Notes of Youth

The hallway smelled of chalk dust and something older—like forgotten time. Lin Keqing clutched the cool metal key in her hand, her fingers wrapped so tightly it left marks in her skin. She had stared at it all afternoon.

Chen Yuke hadn't said anything except,

"If you're going to dig deeper, you might as well have this."

No explanation. No warning. Just the glint in his eyes—something between fear and regret.

Now, standing outside the old Art Club archive room, Keqing hesitated.

The door was marked B2-103: Archives – Visual Arts.The brass knob was slightly rusted, the wood swollen with age. No one had entered in years, not since the room had been shuttered quietly after Lin Wanzou left.

No—was made to leave.

Keqing inhaled and slipped the key into the lock.Click.It turned with unexpected ease.

The room was dark, and cold despite the heat outside. Rows of shelves lined the walls—some sagging with age, others still straight and untouched. The far corner was dominated by a heavy oak desk, cracked and stained with dried ink, paint, and time.

As Keqing stepped inside, the door closed behind her with a thud.

She turned on her flashlight.

Sketches curled at the corners hung on pinboards, their colors long faded. Boxes with faded labels marked "2008 EVENTS", "WATERCOLOUR SETS", and "CONTEST ENTRIES – DO NOT REMOVE."

She moved straight to the desk, her heart loud in her ears.

Drawer one — nothing but broken pens.

Drawer two — dried-up paint tubes and an old eraser.

Drawer three — stuck. Swollen shut.

She braced herself, then pulled harder.

Thunk.

It came free, and there it was.

A clothbound notebook. Slightly dusty.Art Club 2009 – Internal.

Her breath caught.

She opened it, carefully flipping past attendance records, budget requests, messy meeting notes. Until—A jagged edge. A page had been ripped out, almost violently.

But taped to the inside of the back cover, yellowed and worn, was a single photocopy. Slightly tilted, clearly done in haste. But there.

Keqing angled her flashlight. Her eyes scanned the writing.

"Gu is hesitating again. Wanzou told him she'd go alone if he kept hiding.I'm scared. They warned us to stay quiet.But if we keep letting them win, more people will get hurt.If I disappear—I hope someone will write the next page."

It was signed only with two initials: F.Z.

Fang Zichen.

Her heart sank.

He knew.All this time, he'd known everything.

The doorknob clicked.

Keqing reacted fast—turned off the flashlight, ducked behind a tall shelf of canvas frames, her breathing shallow.

Two figures entered. The first voice was unmistakable.

Fang Zichen.

The second—a man's voice. Older. Sharper.

"You shouldn't be here," the man muttered.

"I just wanted to see if it was still here," Fang said quietly.

"You should've burned that notebook."

"I know."

"Then stay out of it. We told you this was buried."

There was a silence, heavy and uncomfortable.

Fang spoke again, softer. "She was the only one who tried. Wanzou. The rest of us—we ran. I was a coward."

"You're a student. You were never supposed to be involved."

"She trusted me," Fang whispered. "I let her down. I let them scare me."

Another silence.

Then the older man said, low and cold:

"You've been warned once. There won't be a second time."

Footsteps. The door creaked open. Shut again.

Gone.

Only Fang remained.

Keqing stepped out slowly. Her hands were shaking, but her voice was steady.

"You lied to me."

Fang turned, his face paling.

"Keqing—wait—"

"You kept the notebook. You wrote that entry. You knew what happened to Lin Wanzou and you said nothing."

He looked down, then back at her, guilt heavy in his eyes.

"I didn't want you getting involved. Not like she did."

"You sent those notes. The red messages. You made me think Gu Yuyan was dangerous."

"I thought he was." His voice cracked. "He didn't stop them. He let her walk into that meeting alone."

Keqing's fists clenched. "And you? What did you do?"

He was quiet.

"That's what I thought," she whispered.

That evening, the sunset was slow and bloody-red as it dipped behind the buildings. Keqing found Gu Yuyan standing alone behind the library, leaning against a wall, staring at the sky like he couldn't face the ground.

"You knew about the notebook," she said.

He didn't turn. "You found it?"

She nodded.

"And the page Fang copied?"

"Yes."

A long silence.

"I tried to stop her," Gu said finally. "I begged her not to go alone."

Keqing listened, her arms folded tightly across her chest.

"She told me I had to choose. Silence or truth." He gave a bitter laugh. "I chose silence. I thought I was protecting her."

"But you weren't."

"No," he said quietly. "I wasn't."

She stepped closer. "You said you submitted the report to the teacher. But you knew it wouldn't be acted on."

"I hoped it would." His voice was hollow. "I was stupid. I thought adults would fix things. That someone would listen."

He paused. "Instead, they told her to withdraw. That it was better for her health. That it was... the quiet option."

Keqing swallowed. "So she left."

"Her family transferred her. Changed her number. I never saw her again."

"And now?"

Gu turned to her at last. His eyes were red, but dry. "Now, I wonder if I could've stopped it. If I spoke sooner, would you have trusted me?"

Keqing stared at him. "I wanted to."

Silence fell between them again, but this time it didn't feel cold. Just tired. Worn.

"She said something before she left," Gu added. "Something I never understood until you came."

Keqing tilted her head.

"She said, 'Silence is contagious. But so is courage.'"

That night, the school gates stood tall and still behind her.

As Keqing crossed the street, she turned back one last time.

The lights in the Art Club room flickered faintly, like someone had lit a candle from inside.

But she knew no one had.

Because no one had been inside for years.