Notes of Youth

The hallway felt too quiet the next morning. Lin Keqing stood by her locker, eyes scanning the corridor for any trace of last night's watcher. Nothing. Only students in winter coats, yawning and chatting about homework.

But the weight of the folded note in her coat pocket reminded her she hadn't imagined it.

In homeroom, Gu Yuyan was absent.

"Is he sick?" Chen Yuke whispered across the aisle.

Lin Keqing shook her head slowly. Her phone buzzed. A message from Yuyan:

"I need space. Just for a day. Please."

She sighed and pocketed the phone.

The literature class that morning felt heavier than usual. Mr. Qian read a passage from The Book of Disquiet, but Keqing could barely focus. Her thoughts were still in the library, in the fiction section, with Wanzou's ghost and the red book now hidden in her desk drawer.

She remembered, too, her earlier fears—how she'd once suspected her own father might be connected to the story. He had taught at a school in the district, had once avoided questions about a former student. But the further she followed Wanzou's trail, the more clearly the clues pointed elsewhere. Toward a teacher she'd never met. Toward a set of silences her father had never been part of.

"I let suspicion grow in the dark," she thought. "But maybe the truth wasn't hiding where I feared. Maybe it was hiding deeper."

After class, Bai Andui waited by the stairs.

"Someone was watching you last night, weren't they?"

She nodded.

"I checked the back archive. One of the shelves was shifted. And a book is missing. A rare collection—one Wanzou once wrote notes in."

"Someone else is looking, too," she whispered.

He handed her a tiny flash drive. "I backed up everything. Just in case."

She took it, fingers brushing his. A flicker of something unreadable crossed his eyes.

"Why are you helping me?" she asked quietly.

He hesitated. "Because I couldn't help her. Not when it mattered."

During lunch, Le Yahan dragged Chen Yuke out of the classroom and onto the rooftop, despite the cold.

"What are we doing here?" he asked, breath visible.

"Reminding you that I like you. That's what."

She handed him a paper crane, folded from a sheet of her math notes. He raised an eyebrow.

"You're giving me math?"

"Romantic, right?"

He laughed. "For us, strangely... yes."

She leaned in, stealing a kiss as fast as a snowflake.

He blinked, flushed. "What was that for?"

"For being patient. And for putting up with me."

"I'd wait through a snowstorm if it meant this."

Later that afternoon, the school broadcast crackled to life.

"All students of Class 11A1, please gather in the multipurpose hall at 4 p.m. for a special announcement."

Whispers spread across classrooms. A few students speculated it might be about the upcoming winter competition. Others suspected a transfer student or club reform.

When Keqing arrived, she was surprised to see Madam Qiao seated at the corner of the stage, flanked by two unfamiliar adults.

"These are representatives from the regional board of education," the vice principal announced. "They're conducting interviews for a school archival documentary. Some of you may be invited to participate."

Keqing stiffened. A documentary? About school history?

A hand went up. It was Bai Andui.

"What kind of history?"

The woman from the board smiled thinly. "Not all stories are remembered in textbooks. We're looking for voices. Forgotten voices. If you've ever kept a journal or have memories about alumni, your insights may be valuable."

Beside her, the man said nothing, but his eyes scanned the students too intently.

That night, Keqing met up with Fang Zichen in the art room. The walls were lined with half-finished canvases, and the air smelled of linseed oil.

"I heard about the documentary," Zichen said while rinsing her brushes. "You think it's connected?"

"I don't know. But it's too well-timed."

"I overheard one of the staff say the team's actually looking into 'student welfare cases from the past decade.' Sounds like a cover to me."

Keqing frowned. "If they're really digging into that, we're not the only ones chasing this anymore."

Zichen paused. "Be careful. Secrets don't like to be uncovered."

That night, unable to sleep, Keqing opened the red book again. She turned to the inside cover where faint handwriting shimmered under the light.

A name.

Not the teacher's.

But a student's.

Bai Andui.

She froze.

Why was his name written here?

Her thoughts raced, hands trembling slightly. Was it a dedication? A warning? Or a link deeper than she understood?

She turned to the next page, where an annotation circled a single sentence:

"Even the ones who protect secrets can become part of them."

A shiver crawled down her spine.

Suddenly, her phone vibrated. A new anonymous message:

"Be careful who you trust. Not every helper is innocent."

Outside, the wind howled against her window. The story had stopped whispering.

Now, it was beginning to speak.