“I never thought my mom would go to the school like that. She wasn’t like this before, she was a good teacher. Maybe it’s my fault… my grades are terrible. The pressure got to her.” Zhang Yi forced a smile, her delicate face shadowed with gloom.
“My grandfather was a teacher. So are my parents. People call our family ‘scholarly.’ Most of my relatives are in education, my cousins all excel, attending top universities and elite high schools. I barely made it into No. 1 High, and I can’t keep up. Relatives and her colleagues always ask about my grades. Dad blames her for failing to teach me well. All the pressure falls on her.”
Yang Jiabo listened quietly as Zhang Yi rambled. Suddenly, she laughed. “Or maybe her menopause came early, that’s why she’s so irrational. I’m sorry you got dragged into this. That day… when I said I liked you, I meant it. There’s something about you, it feels familiar, comforting.”
Seeing Yang Jiabo about to speak, she hurried on, “I know you don’t like me. After what my mom did, you definitely won’t. But I needed to say it, for my own closure. And I owe you a proper apology. I’m so sorry.”
Zhang Yi bowed her head. A glistening drop fell, gone in an instant, as if Yang Jiabo had imagined it.
“Try to humor her more. It’ll make your life easier. When you’re independent, you can live as you want,” Yang Jiabo advised.
“I know. But I’m not sure I’ll last that long. Rest well, I might not get to visit again.” Zhang Yi kept her head down, likely hiding her tears.
“Take care of yourself too,” Yang Jiabo nodded. Given how strictly her mother monitored her, this visit was already a miracle.
After Zhang Yi left, unease gnawed at Yang Jiabo. Had he missed something? Lying in bed, her words replayed in his mind. Something was off. He bolted upright.
Zhang Yi’s situation mirrored his past self. What if she…? The more he thought, the more plausible it seemed. He rushed to the doctor’s office and called his homeroom teacher. The answering teacher said Mr. Jin was in class.
Yang Jiabo smacked his forehead, how could he forget? He checked the time, waited, and called again. This time, Mr. Jin answered.
“Mr. Jin, Zhang Yi visited me earlier. Her mood was… unstable. I’m worried she might do something drastic. Can you call her parents?”
“Yang Jiabo, Zhang Yi comes from a good family with accomplished parents. What could she possibly be upset about? Stop exaggerating.”
“Mr. Jin, I’m serious. Give me her parents’ number.”
“Focus on your own studies instead of meddling.” The line went dead.
Back in his room, Yang Jiabo paced. Was he overreacting? Or was his intuition right? If he intervened and nothing was wrong, Zhang Yi’s mother would make his life hell. But if he did nothing and something happened… he would never forgive himself.
What had happened to Zhang Yi in the previous life? He barely kept in touch with classmates. Someone had added him to a group chat, but he rarely checked. Then he remembered, someone mentioned a classmate who’d gone mad, institutionalized. He hadn’t paid attention to who. Could it have been Zhang Yi?
Yang Jiabo couldn’t stay still. He hailed a taxi and raced to No. 6 High. The gatekeeper stopped him, classes were in session, even latecomers wouldn’t arrive this late.
“Sir, Vice Principal Zhang asked to see me. Let me in, or take me to him.” Yang Jiabo didn’t know Zhang Yi’s mother’s name, so he aimed for her father.
“Wait here.” The guard, distrustful, escorted Yang Jiabo personally.
In the administrative office, Yang Jiabo faced a middle-aged man with silver-framed glasses. “Are you Zhang Yi’s father?”
“Who are you?” The man eyed him suspiciously. The guard looked equally confused.
“I’m Zhang Yi’s former classmate. She visited me today and said… concerning things. I think she’s in a bad place. Could you check on her?” Yang Jiabo gambled on the man’s paternal concern.
“Is this true?” Zhang Yi’s father scrutinized him.
“Yes.” Yang Jiabo met his gaze steadily.
Without another word, Zhang Yi’s father hurried out. Yang Jiabo followed. They went to Zhang Yi’s classroom, she wasn’t there. Zhang Yi's father paled.
Zhang Yi’s home was nearby in the Teachers’ Housing Complex. The two rushed over. The house was empty, her bedroom door shut. Knocking brought no response.
“She’s not here. I don’t know where else—”
“Wait.” Yang Jiabo’s nose wrinkled. He crouched, sniffing beneath the door, then froze. “There’s blood.”
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