Disheartening favoritism
On Monday morning, the principal's voice, unusually serious, blared through the loudspeaker across the campus during the morning assembly: "Recently, an incident of malicious rumors by a student occurred at our school. After investigation, it has been verified that Li Zichen, a student from Class 3 of Grade 1, made false statements attacking a classmate due to personal grudges, causing a negative impact. It has now been decided to give Li Zichen a demerit, issue a school-wide notice of criticism, and order him to issue a public apology and submit a profound self-criticism..."
As the broadcast ended, I sat in the classroom, my fingertips clenched so tightly they turned white. The sunlight outside the window was bright, but it couldn't penetrate the heavy fog in my heart. Yesterday afternoon, when I went to the head of student affairs with those offensive recordings, my hands were trembling—they were secretly recorded by Lin Xi, recording Li Zichen's vulgar boasting on the basketball court.
I thought this was the end, but I never imagined it was just the beginning of another chill.
After the morning assembly, Li Zichen's parents were invited to the school. Through the office window, I saw his mother wiping away tears, his father pointing at him angrily and scolding him, while Li Zichen lowered his head, a hint of stubborn defiance hidden at the corner of his mouth.
When the head of student affairs let me in, Li Zichen was reluctantly reading his self-criticism, his voice barely audible, like a mosquito's buzz: "...I shouldn't have talked nonsense, I shouldn't have spread rumors about classmate Shen Zhixia, I was wrong..."
"Speak louder!" His father kicked him, his eyes practically spitting fire.
Li Zichen stiffened his neck and raised his voice, but when he read "apologize to classmate Chen Zhixia", he glared at me fiercely, as if to say "you just wait".
I ignored his perfunctory apology and just looked at the head of the teaching department: "I hope he will not harass me again in the future."
"Definitely, definitely." Li Zichen's mother nodded hurriedly, pulling him towards me, "Quick, promise Zhixia."
Li Zichen pursed his lips, refusing to say a word. In the end, he was forced by his father to squeeze out a "I know" through gritted teeth.
As I stepped out of the office, the corridor was chilly. Zheng Yiming stood not far away. When he saw me, he turned his face away with a complicated expression and didn't come over as usual.
My heart sank slightly.
During lunch break, I was tidying up my art supplies in the studio when Zheng Yiming pushed the door open, clutching a crumpled piece of paper in his hand, his face very unpleasant. "Do you really want to make a scene that requires your parents to be called in?" His first words were accusatory.
I froze, and the paintbrush in my hand fell to the ground with a "thud": "What do you mean I'm making a scene? He spread rumors about me and insulted me. Shouldn't he be punished?"
"He was wrong, but can't you just let it go?" He threw the crumpled paper on the table. It was Li Zichen's self-criticism, covered in corrections. "He's already apologized and been disciplined. What more do you want? Do you want to make him lose face in front of the whole school?"
"Can't hold your head up?" I laughed, laughing until tears almost came out. "What about me? When he was saying those things behind my back, who thought about me? He portrayed me so filthyly, making everyone look at me with strange eyes. Was I supposed to just put up with it?"
"He's just going through puberty and making silly jokes!" He raised his voice, his tone filled with annoyance I'd never heard before. "Are you making such a big deal out of this? The whole school knows about it now. How is he supposed to stay in school after this?"
"Making a mountain out of a molehill?" I looked at him, suddenly feeling a terrifying sense of estrangement. "In your eyes, his spreading rumors about me is just 'joking around'? My defending myself is 'making a mountain out of a molehill'?"
The air in the studio seemed to freeze instantly, with only the rustling of leaves in the wind outside the window, as if mocking my naiveté. I remembered how he had shielded me last time, and how he had said, "With me here, I won't let you suffer anymore." Those warm memories now turned into sharp fragments, piercing me painfully.
"So, you're here to accuse me on his behalf?" My voice was soft, as light as a feather, yet chillingly cold. "Because he's your friend? Or because you actually think I really am what he says?"
"That's not what I meant!" he hurriedly explained, his eyes darting away. "I just think... we should be forgiving. We're all classmates, there's no need to make things so tense."
"Should we be lenient when we can?" I picked up the paintbrush from the ground, gripping it tightly in my hand until my knuckles turned white. "Zheng Yiming, do you know what those words mean to a girl? It's a stain on her life! Can he erase it with just a 'joke'? You ask me to forgive him, but who will forgive me?"
He opened his mouth, but no words came out. In the end, he just sighed heavily: "I didn't expect you to be such a meticulous person."
“Seriously?” I looked at him, suddenly feeling all my strength drain away. “In your mind, me upholding my dignity is being seriously?”
He didn't answer, but turned away from me, his shoulders trembling slightly, as if he were angry or struggling. The studio was eerily quiet, with only our heavy breathing and the invisible rift widening in the air.
After a long pause, he whispered, "Li Zichen's father is my dad's colleague, and the two families have always had a good relationship... His parents just called my dad from the office and pleaded for a long time..."
I see.
It wasn't because of a "joke," nor because of "classmate friendship," but simply because of that ridiculous relationship. Therefore, he could easily forget the grievances I suffered, and from his "sensible" high ground, he could accuse me of not being tolerant enough.
I suddenly felt very tired, so tired that I didn't even have the energy to argue.
"I understand." I picked up my art supplies, turned around, and walked towards the door. "From now on, you don't need to worry about my affairs."
He called my name from behind, his voice tinged with urgency, but I didn't turn around.
Stepping out of the art studio, the sunlight was so bright it was blinding. Students strolled in twos and threes down the corridor, chatting and laughing. No one knew what had just happened in the studio, just as no one knew that the little warmth that had finally ignited in my heart had been doused with cold water once again.
It turns out that the so-called protection and favoritism are all conditional.
When it comes to his "connections" and "face," the harm I suffered becomes a "minor overreaction" that can be sacrificed.
Back in the classroom, I put the sketchbook full of cat drawings that Zheng Yiming had given me into the bottom of my backpack, weighing it down with old books. The osmanthus jar in my desk drawer was still emitting a sweet fragrance, but now it smelled like something rotten, suffocating me.
Perhaps, in the end, I will still be alone.
Those fleeting moments of warmth, those shoulders you thought you could lean on, were nothing but illusions before the storm.
The sun was still shining brightly outside the window, but I felt that this late autumn was colder than winter.
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