Chapter 170 School History Respect
At lunchtime, the sun was so intense it seemed to be baking the entire campus. The morning's hustle and bustle had subsided on the playground, but the cicadas' chirping filled the leaves, creating a cacophony that made one's eardrums ache.
You, Meiling, Huimin, and Wente, a group of six, walked out of the vending machine in a line. Each of you carried only a few pieces of bread and energy bars, and you ate them extremely quickly, sometimes swallowing them with barely any chewing.
It's true that you're starving after taking three exams in a row, but you also have something else on your mind: take advantage of your lunch break to go to the library.
Choosing noon was something you both agreed upon.
Firstly, after lunch, most students either huddle in their classrooms to rest or find somewhere to lie down, making the campus exceptionally quiet. Secondly, even teachers tend to let their guard down at this time, especially the elderly woman who manages the library, who is often dozing off behind the counter.
Most importantly... the sun is shining brightly, and everything is bright and cheerful, which makes you feel safer.
And something bad is bound to happen sooner or later—you thought to yourself.
However, when you reached the library entrance, you all couldn't help but slow down.
This is a very small high school. Most of the school buildings are quite old, and the library is particularly dilapidated, almost like a historical relic.
Two heavy wooden doors stood before you, their frames a dull, dark paint, marked by the scars of time. You quietly pushed one open and stepped inside, a chill mingled with the musty smell of paper and wood.
You wish you could be Mr. Krabs and pop your eyes in to check on the teacher.
Sure enough, the supervising teacher behind the counter was slumped over the table, head buried in her arms, breathing evenly, fast asleep. An open book lay on the table, its pages rustling softly in the warm breath, a clear indication that no one else was there.
There are no security cameras here, that's great.
The six of you exchanged glances, almost simultaneously holding your breath. Even though you weren't stealing, you felt even more guilty than if you had.
Even if you try to make every step as light as possible, the sound of your shoes scraping against the terrazzo floor still stands out starkly in the afternoon silence. Your heart pounds, your palms sweat, and you're terrified that even the slightest sound will wake the teacher.
You six little thieves slipped through the front hall like statues of thieves. The tall bookshelves around you were like upright black walls, and the old lady who was in charge of housekeeping could no longer see you.
However, even though the reading hall is surrounded by floor-to-ceiling glass walls, once you walk in, you realize that the library's location is not good. Despite the bright sunlight, it is still dark and gloomy.
You feel inexplicably uneasy. When you look up again, you feel, perhaps due to your own imagination, that the wooden spines of the books are neatly arranged, thick rows, with gilded patterns, like countless pairs of eyes coldly watching you.
Finally, sunlight streamed through the glass windows high up, cutting out several bright beams that made the dust floating in the air clearly visible, but also added an extra layer of turbidity.
The ceiling fan turned slowly, creaking and groaning.
This time, Meiling walked in front. She was more familiar with the area, and when she felt confident, she would subtly and confidently move to the front.
She turned around and made a small gesture, signaling everyone to be quiet. Huimin lowered her head, gripped your hand tightly, and pinched it so hard it hurt.
You—oh well, never mind.
The Thai girls seemed calmer, after all, they had less experience than Meiling and Huimin, and at this moment, excitement and the thrill of "doing something bad" probably took precedence over them.
You're not here to see those empty words that are openly displayed for people to read and observe.
Although it was somewhat against the rules—not illegal at all—it felt like stealing a forbidden secret. The girls were stiff with a mixture of unease and nervousness, along with anticipation of the unknown. Even excluding the possibility of supernatural interference, they were completely tense.
The further you went in, the more stuffy the air became. Finally, after winding around several times, you stopped in front of an iron gate.
A rusty iron plaque is nailed to the door frame, with a few familiar Thai words crookedly engraved on it: Archives.
The paint on the iron gate was far worse than that of the library door, giving it a neglected look. However, there were deep and shallow scratches around the keyhole, as if it had been repeatedly opened and closed over the years. The two notices posted at the entrance were yellowed, but still faintly legible:
— Entry is prohibited without permission.
