeat. Trembling, he unlocked the door—there was no one outside. Just a puddle on the floor, reflecting the harsh fluorescent light.
"I'm right here." The voice came from above.
Bai Ye was hanging upside down from the top of the stall, her long hair sweeping across Song Xiaoyang's face. Her white hospital gown was now smeared with brownish-red stains like dried blood. When she smiled, her mouth stretched all the way to her ears, revealing shark-like teeth.
"They broke your finger," she said lightly, flipping down and grabbing his deformed hand. "Want me to break all ten of Wang Lei's? Or push him down the stairs? I know which way he walks home…"
"No… we can't… not again," Song Xiaoyang pulled his hand back. "They already suspect me… after the hamster."
"So just take it?!" Bai Ye exploded. Her bulging eyes almost popped from their sockets. "Lick their boots like a dog?!"
She grabbed his neck, her breath putrid against his face.
"Your mom's watching you from above. Look at her pathetic little boy."
Struggling, Song Xiaoyang shoved her away and bolted from the restroom. Students in the hallway recoiled at the sight of his soaked uniform. Some pointed and whispered, others laughed behind their hands. Not one asked if he was okay.
He ran from the building, all the way to the abandoned storage room behind the field. It was filled with broken mats and rusted bars—his secret refuge. Curling into a corner, he hugged his knees and cried in silence.
Sunlight slanted through the high window, illuminating graffiti left by some graduating class:
"Everyone dies."
3
The leather belt in his father's hand cut the air with a snake-like hiss.
"Another call from your teacher!" Song Jianguo's face was purple with rage. "You're a fucking disgrace!"
The first lash landed on his back—Song Xiaoyang didn't flinch. He stared at the torn scraps of his essay on the coffee table, wondering how Teacher Tian had described him: mentally unstable, violent tendencies, recommended transfer.
"Tian says you're causing trouble! Stealing!"
The second lash struck his thigh, burning hot.
Song Xiaoyang opened his mouth, wanting to explain the hamster incident, but the belt came down again—this time across his arm, raising a welt instantly.
"Not talking? That means it's true?" Song Jianguo was panting, veins bulging on his forehead.
"When I was your age, teachers beat us with metal rulers and we didn't make a peep! Kids these days…"
As the belt came down again, Song Xiaoyang suddenly looked up.
"You got bullied too when you were young, didn't you?"
His father froze. For a brief moment, Song Xiaoyang saw something familiar in his eyes—a wounded, cornered-animal kind of fear. The same fear he saw in his own reflection.
"Don't talk nonsense." His father's voice lowered. He tossed the belt aside and reached for the liquor.
"Clean up your mess. You're coming to school with me tomorrow to apologize."
Limping back to his room, Song Xiaoyang found his textbooks torn to pieces. He gingerly retrieved a hidden photo from under his mattress—his mother during a clinic staff outing, surrounded by colleagues. Someone had burned a hole in it with a cigarette, right over her smiling face.
Rain began tapping against the window. In the living room, he heard the pop of a bottle, sports commentary blaring from the TV, and the rhythmic patter of raindrops on the air conditioner outside.
He gently stroked the photo, feeling the scorched hole where her face should be.
"They all deserve to disappear." Bai Ye's voice came from under the bed.
Looking down, he saw a shadow crawling out—like a corpse clawing its way from a grave. Her skin had turned the ashen gray of the dead, fingernails long and black like ten tiny blades.
"All of them," she said, crawling to his feet. "Tian Mingyuan, Wang Lei, the ones who laugh at you… even your father."
Her cold fingers wrapped around his ankle.
"They don't deserve to live."
This time, Song Xiaoyang didn't argue.
He was too tired. Too numb to even feel fear.
Bai Ye slithered up his body like a snake, coiling around him, whispering in his ear:
"I know a place…
Where pain disappears forever."
4.
The wind on the rooftop was strong, as if trying to push him off.
Song Xiaoyang stood at the edge of the school building, looking down at the cement seven stories below. It was six in the morning—the guards hadn't started their rounds yet. He'd chosen this time on purpose.
"Jump," said Bai Ye, perched on the railing, legs swinging. Her white dress flapped in the wind, revealing bruised, bony calves. "It'll be quick. Just a splat."
He inched forward. The tips of his sneakers hovered over the edge. He recalled the free fall equation from physics class, calculating how many seconds it would take to hit the ground.
"Think about what they did to you," Bai Ye's voice drifted in and out. "Tian Mingyuan tore your essay apart. Wang Lei pissed on you. Your father beat you…"
Suddenly she was behind him, her decaying hands on his shoulders.
"No one loves you. No one needs you."
Tears streamed from his eyes, only to be stolen by the wind. He thought of his mother's dying words—be strong. Thought of Lin Xiaoyu sneaking him Band-Aids. Thought of the three hamsters he had released.
But the memories slipped through his fingers like sand.
"If you're so weak," Bai Ye sneered, "just die already!"
She shoved him.
His body lurched forward, but at the last second, he grabbed the railing. His heart pounded, blood roaring in his ears. Below, the track team was already practicing. Faint laughter floated up.
"Let go," Bai Ye crouched in front of him, her rotting face inches from his. "Let go, and it's all over."
His fingers loosened one by one. Just as his index finger was about to release the bar, a rusty creak echoed behind him—the rooftop door opened.
"Song Xiaoyang?" A girl's trembling voice. "What are you doing?!"
Lin Xiaoyu stood in the doorway, clutching a stack of English homework. The morning sun gilded her small frame in gold, like a light flickering in the dark.
Bai Ye hissed, like a cat doused in acid. "Nosy little bitch!"
Song Xiaoyang gripped the railing tight and hauled himself back. He collapsed on the concrete, gasping, metallic taste in his mouth. Lin Xiaoyu rushed over to help him, flinching when she saw the bruises on his face.
"Was it Wang Lei? And… Teacher Tian?"
He tried to answer, but saw Bai Ye behind her, snarling—her skin peeling away, one eyeball dangling from her cheek.
"Tell her to leave!" Bai Ye roared. "This is between us!"
Lin Xiaoyu shivered as if sensing something.
"It's cold up here," she whispered. "Let's go back down."
Song Xiaoyang nodded, letting her guide him toward the door. Just before it closed, he looked back—Bai Ye stood at the edge, drew a finger across her throat, then leapt.
But on the ground , there was nothing.