Chapter 159 School This is "Your" High School
You board the school bus and look at the bus full of Thai high school students, and you have a strange feeling in your heart.
You know that since you're a high school student, they'll assume you're the same age, but you still can't help feeling a sense of incongruity. Even if your real age is automatically ignored, the aura of a working professional has been swept away by the trials of the first five levels, and your appearance is quite different from these locals.
The gazes of these teenagers were undisguised, whether it was a malicious rejection of being an "outsider" or simply a curious scrutiny, it was more obvious than in any previous instance. It left you unsure where to look.
The school bus was packed with people, except for a small circle of empty space around you. After swaying and jolting, we finally arrived at the school gate, where the lingering smoke from the morning market still hung in the air.
A row of motorcycles was parked outside the iron gate, and carts selling kebabs and iced milk tea squeezed the alley entrance so narrow that only one person could pass through.
The school name, with its black background and gold lettering, is embedded in a granite plaque; the gold lettering is dazzling in the sunlight. Next to it is a small shrine, decorated with marigolds and colorful ribbons, which passersby casually clasp together in prayer.
Since you can't read Thai, you can only follow the actions of the students in front of you—put your hands together, nod, and then squeeze in through the passage next to the guardhouse.
The gatekeeper, dressed in a dark green uniform with a school badge pinned to his chest, rustled through the pages of a booklet beside him. He glanced at you for a moment, and you quickly clasped your hands together and slowly uttered the Singing language you had been studying all night: "Savasdeka."
A well-timed stutter not only shows your diligence but also your "timid and obedient" nature. This kind of personality image is easy to be liked by elders and powerful people in Yazhou. Sure enough, the other party smiled, didn't ask you anything more, praised you "good", and waved you through.
To the right of the entrance is an open space with a tall flagpole and white lines drawn at its base, which seems to be a flow control corridor to separate people into different grades. If that's the case, the rules here are very strict.
A soft campus announcement played from the loudspeaker; you couldn't understand the words, but you could recognize the tone at the end of the sentences, which sounded like a string of bells.
Around you, students are dressed in identical uniforms: girls wear white shirts with dark blue pleated skirts, some with black or blue headbands tied in their ponytails; boys wear white shirts, dark blue trousers, black leather shoes with white socks, their hair neatly styled or styled with hair oil. Most have their names embroidered in blue thread on their chests and their class badges on their cuffs.
When upperclassmen a year ahead of you pass by, the younger students will slightly step aside, put their hands together in greeting, and you immediately follow suit. You quickly find the line that belongs to your grade and are carried forward by the flow of people.
Passing by the cafeteria on the left, through the glass windows you see a row of semi-open steel tables. The cafeteria ladies, already dressed in their chef's uniforms, are busy in the glass cabinets, setting out semi-finished fried chicken, green curry, and sticky rice. In the distance, a milk tea machine bubbles away. Looking further in, you see a huge gold-framed portrait hanging on a wall, with blue cloth tied with ribbons below. In the corner, there's an offering table with coconuts and bananas neatly arranged.
You recognize the person in the portrait, and immediately join the others in putting your hands together and bowing slightly.
The teaching building was just an old three-story cement building with light pink and off-white paint on the exterior walls. The balconies were openwork with floral tile patterns, and the wind blew through the corridor, carrying dampness and the smell of chalk in the morning.
The steps of the staircase were worn shiny by my heels, and a green sign was nailed at the corner: arrows, Chinese characters, and an abbreviation you couldn't understand.
Looking at the building alone, it was no different from the situation in Huaguo. The classroom doors were half-open for ventilation, and large fans hanging from the ceiling had been turned on in advance and were spinning around.
As you search for your classroom, you first pass the science lab, behind which are rows of graduated cylinders and bottles; then you pass the broadcasting room, where a senior student reads announcements into a microphone, her voice amplified by the loudspeaker in a soft, melodious way—it's a strange feeling. After listening to Cantonese lessons all night, you can distinguish what constitutes "normal" speech for the girls here.
Well, everyone has a different personality, but you still paid more attention to the way this girl pronounced her words.
Further down the corridor are regular classrooms. Walking along this open corridor, you might momentarily think you've returned to your old high school: the similar architectural style and interior design, and the familiar music playing on the loudspeakers. But if you linger your gaze for even a second longer, this familiarity actually creates a greater sense of unease.
Here, at every corner stands a small shrine, coconuts, bananas, and marigolds arranged quietly in rows, gold-framed portraits everywhere, the figures inside seemingly smiling, yet their gazes remain sinister—anyway, put your hands together first. You adopt a pious posture.
You mentally memorize the layout of the classrooms, one by one: the first floor houses the administration and health offices, the second floor has various classrooms densely packed together, and as for the third floor... it's the floor you were on last night. Compared to the second floor you're on now, the upper floors are much more dilapidated.
Moreover, the staircase leading from the second to the third floor was blocked off by two thick police tapes. Was it because of what happened yesterday? Your mind wandered as you walked to your M5 liberal arts class.
The classroom door clicked gently. You peeked inside, but it was empty.
You were stunned for a moment: it was clearly before class, so why was there no one there? You then realized that you had followed the flow of people into the teaching building, but now it seemed like you were the only one left.
A chill ran down your spine, and you almost reflexively twist your body.
A pair of hands patted your shoulders.
"You've come." It was a very gentle female voice, speaking in a flower language with an accent.
You instinctively put your hands together in prayer position before turning around, and you see a teacher standing at the door with a smile in her eyes.
“I saw you walking slowly in the hallway, so I came to find you. After putting down your bag, you need to go straight to the playground to assemble for the flag-raising ceremony. Your timing was unfortunate; the students who arrived earlier were already on the playground, and those who arrived later would go directly there and wouldn't stay in the classroom. Were you scared by the empty classrooms?”
So there are cultural differences like that? You really hadn't thought to check this information beforehand. You clasped your hands together in thanks, saying "Thank you, teacher." But is she your homeroom teacher?
As if she could sense your hesitation, her smile deepened: "I'm your class teacher. The language is Kuba Zhanshan. You're new here, so you might not remember what I look like."
You nod, but you still hesitate a little—you don't know where your seat is.
This "Kubazhan" seemed to be able to read minds. He turned to the side and gestured for her to enter, then lowered his voice to comfort her, saying, "What happened last night must have been very difficult for you. But don't be afraid. From today onward, let's find peace of mind together. When you pray, recite some scriptures for her as well, so that merit can fall upon you like an umbrella. The heavens will see it, and your ancestors will know. You will be protected by blessings while you are here."
She led you to your seat, but when you looked up, you saw a tall silver offering plate on the corner of the table in the fourth row by the window, with a few light beige paper flowers on it. The petals had a wood grain-like pattern and the edges were curled, like dried leaves. There were also two unlit, slender candles pressed down next to it.
“Those are paper sandalwood flowers used to commemorate the dead,” the teacher in charge said. “Afterwards, people will offer these flowers before the fire, and as the flowers fall one by one, it is hoped that the soul will have a broad path.”
That's Jinglian's spot.
"Shall we go?" the teacher asked softly.
You hummed in agreement, but your gaze remained fixed on Jinglian's seat. She followed your gaze, paused, and then smiled gently, "It's fine to leave it there. She studied in this class and sat in this seat before. Let her sit here for a while. After we finish today's work, we'll go to the temple together to light lamps and help her reach the Pure Land."
As the teacher spoke and smiled, her entire face exuded feminine grace, yet upon that grace lay a divine radiance. It was precisely this indescribable quality that made your heart flutter.
That's how he could still smile so calmly after one of his students left in such a horrific way.
You can't tell if this composure is cultivated compassion or a habit of distancing yourself from sadness. You feel a chill run down your spine.
In the real world, you would think such a person is crazy; but in the virtual world, you might think she could turn into a demon at any moment.
But if the teacher in charge of your class is a demon, then what is the whole school like? Hell?
Haha, that's interesting—you're just faking it, trying to find humor in hardship. You actually think this is a really serious matter. You need to be extremely vigilant.
First, we must go through the flag-raising ceremony.
Unexpectedly, despite your thorough preparations, the ceremony itself turned out to be nothing more than a mundane morning meeting.
The school has very few teachers and students, probably only a few hundred in total.
You squeezed into your class's line and quickly spotted familiar faces: Meiling and Huimin. They both looked a little listless, but perked up a bit when they saw you. They beckoned you to come and stand with them, and the teacher in charge didn't say anything, so you readily joined them.
