1
The smell of antiseptic in the school infirmary reminded Lin Xiaoyu of that plastic water bottle filled with murky liquid.
She gently pressed down on Song Xiaoyang's trembling wrist, dabbing at the wound on his temple with a cotton ball soaked in disinfectant. The boy flinched but didn't pull away. Morning light filtered through the blinds, casting striped shadows between them—like the bars of a prison.
"What did Wang Lei hit you with?" Lin Xiaoyu lowered her voice. The school nurse had gone to breakfast, leaving only the two of them in the room.
"A basketball," Song Xiaoyang muttered, eyes downcast. "Said I ran into him."
A lie. Lin Xiaoyu could tell the bruises were from punches—the faint outlines of knuckles were already emerging. She knew these wounds too well. In fifth grade, Zhang Mengmeng had once punched her stomach wearing brass knuckles, later claiming she had "accidentally bumped into the edge of a table."
When the disinfectant touched a deeper gash, Song Xiaoyang inhaled sharply. Lin Xiaoyu quickly withdrew her hand. As she moved, her sleeve slipped up, revealing several pale, parallel scars on her inner wrist.
She pulled it down immediately, but Song Xiaoyang had already seen. The air between them turned heavy. A whistle from the sports field outside pierced the silence.
"You too..." Song Xiaoyang's voice was as light as a feather hitting the ground.
Lin Xiaoyu's fingertips absentmindedly brushed her cuff. Those scars—like tiny, white worms—were remnants of a time she most wanted to forget. Footsteps echoed down the hallway—the nurse returning. She hurriedly stuffed the remaining band-aids into Song Xiaoyang's hand.
"After school," she whispered quickly, "meet me under the plane tree behind the equipment room."
Song Xiaoyang nodded. In his eyes flashed something Lin Xiaoyu couldn't quite read—something like the quiet relief of recognizing a kindred spirit.
⸻
2
The leaves of the plane tree had started to turn yellow, like paper singed by fire.
Lin Xiaoyu sat at the base of the tree, watching one leaf spiral gently to the ground. In her hands was a library copy of Adolescent Trauma Studies, with a diary entry tucked between the pages—one she'd never shown anyone.
When footsteps approached, her body tensed instinctively. Only when she saw it was Song Xiaoyang did her shoulders relax. He was still limping, and the cartoon band-aid she had given him stood out brightly against the bruises.
"For you," she said, handing him a cold can of Coke. It was the closest thing to a "peace offering" she could think of.
Song Xiaoyang hesitated before accepting it. Condensation dripped from the can onto his worn-out sneakers. He looked at her for a few seconds, then suddenly asked, "Were you... like me before?"
A gust of wind blew, rustling the leaves above like a thousand whispering voices. Lin Xiaoyu flipped to page 143 of the book, where a paragraph was highlighted in yellow:
"Systemic school bullying often forms a rigid role dynamic: the ringleader, the accomplice, the bystander, the resistor... and the chosen victim."
"In fourth grade," Lin Xiaoyu said, her voice eerily calm, "I was the class 'Toilet Queen.'"
She saw the confusion on Song Xiaoyang's face and gave a twisted smile that wasn't quite a laugh. "It means I was the one they always dragged into the bathroom to torment."
⸻
3
Memories burst forth like a shaken Coke can, spraying uncontrollably.
The girls' bathroom in Class 3, Grade 4, always smelled of cheap perfume. Lin Xiaoyu feared lunch breaks the most—when Zhang Mengmeng and her "Princess Squad" would pull her into the last stall.
"What shall we play today? Water torture or human canvas?" Zhang Mengmeng, her glittery lip gloss inches from Lin Xiaoyu's ear, would whisper. The girl had hit puberty early and wore an oversized uniform with sleeves hiding "toys"—thumbtacks, scissors, even worms stolen from the science lab.