—Keep quiet and avoid damaging the files.
Meiling turned to help you translate, but you put your fingertip to your lips, indicating that you understood.
However, this very routine reminder carries a hint of malicious warning: those who step in will face a certain price.
Huimin, who was holding your hand, noticed your momentary pause immediately. Fear gripped her, and she muttered softly, "Maybe... let's forget it? Do we really have to go in? I think it's unnecessary. We even got through the exam well today, didn't we?"
Her voice wasn't loud, but it was too quiet here, so Mint behind her heard what she said immediately.
Huimin was talking about the language of flowers, but judging from her expression, Minte guessed that Huimin wanted to back out, and immediately grabbed her.
You can barely understand what Mindray meant by "Don't be afraid," "Historical search," and "It's not stealing."
Huimin was very uneasy, and all you could do was pat her hand to cheer her up. There was no turning back now. Wen Te's tone was a bit stern, but since you'd agreed to do this together, and you're already here, do more and say less, and resolve the matter as quickly as possible.
Meiling twisted the doorknob; the seemingly imposing iron door was actually not locked. With a creak, it was slowly pushed open.
The six of you should hide in this stagnant room where the air hasn't circulated for a long time.
Perhaps to maintain a constant temperature and dryness, these archives are all dimly lit. Combined with the climate of Thailand, they are not cool at all, but rather unbearably hot and humid, filled with the sour and musty smell of old paper, making it difficult to breathe.
You look up at those towering filing cabinets; with the slightest step, the wooden planks creak and vibrate from somewhere. A thin layer of dust covers the floor, and even the smallest step stirs up the dust.
The administrator or someone else comes here often, but doesn't clean or maintain it properly—what does that tell us?
You take a few steps closer, thinking: in this environment, you must be extremely careful when handling the files. You don't think the documents here are well-preserved; you don't want to damage them just by reading them...
Ptooey!
Your shoulders are slightly tense, and you meticulously put your hands together in a salute to all directions. The other people follow your movements and do the same.
Which era should you start with? You're a little unsure.
Meiling seemed to have spotted a different era. She let out a soft "Ah," then pulled open the oak drawer marked with an era label and took out a thick, black leather file. The cover was worn, and old, cracked stickers remained on the seal.
She turned to the first page, dust particles fell, and lines of faded ink text leaped into view. You leaned forward, struggling to make out the dates: 1965, 1966, 1967... You could only make out that it was some Buddhist calendar year over two thousand.
Is this era particularly special? You clearly don't know much about the history of Thailand.
So Meiling explained to you in a whisper why she chose to look at the archives from this period.
That was a turbulent time.
That winter, the conflict between the military government and ordinary civilians intensified, and young people naturally rushed to the front lines, waving small flags and shouting threats of losing their heads.
This applies to young people in society, and it also applies to high school students who are not yet adults.
You see Meiling's fingertips trembling slightly as she reads a passage using the language of flowers:
"...In month x, during the school building expansion, three faculty and staff members were forced to leave the school due to improper activities; in month x of the same year, the school responded to the government's call to organize students to participate in a reflection meeting, after which several students disappeared without a trace."
Your brow is furrowed.
This archive is not a typical school history; it contains unspeakable accounts of turmoil hidden beneath the veneer of public propaganda. You slowly approach, wanting to see it clearly.
Meiling moved aside slightly so you could reach out and hold onto the page, but then your hand felt like it had been burned.
Are you seeing things?
What's that under the ink stains that leak from this old-fashioned printer? Several long strips with horizontal, circular lines on them... Are those engraved handprints?
It's as if someone, while the paper is still warm from the printer and the ink is not yet dry, repeatedly presses and wipes it with their hand to cover up what is written on it.
You all crowded around and turned to the next few pages, where several black and white photos were tucked inside the file.
One photo in particular stands out – it shows the old campus site.
The school walls, students lined up, faculty and staff stood in salute. In the distance, a military vehicle was parked at the main gate, its flag drooping, the crowd's expressions solemn, their faces appearing as if blurred into ink blotches in the blurry photograph.
There are no captions next to the photos, but it's not hard to tell what caused the incomplete record of this year.
This is not your world, nor your country, and you only feel a sense of helplessness that cannot be expressed. But the other girls all harbor a suppressed anger.
“We have actually been deprived of our right to know!” Meiling said.
That sound was a bit high.
Bang!
Went lightly patted her friend and whispered a scolding, "Why are you being so clumsy?"
The girl quickly apologized, embarrassed, and bowed fourteen times with her hands clasped together.
Is it really her?
You turn your head and look around, and...
The light source in the archives is only a little bit near the ceiling, but the shadows behind the filing cabinets seem to hang so high on the iron shelves, as if the light is shining right under your feet.
Meiling had already turned the page when the pages suddenly clicked, and you instinctively blinked.
There was no sign of it on the filing cabinet.
You pulled your hand back and put it in your pocket.
You feel a sense of being watched.
Take a deep breath and suppress the tension. No matter what you see next, stay calm.
Meiling suggested taking photos to commemorate the occasion, so that they could reveal the unknown historical truth.
As she spoke, she pulled her phone out of her pocket. The screen's light was glaringly bright in the dimly lit archives room, and her eyes were resolute, as if she had grasped a breakthrough: "We need to preserve evidence so we can uncover all this darkness later!"
You instinctively reached out and suddenly grabbed her wrist. The force was greater than you expected. Meiling was stunned and stared at you with wide eyes.
"Don't take pictures," you said.
"Why? Isn't this proof enough? Otherwise, no one would believe us!" Meiling was anxious, her obsession carrying a fearless and reckless courage.
You gaze at the narrow gaps created by the deformation between the densely packed file books, and the omnipresent, deep darkness.
"Have you thought about this?" you said slowly, forcing her and Went to calm down. "These things belong to the past. They have already been resolved—the passion, the sacrifices, and the suppressed darkness have all sunk into history. If we insist on reopening them in the present way, it's like pulling back resentment that doesn't belong to the present."
You added softly, "History is not something for people today to manipulate. What should be remembered is etched in blood; what should be forgotten remains in the dust. If we insist on starting all over again, that would be the deepest desecration of those who truly experienced it."
Meiling stood there stunned for a long time, her fingers slowly relaxing as the phone gently fell to the ground. Her eyes held struggle, resentment, and the pain of being persuaded.
"...So we know but can't do anything about it?" she murmured.
You take a deep breath and lower your voice: "It's not that we can't do it. It's just that we have to do it 'in the present moment.' What lives in this moment is what needs to be protected the most. As for the distant past, it may be a far-reaching background, but we can leave it alone for now."
"We need to protect ourselves first and deal with the immediate situation. Okay?"
Meiling chose to listen to you, and besides, you really don't have much time left. She didn't insist anymore, and you continued searching.
There were no problems in the years preceding this year, and everything gradually returned to normal after this year.
The text still shows signs of deletion and alteration, but compared to that blank period, the later chapters feel more vivid and real.
In the first few years after its reconstruction, the school struggled to rebuild itself amidst turmoil.
The file states that many teachers were forced to leave due to their social background, but new young teachers continued to join.
Most of them were recent graduates from ordinary universities and law and political science universities. They had experienced the storms on the streets and carried with them the untainted enthusiasm of children. They advocated replacing mechanical indoctrination with "open classrooms," even though at the time, this attempt was met with skepticism and suppression from outsiders.
But the school withstood the pressure and supported this group of energetic students and teachers.
Then came another black-and-white photograph: on a dilapidated playground, students held bamboo poles and makeshift volleyball nets. The caption in the archives said it was a sports meet in the early days of reconstruction.
Compared to the previous photos showing students being forced to stand in line, salute, and listen to lectures, the smiles of the students in this photo appear much more genuine.
