The archives room of Jiangcheng No.1 Middle School is located on the top floor of the administration building and is locked year-round.

The air was filled with the musty smell of old paper, mixed with the scent of mothballs.

Shen Qingqiu pushed open the heavy iron door.

Dust swirled wildly in the beams of the setting sun.

The person guarding the archives was an elderly man nearing retirement, surnamed Sun.

He was wearing reading glasses and pasting matchboxes by the window.

Seeing someone approaching, he slowly raised his eyelids.

He pointed to the row of dark green metal cabinets inside:

"They're all there: photos, negatives, and the school's history since its founding."

Turn the pages gently; some of the paper is more brittle than I am.

Shen Qingqiu thanked him.

They slipped into the rows of silent iron cabinets.

Lin Que only wants black and white photos, the older the better, the more authentic the better.

She originally thought it would be an easy job.

But when the first photo album was opened, Shen Qingqiu's fingers stopped.

That was a group photo taken in the 1980s.

The person in the photo is wearing a polyester shirt and has a parted hairstyle popular at the time.

His smile was a little reserved, but his eyes shone with light.

Among a group of young faces, Shen Qingqiu recognized Principal Jiang in his youth.

And... Mr. Yan, the former head of the Chinese language group who has passed away.

At that time, Old Yan's hair was still very full.

Holding half a piece of chalk between his fingers, he was writing on the blackboard, turned to the side.

A line of small print was written in pen on the back of the photo:

*A photo taken in the autumn of 1986, during a public lesson taught by the Chinese language group.*

Shen Qingqiu remembered when she first joined the company,

Teacher Yan taught her step by step how to write lesson plans and how to engage students' emotions in class.

Later, Teacher Yan was diagnosed with lung cancer and passed away suddenly.

Many people attended the funeral, but as time went on,

His name is now mentioned only a handful of times in the office.

Fingertips traced the young, smiling face of Teacher Yan in the photo.

A chilling sensation shot up her spine and up to the back of her head.

"So this is... the process of being forgotten."

Shen Qingqiu's nose suddenly stung with tears.

Lin Que's words about "ultimate death" are no longer just empty talk.

Instead, they transformed into the names in this dusty photo album.

It resonated heavily in her ears.

She squatted on the ground, flipping through one book after another.

The history of Jiangcheng No.1 Middle School is buried here.

It also buries countless once vibrant "names".

There was a young physical education teacher who was engulfed in flames while trying to rescue students during that sudden fire.

There was a school doctor who insisted on delivering review materials to students during that special period and eventually collapsed on duty.

And decades ago, an accident caused a student to be forever frozen at the age of eighteen...

Before we knew it, it was getting dark.

Shen Qingqiu stood up, her legs numb.

She was holding dozens of photos she had selected.

She didn't turn on the lights; only a dim, yellowish light filtered in from the corridor.

In the silence, she seemed to hear countless voices whispering in her ear.

This kid,

What was being presented wasn't a program; it was clearly a memorial service.

the next day,

Program review meeting.

The atmosphere in the meeting room was somewhat tense.

Li Ze, as the student council representative, frowned, looking troubled.

The party is about to begin.

Until now, what I received from Lin Que and Teacher Shen

It only has one title and some old photos.

Seated at the head of the table were the vice principal in charge of moral education and Fei Yuncheng, the director of teaching.

"This...isn't that inappropriate?"

The vice principal put down the black-and-white photos; the photos showed the old school gate, which had already been demolished.

There was also an old man sitting at the entrance of the gatehouse smoking a pipe.

—That was Grandpa Wang, who had been guarding the gate for over thirty years.

The vice principal tapped on the table.

"Teacher Shen, I understand."

You mean, the core of Lin Que's program is death and forgetting?

And they'll even display these... photos of the deceased at the New Year's Eve party?

Isn't this a bit too heavy a burden?

Fei Yuncheng also hesitated. Although he admired Lin Que,

But this is ultimately about the school's image:

"Yes, Teacher Shen."

If it were just us organizing it in previous years, it would be fine, but this time city leaders are all here.

Shouldn't we show something more vibrant and energetic?

It would be bad luck if everyone on and off stage were crying.

Li Ze immediately seized the opportunity and pushed a proposal to the center of the table: