Chapter 9: Returning to Alma Mater (Part 2)

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In the end, under the teasing of her classmates, Fu Yuan still took a photo with the security guard.

The girl in the photo shyly smiled, while the young man, with a slightly immature face, faced the camera and raised his index and middle fingers in a big “yeah” sign.

The group entered the campus and then dispersed, with a few close friends walking together.

Fu Yuan walked alone toward the library. The tree-lined paths along the main road remained lush and green. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting mottled golden patches on the ground, while occasional birds chirped melodiously in the trees.

The school operated six days a week with Sunday off, making it a day of rest. Students passed by on the road, most having finished their lunch break and heading in groups to the library or classrooms.

Those without study plans gathered on the other side, where the basketball and soccer fields were lively.

On the way, she saw the slightly balding principal and several school leaders smiling broadly as they led a group on a tour of the school. Most of the visitors held cameras and notebooks, occasionally directing microphones toward the principal.

Fu Yuan glanced a few times before withdrawing her attention.

Inside the library.

The high school library was not large, only three floors. Neither the collection nor the study environment could compare to a university’s. But the students here were mostly vibrant and focused, rarely dozing off.

Fu Yuan recognized the familiar layout, which had changed little. At the center of the first floor was a leisure reading area furnished with several round seats. The outer shell was white metal, while the seats themselves resembled soft sofas, ideal for napping.

She had not slept well the previous night; she dreamed of a deeply sorrowful old woman. The woman seemed to regard her as some kind of deity, incessantly lamenting how miserable her years had been:

She had raised her children devotedly in youth, but now, in old age, her children ignored her, never coming home for the New Year and not answering calls.

She also spoke of a neighboring elderly woman, thirteen years her junior, whose children were attentive and drove to visit weekly with a car full of things.

Because there was no threatening presence in the dream, Fu Yuan did not know how to break the cycle. She listened to the old woman’s nagging all night until dawn, finally resting briefly without dreams. But she had not slept long before being called by her mother for breakfast.

She chose a chair in a corner, slowly lay down on it, and pulled a newspaper over her face to block the light.

Around her were the sounds of pages turning and pen tips scratching paper. Fu Yuan soon emptied her mind and drifted to sleep.

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The sounds of pages turning and pen scratching grew clearer, and for some unknown reason, the sky darkened.

A middle-aged woman bent over a desk, a desk lamp beside her emitting a faint glow. The light halo slowly contracted, growing dimmer.

When the woman looked up, she recognized a familiar face.

Teacher Shen?

Fu Yuan was surprised.

She had appeared in her dream this morning when the class president and others had been unreachable, and now she had contacted her within the dream.

She saw Teacher Shen suddenly frustrated, clutching her hair and tearing apart a manuscript filled with dense writing, muttering regretfully, “I have no clue at all…”

Fu Yuan did not interrupt but crouched down to pick up the torn paper, piecing it back together and scanning it quickly. “xfm apkl…” The content was all English letters and symbols, crooked and flowing darkly across the page, mischievously wandering back and forth.

Teacher Shen began writing again. Fu Yuan sighed and gently took the paper from her hand, looking into her eyes and softly saying, “Teacher Shen, you can’t write an article while you’re dreaming.”

Only then did she seem to notice Fu Yuan, surprised. “Who are you? How did you get into my room?”

Fu Yuan rubbed her forehead and whispered, “I’m your student.”

Teacher Shen appeared somewhat pleased, a faint smile blooming on her face as she took the papers from Fu Yuan and pulled her to the desk:

“Whatever way you came, I need to write a speech. Tomorrow is Monday. The principal asked me to speak as an outstanding homeroom teacher, but no matter how I write, I can’t get a draft I’m satisfied with…”

Toward the end, her tone grew despondent, her voice softening, then she laughed, “Don’t laugh at me. I used to write these quickly, but maybe I’m old now—I just don’t feel as sharp as before.”

Fu Yuan roughly understood the situation.

At Jiangshi No. 1 High School, every Monday there was a flag-raising ceremony with speeches by an outstanding student and teacher. She had spoken a few times but found it troublesome and let others take over later.

Still, her gaze was peculiar. Teacher Shen was a regular outstanding teacher representative, and even if her thinking was slower, she shouldn’t be so troubled by a mere speech draft.

The odd part was that this was exactly Teacher Shen’s complaint.

Fu Yuan sighed, choosing not to help write but repeated softly, “You can’t write articles while you’re dreaming. You need to wake up.”

Teacher Shen laughed, “Dream or not, it’s Sunday now, and I’m at home, right?”

“Wait a moment. I’ll get you some fruit. What a memory I have.” Saying this, she got up and opened the door.

Fu Yuan did not know what kind of logic she had, but strange things happening in dreams were normal.

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She stood and surveyed the entire room. It felt oppressive, with faded, cracked dark red wallpaper peeling from the walls. As she looked, dozens of eyes on the wallpaper stared at her intently, shifting slightly as she moved.

The chandelier flickered intermittently as if poorly connected. On the desk lay many small trinkets, like tiny skulls and Western dragons.

The unlocked drawer revealed some scolding and mocking notes inside.

Fu Yuan recalled Teacher Shen’s earlier social media posts, where her bedroom looked different, and the desk held rows of green plastic potted plants.

“Have some fruit.” Teacher Shen entered with a plate of strawberries, smiling gently at Fu Yuan. “My husband bought these. They say they have a nickname—Snow White.”

Fu Yuan reached out and pinched a strawberry from the plate but didn’t bring it to her mouth. She glanced at her and casually said, “That’s a beautiful meaning. Your husband really loves you.”

“Of course he does!…”

She blurted out, but before finishing, her brows furrowed tightly, as if recalling something. “No, wait… he…”

She closed her eyes, her expression pained.

Fu Yuan saw a wisp of black mist rise from her forehead, dissipating upon contact with the air.

The wallpaper around them seemed to suffer great agony; some eyes closed tightly, while others glared at Fu Yuan in anger.

Fu Yuan pretended not to notice and gently asked, “What’s wrong with him?”

“I don’t know…” she said painfully, crouching on the floor, utterly helpless, murmuring nonsensical words with no logic. “I remember he hit me just yesterday. No, it wasn’t him…”

Who hit her?

Seeing her like this, Fu Yuan was puzzled and about to ask more when the dream suddenly trembled violently.

Teacher Shen seemed possessed, deaf to her voice, fully immersed in her own world.

Then the dream shattered like fragile glass, breaking into pieces.