Behind the photo is a beautifully written comment that even a novice like you can see: "The new order is still unstable, but a new cohesion has been formed among the young people."
The archives also mention that, with the monks' assistance, the school built a new auditorium and a Buddhist hall. The monks often came to explain the meaning of "precepts," "cause and effect," and "patience."
For confused and impulsive students, this was not only a religious lesson but also a way to heal psychological trauma. Wentworth and her friends were moved to tears; they said they could imagine children who had lost loved ones on the streets chanting prayers in unison in the morning light. How sacred!
The document also includes the original course schedule. New additions included "Social Studies" and "Civic Education," and there was a renewed emphasis on mathematics and science. The language arts class also saw a significant increase in free writing assignments.
A few years later, the archives recorded that the students spontaneously formed a "Student Representative Committee," although it was later dissolved due to excessive external pressure. The meeting minutes stated: "Students are no longer silent recipients of education, but co-builders of the campus's destiny."
Meiling and the others all exclaimed "Wow!"
As you listen to Meiling softly translating those stories, yellowed by time, your heart surges with emotion.
These fragmented memories of bloody passion, pieced together bit by bit in your mind, are like a bloody birthmark on the campus itself.
This seems to suggest that the school is not just a dilapidated place with a few teaching buildings and an aging playground, but rather some kind of enormous container.
Decades ago, it bore witness to the sacrifices of students, the passing of teachers, and the manipulation of unknown forces behind the scenes. So what are these teachers now? Are they witnesses? Perpetrators? Or are they souls trapped here, forced to "act"?
You don't have much time left, and reading stories like this will only make you feel more restless. There's absolutely no ventilation here; the cabinets all around are dark and oppressive, like a sealed coffin.
Let's split up and act separately.
Mei-ling and Hui-min followed you to find the alumni roster and photos. Wen-te and her two companions continued to peruse the school history.
The cover of the alumni register was torn, and as you turned to the first page, a pungent, musty smell filled your nostrils. The list contained rows of neat names, continuing from fifty years ago. Some of the students' photos were blurry, but you could still make out their smiles from back then.
A photo that is completely blurry or extremely clear is fine, but this one, where the body is clear while the facial details are all blurred, always feels very awkward to look at.
A chill runs down your spine: Are these people still alive?
Judging by the timeline, they should be in their prime, the backbone of today's society. But these photos... evoke a very ominous feeling.
You can't help but wonder, if they exist, is it because they actually exist, or simply because their names are recorded in this book?
Huimin leaned closer and pointed to one of the blurry black and white photos, saying, "This person... seems a little familiar?"
"Where do you look familiar?" Meiling clicked her tongue in disapproval, not wanting the atmosphere to become awkward. "I can't even see their faces clearly. To me, they all look the same."
You slapped them both, and Meiling, who wanted to argue with you, turned around and saw your posture. She quickly put her hands together and apologized to the photo.
Regardless of someone's current situation, you shouldn't say things you shouldn't!
At the same time, Moon suddenly exclaimed, "It's broken here!"
You all quickly gathered around, and there you saw that the thick, combined edition of the school's history after entering the new era abruptly ended the records from ten years ago.
That year's entries were very complete—there were photos from the school anniversary celebration, reports of competition awards, and student council work reports. But after that year, everything was blank.
“But the school is still there,” Huimin said softly. “Why aren’t there any records from the back?”
There were indeed other papers in the filing cabinet, but they weren't official records; they were just scattered newspaper clippings. Every single one had the same theme: "Our school's achievements reach new heights," "Students win provincial championship," and "Ministry of Education leaders inspected and were satisfied."
All of them are positive, without a single flaw.
Meiling pursed her lips, her fingers unconsciously tracing the pages: "It's like... someone doesn't want us to know."
You must have thought of the earliest piece of history you found.
But history is history. Can memories of an era so close to the present really be easily erased?
You shivered.
This is a copy of the rules.
You think of the "rules" and "cause and effect" that have always puzzled you.
