Rumors and Confrontations

The echoes of the morning reading bell had barely faded, and the rustling of pages turning in the classroom hadn't even fully formed when Wang Zhitao suddenly slammed his textbook heavily on the desk. The crisp "thud" stopped the surrounding students in their tracks. He deliberately raised his voice, making sure the students in the three rows in front and behind could hear him clearly, his tone inflammatory: "Do you know what? Xu Yanchi from the next class and Xiao Fuzhou from our grade have been hooking up for ages!"

These words, like drops of hot oil, instantly shattered the tranquility of the classroom. Students who had been engrossed in their work looked up, their eyes filled with surprise and curiosity; a few boys in the back row, always eager to join in the fun, had already stopped writing and were leaning forward, waiting for what was to come. Seeing this, Wang Zhitao became even more smug, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, deliberately slowing his speech, each word dripping with malice: "That Xu Yanchi is only after Xiao Fuzhou's family's money. He's always flirting with them—offering them water after class, asking them questions during self-study, like an unshakeable plaster, impossible to shake off."

"Really? Xiao Fuzhou seems pretty decent, not the type to do this kind of thing. His family is so rich, everyone in the school knows him. He wouldn't do something like this, would he?" A girl wearing glasses whispered to the girl diagonally in front of her, her fingertips unconsciously fiddling with the edge of her book. "Of course it's true!" Wang Zhitao immediately chimed in, slapping the edge of the table again, his voice rising a few decibels. "I saw it with my own eyes! They've only known each other for a day and they're already together. Yesterday after school, at the back gate, they were hugging and kissing! Xiao Fuzhou looked like he was pushing them away a couple of times, but he was actually really happy inside, deliberately enjoying their advances!" As he spoke, he exaggeratedly imitated the "hugging" motion, shrugging his shoulders forward and scrunching his face in disgust. "You guys should stay away from them in the future, don't let this kind of trend corrupt you."

The classroom erupted in chatter like a rising tide—some students pressed for details, asking "How long did they kiss?" and "Did anyone else see them?" Others chimed in, "No wonder I've been seeing them together so much lately." Even the students who had been focused on their books by the window quietly put their books face down on their desks and turned to look. Chen Ningyi sat in the third row by the aisle, her fingers gripping her pen so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Yesterday, when Xiao Fuzhou talked to her, he only mentioned that Wang Zhitao was spreading rumors, but he hadn't mentioned such vile slander. The words "for money" and "posing provocatively" felt like needles pricking her heart. What bothered her even more was that Wang Zhitao hadn't uttered a single specific detail, only vague statements like "I saw" and "I know."

"You say you saw it with your own eyes," Chen Ningyi took a deep breath and finally spoke. Her voice wasn't loud, but it was like a pebble thrown into the noise, instantly silencing the classroom. "Then tell me clearly, where was it after school yesterday? Was it the corner near the repair shop, or near the bulletin board? What time was it? Were there any streetlights on? Were there any other students passing by?"

Wang Zhitao's smug expression froze abruptly, clearly not expecting Chen Ningyi to suddenly expose him. He paused for two seconds, his gaze drifting to the window, and mumbled an explanation: "It was...it was the innermost corner of the back door. It was almost dark then, there was no one around. The streetlights weren't fully on yet, but I saw it clearly, the two of them were standing there, hugging..."

"It's getting dark, the streetlights aren't on, and visibility is so poor. How can you be sure it's Xu Yanchi and Xiao Fuzhou?" Chen Ningyi didn't give him a chance to beat around the bush. Her words were steady but carried an undeniable questioning tone. "And when you came into the classroom this morning, you said, 'They've been together for a while now,' but now you say, 'They've only known each other for less than a day.' Which statement is true? Also, you said Xu Yanchi was 'obsessed' with Xiao Fuzhou. Which day specifically? Morning or afternoon? In the classroom, the corridor, or the playground? How many times did you personally witness it?"

A barrage of questions rained down on him, and Wang Zhitao's face slowly flushed crimson. His earlier righteous indignation deflated like a punctured balloon. He opened his mouth, trying to make up a time, but couldn't remember how many days ago he had said "it started a long time ago"; he wanted to point to a specific location, but feared it would conflict with his earlier claims of "it's getting dark" and "there are no streetlights"—the things he had casually made up before now felt like a noose around his neck, impossible to reconcile.

"I...I just can't remember the details, but I'm sure I didn't see wrong!" Wang Zhitong panicked, his voice suddenly rising, but he had lost his previous confidence, and there was even a hint of panic in his voice at the end, "Why are you always taking the side of outsiders? Chen Ningyi, are you very familiar with Xu Yanchi? Could it be that you were also deceived by Xiao Fuzhou's appearance?"

"I'm not taking sides, I just want a clear explanation." Chen Ningyi loosened her grip on the pen, the whiteness at her knuckles slowly fading. Her tone remained calm but exceptionally firm. "Your words are contradictory. You can't even explain the most basic time, place, and details. Why should everyone believe what you're saying? Besides, you came into the classroom yesterday with a dark face and inexplicably threw your pen at me. Now you're suddenly saying all this here. Did you really 'see it with your own eyes,' or are you making this up because of something else?"

The classroom fell completely silent; even breathing became clear. All eyes were on Wang Zhitao—a few students in the front row frowned, clearly realizing the flaw in his statement; someone in the back row whispered to their deskmate, their tone tinged with suspicion: "The time he mentioned is definitely wrong. I left school early yesterday, and the streetlights at the back gate were already on at 6:30."

Wang Zhitao stood beside the seat, his hands gripping the corner of the table tightly, his fingertips pressing imprints into the wood grain. His face turned pale and then red, wanting to lash out but finding no reason to, he could only glare fiercely at Chen Ningyi, his jaw clenched so tightly that he couldn't utter a single word—the unresolved lies were stuck in his throat, unable to be spit out or swallowed.

Just then, the school bell rang sharply. The math teacher walked into the classroom with his lesson plan, his gaze sweeping over the unusually quiet class. He frowned in confusion: "Why are you all sitting still? Class has started. Turn to page 58 in your textbooks."

The silence in the classroom was broken. The students hurriedly lowered their heads to flip through their books, and the murmurs instantly subsided. Wang Zhitao, as if grasping at a straw, almost slumped back into his seat, his head bowed low, staring at the formulas in his textbook, but unable to concentrate on a single word. The tips of his ears were burning red, and the skin on the back of his neck was taut—the confrontation just now hadn't spread the rumors; instead, it had made him the focus of the entire class. Even the student behind him was secretly observing him, their gazes like needles piercing his back. His knuckles, gripping the textbook, turned white again, and the shadows in his eyes grew heavier. He stared at his schoolbag under his desk, his knuckles lightly tapping the surface, a suppressed anger rising within him.

Chen Ningyi watched his tense back, let out a soft breath, but her fingertips were still a little trembling. She turned to look out the window—on the playground, the students on duty were sweeping fallen leaves, sunlight filtering through the gaps in the sycamore leaves, dazzling the eyes. But she knew in her heart that Wang Zhitao's failure to answer didn't mean the matter was over. The skeptical looks in the classroom, and the way a few classmates huddled together whispering, all reminded her: this storm, stirred up by a casually made-up rumor, had probably only just begun, and was far from over.