The Notebook

The current cohort at Tiecheng No. 4 Middle School was originally a standard three-year program, with three classes per grade. But an unexpected education reform had extended it to four years. The old third grade became the fourth grade, and a surge in enrollment from the nearby new residential development forced the school to hastily open a fourth class — Class 4. And so Class 4, Grade 4 came into existence: a class that shouldn't have existed, in a grade that shouldn't have existed.

And within that class, there appeared a person who also shouldn't have existed — the dead girl, Gu Qing.

Half a year ago, one early morning, a scream tore through the campus. The student on duty rushed into the classroom and found Gu Qing hanging from the ceiling. Police quickly ruled it suicide, attributing the cause to "being disciplined for having a romantic relationship." In the eyes of the school leadership, romantic feelings between adolescents were a contaminating stain that could not be tolerated. Tiecheng was a small city; the principal had connections; and the incident was swiftly buried. The machinery of education rolled forward as if nothing had ever interrupted it. Months passed, and Gu Qing's name gradually faded from people's mouths. But some of the dead do not wish to be forgotten entirely.

The night it happened, Su Meng was practically carried out of the classroom by her father, crying the whole way to the car without stopping. Everyone assumed she would take some time off to recover at home — but the very next morning, she appeared again in the classroom doorway for early study hall. Her face was a picture of reluctance, her eyes red and swollen. Some parents, however, had come to feel that exam scores mattered more than their children's mental health.

Su Meng stood in the doorway with her bag on her back, knocked twice in a perfunctory gesture, then froze.

"Come in," said Xiao Jin, glancing up briefly. Her tone was flat.

Su Meng pointed at the second seat by the wall. "Teacher," she said quietly, "I don't want to sit there."

Xiao Jin paused, then turned toward the desk behind it. "Zhou Dong, swap seats with Su Meng."

Zhou Dong snapped his head up and stared at the empty seat. His face went instantly pale, as if someone invisible were already sitting in the chair. He quickly bowed his head back down and fixed his eyes on his textbook, motionless.

"Zhou Dong! I said switch seats. Didn't you hear me?" Xiao Jin's voice rose sharply, her face flushing.

Zhou Dong kept his head down. His voice was barely audible. "Why me?"

"What do you mean, why? I told you to switch, so switch!" Xiao Jin's anger was about to boil over.

The air in the classroom thickened. Everyone could feel the teacher's authority crumbling inch by inch. She had been teaching for nearly twenty years, and now a single empty seat had backed her into a corner.

"Teacher, I'll go sit there." A voice broke the deadlock.

Everyone turned. It was Chang Di — Gu Qing's boyfriend. He rose from his seat and, amid a ripple of low, startled gasps, walked calmly over and sat down in the vacant spot.

Xiao Jin let out a breath, though her face showed no trace of gratitude. Zhou Dong shot Chang Di a look of silent thanks, but received only a stiff back in return.

When the dismissal bell rang, Zhou Dong gathered his courage and placed a hand on Chang Di's shoulder. "Thanks, man…"

"Ah!" Chang Di flinched as if burned, his shoulder recoiling sharply, a flash of unmistakable panic crossing his face. He forced a smile. "No problem, no need to thank me."

Zhou Dong blinked. "Are you… okay?"

Chang Di rubbed at a strand of hair on his forehead that wasn't there — he had short hair, but the gesture was the kind a girl with long hair would make, sweeping it back with one hand. "Oh, I'm just not feeling well. Could you do me a favor and go down to the school store and get me a notebook? I really don't want to move."

Zhou Dong found it strange, but he took the money and headed downstairs.

Over the next few periods, Zhou Dong sat in the back and couldn't help watching Chang Di. He noticed that Chang Di would occasionally let out a faint laugh — the kind a girl might make, soft and sweetly high-pitched — but coming from a boy's throat, it made the hair on Zhou Dong's arms stand on end.

When the noon bell rang for lunch, Zhou Dong had just stood up to escape the classroom when Chang Di called him back. "Zhou Dong, I'm really not feeling well today. Could you get me another notebook and bring me a pancake from the cafeteria?"

He placed the money on Zhou Dong's desk. Zhou Dong looked down — and froze. On Chang Di's wrist were five deep nail marks, gouged to the bone. Droplets of blood had already seeped through, staining the banknotes red.

"Chang — Chang Di, your wrist—"

Chang Di calmly withdrew his hand. "Oh, that. Nothing. I scratched myself by accident."

Zhou Dong's throat went dry. Chang Di's nails were cut short — how could he have dug wounds like that? Who would "accidentally" scratch themselves that deep?

He could hold it together no longer. His voice trembled. "I… I have something urgent to do at lunch. I've got to go."

He was out of the classroom before he'd finished the sentence — more like fleeing than walking.

Behind him, Chang Di slowly took back the bloodstained note. He stood and faced the empty doorway, and said, in a cold, quiet voice:

"There is no one left worth knowing in this school."