Jiang Jixue faintly sensed that Chang’an must be seeing something invisible to ordinary people right now.

She knew this feeling well—often misunderstood as a weirdo by others, even ostracized.

But the real shock? Chang’an had just described her cousin’s appearance… exactly as she looked one year ago, moments before her suicide.

Jiang Jixue scrambled to her feet, frantically wiping tears from her face—dust smudged her cheeks, but she didn’t care. Her eyes stayed locked on Chang’an, tense and trembling.

Ye Chang’an’s face tightened with restrained fury. Gentle by nature, he rarely reached this breaking point.

Yet what he’d witnessed—the tragic suicide of Jiang Jixue’s cousin—flooded him with helplessness, despair, and searing rage.

Worst of all? The one who truly drove her to death might still be free… possibly even teaching at this very school.

The vision settled on a lonely Sunday. An empty classroom. Jiang Jixue’s cousin had returned alone—to the very room where she was first assaulted—to end her life.

A trace of reluctance flickered across her face in those final seconds.

Was it because she thought of her younger sister?

But this world had already wounded her too deeply.

As the criminal—unworthy of the title “teacher”—once sneered: no matter how she cried for help, hinted desperately, or sent anonymous letters reporting *her*, the world stayed silent.

Instead, she was branded a “problem student.”

For a teacher, twisting public opinion was effortless. That female teacher spread rumors about Jiang Jixue’s cousin, smoothly burying her own crimes.

No one believed the victim. The very goodwill born from respect for teachers became the final straw.

They assumed the teacher was right, the student wrong—especially since she held influence: connections, whispers after class, subtle manipulations.

*“I heard about that student in your class…”*

*“Huh… Really?”*

*“Yeah. She’s been spreading rumors about me. All because I was a little strict.”*

Well-meaning colleagues trusted the liar. That deceived trust became an accomplice.

Most people aren’t evil. But manipulated goodwill can forge the cruelest evils.

No wonder Jiang Jixue’s cousin felt such despair. She’d sought help from a trusted teacher—surely not all were in cahoots, all criminals.

She just wanted help. To be heard.

Instead: harsh scolding. *“Don’t resent teachers for being strict. Stop spreading rumors.”*

Classmates pulled away, calling her disrespectful, accusing her of vile lies…

But the truth was… she was only crying for help.

Why did no one believe her?

Maybe someone did.

Jiang Jixue—her younger sister—would have believed her without doubt.

Yet she never told her. Too cruel. Her sister still dreamed brightly of entering Chang’an Middle School.

She couldn’t shatter that dream with her own hands.

She clung to the belief: most people and things are good. She was just unlucky.

Others could live on peacefully.

Only she had lost all hope.

Repeatedly assaulted. Mentally shattered. Drowning in loneliness and depression.

So she chose this classroom—the one that stole her innocence—to die alone.

A final act of resistance.

She hoped death would prove her innocence.

Yet a year later, only Jiang Jixue still remembered her.

That day was peak summer. Cicadas hummed. Scorching heat blanketed the earth.

Alone in the classroom, she slit her wrists with a small knife. Blood pooled across the floor, stealing her warmth as she quietly waited for life to fade.

How utterly lonely… and cold it must have been.