At first, it was just name-calling. "Pee-pee Lin," "Flat-chest freak," "Bookworm." Lin Xiaoyu could endure that. But when she beat Zhang Mengmeng in the midterms, things escalated.
"Drink it." Zhang Mengmeng shook a bottle of cloudy liquid. "Chalk dust and glue—your special 'smart syrup.'"
Five girls held her down. One yanked her hair back. As the liquid poured down her throat, Lin Xiaoyu tasted glue and something worse—something she later realized was Zhang Mengmeng's spit.
"What are you doing?!"
Ms. Liu's voice was heaven-sent. Lin Xiaoyu gagged on the floor, thinking she was finally saved. But when she looked up, she saw only disapproval in her teacher's eyes.
"It takes two to tango," Ms. Liu said, adjusting her glasses. "Lin Xiaoyu, did you provoke them again?"
Later, she learned Zhang Mengmeng's father was an official in the education bureau. Hers were just ordinary office workers. After that day, the "games" only got worse.
⸻
4
"They locked me in the equipment room overnight."
Lin Xiaoyu stared at her sneakers. Her voice was terrifyingly calm. Song Xiaoyang's breathing quickened beside her, but she didn't stop. These memories had festered too long—they needed lancing.
"My parents called the police, but the school said it was a 'prank.'" She tugged at her sleeve. "Zhang Mengmeng cried like an angel in the principal's office—said she 'forgot' I was in there."
Song Xiaoyang suddenly grabbed her wrist and gently lifted her sleeve. In the fading light, the white scars stood out like embossed lines.
"This was..."
"A compass from art class," Lin Xiaoyu said. Strangely, she didn't feel embarrassed. "Zhang Mengmeng said she wanted to create art on a 'canvas.'"
The longest scar, crooked and fire-match length, crossed a vein. Blood had gushed that day, staining Zhang Mengmeng's limited-edition sneakers red. That demon had even laughed: "Now that's what I call 'bloody brilliance.'"
Lin Xiaoyu stood abruptly, brushing leaves from her clothes. The tide of memories was choking her. "Later, I learned... to become one of them," she admitted. "I helped Zhang Mengmeng cheat, ran her errands, watched her bully others—just so she'd leave me alone."
Song Xiaoyang's amber eyes glowed in the dusk. "And now?"
"She transferred." Lin Xiaoyu gave a hollow smile. "Her dad got promoted. She's at a better school now. And me?" She pointed to the two red stripes on her armband. "Model student. Class monitor. A 'reformed success story.'"
The evening deepened, and the windows in the distant classroom building began to light up. Lin Xiaoyu pulled a folded piece of diary paper from her book and handed it to Song Xiaoyang. In childish handwriting, it read:
"Today Mengmeng made me drink her 'special juice' again. This time it had cockroach legs. I threw up on my skirt. Ms. Liu said I was unhygienic. Mom asked why I'm so quiet. I couldn't tell her. If I died, would anyone be sad?"
There were water stains on the page—maybe tears, maybe something else. Song Xiaoyang's fingers brushed the words gently, as if tracing an invisible wound.
"Mr. Tian..." Lin Xiaoyu hesitated. "What he did to you—it's the same as what Ms. Liu did for Zhang Mengmeng. She enabled the monster."
A breeze swept through, scattering the plane tree's yellowing leaves like desperate hands reaching toward the sky. Lin Xiaoyu suddenly broke down, tears silently streaming down her cheeks. Song Xiaoyang awkwardly patted her shoulder. That simple gesture only made her cry harder.
"I could've helped you," she sobbed, "but I was too scared... scared I'd go back to being the 'Toilet Queen' again..."
Song Xiaoyang shook his head. He pulled something from his pocket—shredded pieces of an essay. One line was still legible: "My dream is to become an excellent doctor, just like my mom."
"It's not too late," he said.
Through her tears, Lin Xiaoyu saw a girl in white standing behind him. The girl's face was pale. She raised a finger to her lips in a silent "shh," then vanished into the twilight.