What if "records" are the very foundation of existence? Then, once they are erased, do those people and events truly cease to exist?
You didn't speak. Wen Te frowned, clearly not believing what Mei Ling had just said: "Could it just be that the files weren't organized properly? You're overthinking it."
The short-haired girl next to her added with a sneer, "Yeah, it's written like a ghost story. Have you Chinese people watched too many horror movies?"
The atmosphere suddenly became tense.
Even though they usually get along very well, in a moment of frankness, certain political identities still created a great distance between them.
Meiling turned her head sharply, her voice cold and hard: "Show some respect!"
It seems that Wente and the others didn't really intend to attack you. It was just that the subtle differences in identity and sense of belonging between the Flower People, Flower Descendants, and Thai Descendants led them to instinctively explain to "their own people" when faced with the past tense of several decades ago and the present tense of ten years ago, and then launch a defensive attack on "you".
Minte quickly apologized, saying she absolutely meant no harm and that everyone should take it to heart.
Her attitude was sincere and beyond reproach, but as soon as she finished speaking, the entire file suddenly began to flip by itself. The heavy papers rustled in the air, like someone rapidly shaking a deck of cards, sending up a large cloud of old paper scraps flying.
"What's going on?" Went looked at you, completely bewildered. The file was still in her hands!
Before you could say anything, Mint's eyes widened, and like a wild beast struggling uncontrollably, she was thrown forward several steps with her arms raised, finally falling to the ground, and the file book was flung away.
The file fell steadily to the ground, cover down, but the pages continued to turn. The six of you unconsciously moved closer and embraced each other until the pages stopped turning.
It is a color graduation photo.
Dozens of students sat upright on the stone steps of the playground, with teachers in the front row.
Even in an era with high-definition cameras, the teacher's face was even more blurry than an ancient black-and-white photograph, turning into a mere shadow.
But the moment the photo was clearly visible to you, only the eyes gradually became clear.
The row of eyes that appeared, with their black pupils embedded in the whites of their eyes, were all fixed intently on your direction.
The bookshelf suddenly began to shake, and the oppressive air exploded. Hundreds and thousands of pieces of paper flew out from the gaps around them, swirling in the air like flocks of birds. They fluttered and gathered, forming a line of black characters.
Meiling's voice trembled with fear as she translated it for you: "To record is to exist, to erase is to perish."
The short-haired girl took a step back and reached out to block. But the paper sliced across the back of her hand like a blade. The next instant, she screamed as her palm was slashed open, and bright red blood dripped onto a blank sheet of white paper.
The blood seeped out, but instead of forming ordinary bloodstains, it wriggled and spread into pitch-black symbols. The symbols were as blurry as a curse, yet they kept rolling and writhing, as if trying to crawl out of the paper.
"Kick right! Kick right!" the girl with the cut hand cried out for help in Cantonese.
"Shut up!" you whispered, telling Mei-ling to cover the girl's mouth. Wen-te initially tried to stop Mei-ling, but she quickly understood your intention.
There's a sign on the door of their archives saying to keep quiet!
You need to first analyze the meaning represented by the scene before you:
This is not a simple incompleteness, and it is even different from the major movements of decades ago. The person who deliberately erased the record of a certain year was an individual, not an irresistible or unspeakable force.
—Does the blurry faces of these teachers mean they shouldn't be "remembered" at all? Are these the same teachers currently working in schools?
—"If it is recorded, it exists; if it is not recorded, it dies." Is this a reminder or a threat?
Huimin covered her mouth, crying silently, and clung to your waist like a koala. It's rare to remain calm even after a thousand or a hundred times in a situation like this!
The paper scraps continued to flutter, the light flickering. The short-haired girl had only a minor cut, yet the bleeding wouldn't stop, as if the black curse was extending to her arm.
Your heart is pounding, and only one thought remains in your mind:
Never mind, let's try anything!
Then you pulled out a bottle—
Nail polish with fine gold glitter.
-----------------------
Author's Note: ^^
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