Whispering is not allowed, but having these two "little fangirls" by your side makes you feel much more at ease.
"Put your hands together in prayer position," the school discipline committee member on the podium reminded everyone. You followed everyone else, placing your palms together in front of your chest, fingers touching, and pressing them against your heart.
Another burst of static came from the speaker, followed by a female voice: "Sawadika."
The voice was still sweet and didn't match your expectations of a school spokesperson, so you looked up and saw a well-dressed woman walking out of the stage, wearing a dark blue coat and a gleaming gold badge on her chest.
She's so tall, that's your first impression. She's so beautiful, that's your second impression.
Before you could think, you joined in the chorus of greetings from all the students: "Sawasdee ka" from the girls and "Sawasdee kap" from the boys. The two voices merged into a single, undifferentiated sound, indistinguishable by gender.
First, sit quietly for one minute. Then the announcement came again: "Now, please put your palms together, close your eyes, observe your breath, and pray for peace of mind." — Meiling told you all this later.
As the clock struck the hour, the announcement before the national anthem rang three times, "Dong—Dong—Dong—". Everyone stood in unison, facing the flagpole. You saw the ropes being pulled up, and the red, white, and blue cloth unfurled in the morning breeze. The singing came from all directions, everyone swaying back and mouthing the words in unison. You couldn't sing, so you could only nod slightly in rhythm with the crowd.
In that instant, all the birdsong suddenly stopped, and even the stray dogs that had been staring at you from the edge of the playground knelt down, as if in devout worship.
After the national anthem ended, the male host on stage bowed with his hands clasped together and announced the school motto. The students below the stage repeated it in unison, though your main role was to open your mouth and hum along.
Then came the "Daily Dharma Talk." A Buddhist teacher wearing a light-colored sarong stepped forward—her voice was finally no longer in that overly high-pitched tone: "May everyone treat those around you with loving-kindness and compassion. If there is turmoil in your heart, close your eyes and meditate quietly, and wait for it to pass by itself."
You see the stack of paper sandalwood flowers by the podium—exactly the same as the one on Jinglian's desk—and the teacher gently moves it to the gold-rimmed school badge and sets it on fire.
Is this reasonable? You think to yourself.
Next came the "Discipline and Notices" section. The woman who started the meeting came back on stage. Meiling later told you that she was the principal.
Her speech, however, was quite similar to that of your high school principal: "First, some good news—the children did very well in last week's competition. Second, please pay attention to two things: your hairstyles and school uniforms must conform to the school standards, and your shoes must be kept clean." She smiled briefly at this point, "Finally, and this is something I especially want to remind you of today: after sunset, the school is not a place for you to linger."
"After sunset, the wind changes direction. Security guards need to patrol, and teachers on night duty need to turn off the lights and lock the doors. The sunset looks beautiful, but it's a guide for us to go home. Everything must follow the rules for things to go smoothly. Dear children, please do not linger on campus at night, and do not play hide-and-seek in the buildings. If you must participate in activities, please stay with your teacher, wear your pass, and follow instructions. We believe you understand these things, and this will bring you good fortune and protect your peace."
“There’s one more thing,” the principal added, “regarding the rumors of the visit of the Impermanent One last night. The Impermanent One is a teacher, and also a reminder. We will give it a lamp and a bouquet of flowers in an appropriate way, and then send it away. Students, please use your Meta and Karuna to make it return to you in your words and deeds today.”
A few words, and the tragic death of a student was glossed over.
You feel uncomfortable about this, but it doesn't seem like a big deal. The deceased is gone, and schools are places for learning; wouldn't it be worse if everyone were filled with fear?
But you always feel that behind these many nice-sounding or even high-sounding words lies an extreme coldness from an overly high perspective.
"Classes, disperse in order," the boy in charge announced. Each class's teacher held up their class sign, and the lines moved in their respective directions as if guided by invisible threads.
-----------------------
Author's Note: This chapter was harder to write than I expected... I'm such a braggart, I still managed to write past midnight, I really deserve a beating... I'm kneeling in despair TT
I'm finally back home, hehehe, I'm so sleepy =. = I really can't hold on any longer, I'm about to collapse. I'll finish this chapter tomorrow. If you've already bought it, please consider it a discounted chapter. My eyes are really too tired to keep open, and my brain is about to explode.
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
