Notes of Youth

Three days passed.Three silent, tense, breathless days.

No teachers called them in.No punishments were handed down.No rumors bloomed like wildfire in the hallways.

It was as if nothing had happened.

But the silence said otherwise.The air in the classrooms held a hum of something waiting to erupt.Even the usual morning announcements felt hesitant, like they were holding back something too big to say.

Keqing lived through those days like she was walking through a tunnel, no light yet—just motion. She went to class. She opened her books. She answered when called.

But every moment, part of her was listening.Waiting.For truth. For backlash. For... anything.

On the fourth morning, it arrived.

The email popped into her inbox during homeroom.

📩 Notice from the Student Affairs Office

Following review by the visiting educational team, the following records have been updated:

– Former student Lin Wanzou (Class of 2009) is formally recognized for her contributions to student well-being.– Her dismissal has been reassessed and deemed procedurally mishandled.– The school acknowledges her role in documenting internal issues through proper channels.

These corrections have been added to the school archive and student memorial record.

Below that, one sentence stood alone:

"What begins in silence should not end there. Thank you to those who chose otherwise."

Keqing stared at the screen, reading it again and again, the words sinking in like ink on paper.

She looked up.Across the classroom, Gu Yuyan was already looking at her.

He gave a single, almost imperceptible nod.

And that was enough.

That day, the usual lunch break chatter was interrupted by something rare: a crowd gathered quietly in front of the art club bulletin board.

A new poster had been added.

Plain white background. Black border.

In Memory and HonorLin Wanzou – Class of 2009

"She wrote what we didn't dare.She stood where we turned away."

– Art Club Archives

Underneath, someone had pinned a copy of one of her drawings—half-finished, soft pencil strokes of an open window.

Keqing stood at the edge of the crowd, beside Gu, Chen Yuke, Le Yahan, and Fang Zichen.

The five of them didn't speak. They just looked.

It was Zichen who broke the silence. "I didn't think they'd have the courage."

Gu replied, his voice quiet, but resolute. "They didn't. Someone gave it to them."

Le Yahan whispered, "Is it over?"

Keqing inhaled slowly. "No. But it's no longer hidden. That's enough—for now."

That afternoon, during their final period, Keqing was called to the teacher's office.

A staff member from the visiting ministry sat at a side desk, sorting through files. She looked up when Keqing entered.

"Lin Keqing," she said. "Sit down."

Keqing obeyed, hands stiff on her lap.

The woman didn't speak for a long moment. She held the red notebook—Wanzou's notebook—gently, like a fragile piece of history.

"We've verified the entries," she said. "We've also interviewed several staff members, including one who anonymously confirmed... certain omissions."

Keqing's heart stopped for a second. "Someone spoke up?"

The woman nodded. "They won't be named. But thanks to their testimony—and your submission—we've been able to push through a correction request."

She placed the notebook down and slid it toward Keqing.

"This is yours now."

Keqing blinked. "What?"

"It was never ours. And Wanzou wouldn't want it buried in a file room."

Keqing picked it up, slowly, reverently. The same weight. But it no longer burned.

"Will anyone be punished?" she asked quietly.

The woman paused. "Not directly. Internal reassignments may happen. Policies will change. But we're not after retribution, Keqing. We're after accountability."

That answer should have disappointed her.

Strangely, it didn't.

Later that day, they all met in the practice room again—the top floor music space where so much had begun.

The windows were open. The breeze smelled of ink, chalk, and early summer.

Zichen placed a new sketch beside the red notebook:A line of five figures standing beneath a paper bird sky.

"It's done," he said.

Chen Yuke nodded. "No more shadows."

Le Yahan handed around warm drinks. "We survived."

Gu Yuyan leaned against the piano, arms crossed, quiet.

But his eyes were gentler than they had been in weeks.

Keqing opened the red notebook for the last time.

She flipped to the final page—blank, except for one line in Wanzou's handwriting:

"If someone reads this... I wasn't brave. But maybe you are."

She took out her pen.Below that, she wrote:

You were.And we are now, too.

The next morning, a new sticky note appeared under Wanzou's poster.

It was in a neat, familiar hand.

"Truth echoes longer than silence."

And beneath it, someone else had added a drawing: a blue paper bird, mid-flight.

Students stopped to read it on their way to class. Some took photos. Some smiled.

None tore it down.

At home that night, Keqing finally opened the drawer of her desk—the one she had refused to touch since her first week at this school.

Inside was her old journal.

Still half-empty.

She turned to the first blank page, let the weight of everything settle, then began to write:

Day One.Not of solving mysteries.But of choosing not to hide.

We weren't meant to stay quiet forever.

She closed the notebook and placed it next to the red one.

For the first time, she wasn't afraid of what would come next.

Elsewhere, behind an administrative desk, Vice Principal Qiu sat alone in his office. A pile of papers before him. A letter of "internal transfer" tucked beneath.

He stared at it for a long time.

Then, slowly, he opened a drawer—and pulled out an old student form.

It was Lin Wanzou's application to join the art club.

He read her words, written years ago, in messy black pen:

"I don't want to draw pretty things. I want to draw what people look away from."

For a moment, something like regret passed through him.

Then he placed it into a file marked Archived.

Not Discarded.

In a quiet archive at the Ministry of Education, a new file folder was stamped:

CASE #2047 – LIN WANZOUStatus: ResolvedNotes: Initiated by current student report.Evidence preserved. Internal policy amended.No further action required.

And tucked into that file was a scanned image of her last letter.

Above it:

Submitted by: Lin Keqing.

The final bell of the week rang across the school.

The sky outside was soft blue, dotted with clouds.

Students spilled from classrooms, laughing again—louder than before. Not because they knew what had happened. But maybe… because they could feel that something had shifted.

Keqing stepped into the sunlight.

Behind her, Gu Yuyan walked silently, his bag slung over one shoulder.

"I think we can breathe again," she said.

He looked up. "We never stopped."

She smiled. "No. But this time, we're not holding our breath."