How did things beco like this? Shang wondered numbly as he stared at the dead body in front of him.
He had lost count of how many tis he had asked himself this question recently. No matter how much he racked his brain, he could not figure out where things had started to go wrong.
Shang wouldn’t call himself a good person, but he wasn’t inherently evil either. He was just an ordinary person trying to survive— that’s right, everything he did, every choice he made, was all for the sake of survival.
Shang’s entire life could be sumd up as diocre at most.
He was born into a middle-class family. His parents were kind, honest people who worked diligently to provide him with the best. Shang was lucky to inherit their best genetics, granting him a pleasing appearance, a high IQ, and an equally sharp EQ. He knew how to carry himself and speak the right words at the right ti. Because of that, his life had been mostly smooth sailing.
He graduated from a top-tier university and applied to a key high school to teach modern arts.
Despite his young age, he carried himself with grace and gentle authority. He got along well with the students, becoming a guardian figure they both respected and admired. Thanks to that, he managed to get a quick promotion and secured his position as a horoom teacher.
And that was where his nightmare began.
It was often said that a school was akin to a small society, where students ford cliques and only hung out with people that matched their social status. And maybe because these children’s mindset had long been skewed before their frontal lobe could develop fully, their malice was even more terrifying than adults— pure, unconcealed, and cruelly innocent. They saw nothing wrong with isolating those from poorer backgrounds, trampling on them, shunning them, suppressing them, even taking pride in it, as if such acts were badges of honor they must boast about.
School bullying.
Not a rare occurrence, yet still a massive headache for the teachers nonetheless.
For the nth ti this sester, Shang summoned the troublemaker to his office.
"I heard you’re bullying your classmate again?" he adapted a stern deanor, his brows furrowing in disapproval. "Have you forgotten what I told you last ti? If you repeat it again, I’d have to call your parents!"
"Sorry, sorry, Teach." The boy stuck out his tongue playfully, showing no hint of remorse whatsoever. "Who is such a blabbermouth to report again..." he muttered under his breath.
The vein on Shang’s forehead throbbed. "Are you listening to ?!"
"Yes!" The boy straightened up and replied loudly. But his serious deanor only lasted for a second before he threw a mischievous grin, sidling up closer to Shang while taking out sothing from his pocket. "Don’t be angry anymore, Teach. It’s useless even if you call my parents, they won’t care about what I do. Here, I’ll give you this and you let go, okay?"
Shang glanced at the small box under the boy’s palm— an elegant, chic package, and international brand embossed in gold. Shang’s eyelids jumped. He had a strong impression of the brand of this watch, mainly because it was so expensive that he needed to save up half a year of his salary to afford the cheapest item.
His face darkened. "Take it back. What do you an by this?"
The boy tutted and withdrew his hand, slipping the box into his pocket once more. "Alright, alright, I know I’m in the wrong this ti."
Looking at the boy’s grouchy attitude, Shang got the urge to palm his forehead. Where did he learn to do sothing so slick? Did he learn it from his parents? Seems like I really have to give them a call soti, he noted to himself.
Sighing, he waved his hand to dismiss the boy, "Alright, I’ll let you go this one ti. There’s no next ti, do you hear ?"
The boy’s expression lit up in an instant. "Okay, Teach! Understood, Teach! Thank you, Teach!" he bowed down to his waist, his voice loud and full of sincerity.
Looking at his energetic back as he skipped out of the office, Shang couldn’t help but shake his head with a helpless laugh.
The teacher beside him, who had been watching, chid in at the right mont, "That’s the troublemaker from your class, isn’t it, Teacher Shang? I heard his father is the real deal," the teacher gave a subtle thumbs-up beneath the table, then leaned in to whisper in a low voice, "Let tell you, it doesn’t hurt to foster a better relationship with his son. Just don’t cross them, or the ones who suffer will be us ordinary folks."
Hearing that, Shang rely gave a faint smile.
At the end of the day, children were still children— so youthful and passionate. They were unlike adults who were full of sches and underhanded tricks. At such a young age, it’s natural to commit one or two silly mistakes, right? Even back in his student days, there had been such a troublemaker too, who liked to tease the girl he liked. But after a stern talking from the teacher, he had learned to behave himself better.
There was no need to be so harsh on them, he thought.
.
.
In hindsight, that had been his first mistake.
He had underestimated how far these students could go.
.
.
When Shang heard that soone from his class had died—a suicide, no less—it was like soone had struck the back of his head with a baseball bat, sending his mind buzzing.
"...Pardon?"
The principal let out a heavy sigh. "...They have gone a bit too far this ti. Teacher Shang, make sure to reprimand them properly. It’s good that we discovered her body early and kept the news under wraps, or else..."
Shang could no longer hear the rest of the other person’s words. Sitting on the sofa chair, he felt his mind spinning.
Dead...?
That girl was dead?
The image of a small and delicate face crossed his mind. Quiet, diligent, diocre grade, just a little introverted and always kept her head down. It led to her often being the target of the troublemaker boy’s teasing.
How could she kill herself all of a sudden...?
—Was it really sudden, though?
Uncontrollably, Shang’s mind drifted back to her forlorn and loneso figure sitting alone at the corner of the classroom, her trembling shoulders when she stood in front of the class receiving punishnt because she had not done her howork, the frequent trips to the infirmary...
With how diligent she was, was it possible that she would forget doing her howork?
All the little signs popped up in Shang’s mind one after another like mushroom caps growing after the rain— so subtle, yet so obvious. It’s just that he chose to ignore them. He told himself that it was enough to warn the bullies. He told himself that they were re children and their pranks were harmless. He told himself that the girl did not even ask for help, so it wasn’t his place to step in...
In the end, he had failed to hear her pleas for help.
The girl’s suicide didn’t make a huge splash, with the school principal ordering the ss to be cleaned up as soon as possible. Everyone acted as usual, and the routine resud, as if she was but a re insignificant pebble plunging into the vast ocean, making no sound or ripples with her downfall.
Only Shang rembered.
That day, he was particularly stern as he gave a lecture against school bullying in front of the class. But the very sa night, he received a substantial amount of money in his bank account—the number huge enough for his whole family to splurge for years to co.
Shang’s pupils shook, his back growing cold. He understood; this was hush money.
The money to buy his silence, and also... the price of the girl’s life.
Shang couldn’t help but swallow. The money felt like it had been tainted with blood, but... it was so much. He had never seen so much money in his life. With this, he could secure his parents’ retirent and bought them a house they had been eyeing in the countryside. With this, he no longer had to work so hard, having to juggle other side jobs aside from teaching to afford his car and house mortgages.
Who said that money couldn’t buy happiness?
As long as the amount was sufficient, it could even buy a human life.
A bitter smile tugged at the corner of Shang’s mouth. If he had been a little more righteous, a little more saintly, he might have refused this outright, claiming he would absolutely not receive this kind of dirty money. However... he was a realistic adult, he also needed to live, needed to feed himself, needed to take care of his aging parents, needed to arrange a better future for himself.
All of it required money—not what he could achieve just by working himself to the bone day by day.
For that, it would be okay to accept this... right?
Besides, how was he even supposed to return this? He didn’t know who he should go to. The principal? If anything, he would only advise Shang to keep the money for himself. The troublemaker boy? Impossible, this was surely an arrangent from his parents and had nothing to do with the boy himself. It was useless to appeal to an underage teen.
Shang tried to convince himself with this logic, crushing that tiny bit of guilt that had barely sprouted inside his heart.
Alas, never had he foreseen that this would just be the start of his nightmare.
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