"You mean we can go to school like the children in the city?" The girl's eyes shone with longing as she asked again and again to make sure. "Is it true?"
For them, their families would rather send the boys away, and going to school was nothing more than an unattainable dream.
Yet today, someone had told them they would take them away and send them to school.
The kind-faced adult was talking with the villagers about something. The girls huddled together behind a tiled wall, curiously eavesdropping on their conversation.
They saw the adult from outside take out a pile of small bags. That night, a bag was delivered to every villager.
One little girl was curious and wanted to know what was inside.
But when she tried to sneak a look, an elder in her family clutched it tightly to their chest, afraid she would see.
The next day, they were gathered at the entrance to the village. Dressed in ragged clothes, they stood barefoot and ill at ease.
The kind outsider studied them for a moment, then crouched down and asked, "Do you want to go to school?"
The girls looked at one another, then nodded resolutely.
They were taken away from the remote mountains.
In the vehicle, they pressed eagerly against the windows, watching the scenery pass by, their hearts full of hope for the future.
After traveling along winding mountain roads, they finally reached the school.
A muddy road led inward. The surroundings were remote and devoid of people.
The girls huddled together, uneasy in the unfamiliar place.
"Go on in," the kind person urged them.
At that point, they had only one choice.
They learned things, but as they looked at the illustrations in their books, they still couldn't help asking, "Is this what the children in the city study too?"
The kind person smiled mysteriously and stroked one of the prettier children. "This is your only chance."
The books' message came down to one thing: dependence.
But why did they have to depend on others? They didn't understand, so they could only study as best they could.
Later, many strangers came to the school. The kind person introduced the girls to the strangers, and then some of the children were chosen.
When those children came back, they had new bruises on their bodies.
According to the books, this was a favor, a blessing.
One day, the kind person was secretly making a phone call when a few playful girls happened upon him.
They hid in a corner and listened to his conversation.
"A few of the children didn't grow up right, and nobody would take a liking to them. Have the black-market doctor come over. We should at least put the trash to use and get back the money we paid at the start."
"Tsk, what could happen? Give them some money and they'll eagerly send their girls away. What do a bunch of people from some godforsaken backwater know?"
"Oh, right, I heard about that person's tastes. I've got another batch of good-looking ones here. All right, you get in touch."
They didn't understand what the kind person meant, but for some reason, they felt uncomfortable.
A powerful thought seemed ready to break through the hardened shackles.
Until a traveler passed by.
The girl sat alone on a swing in the courtyard, swaying back and forth. In the distance, she saw a figure in black slowly approaching.
The person wore a black robe that covered him completely.
The stranger in black came over and sat on the swing beside her.
Screams rose and fell inside the school. The girl covered her ears, tears pattering down uncontrollably.
The person in black spoke then, his voice soft, gentle and concerned. "Why are you crying?"
Startled by the sudden question, the girl drew in her neck, but still answered softly, "I don't know. I feel like this is painful. But that's what the books say. This is what we're learning, what we've always hoped for..."
"Is that so?" The person in black interrupted her.
The girl froze, unable to answer.
From his wide sleeve, the person in black took out a book bound entirely in leather, along with a bottle of "water."
"Perhaps it can help you find your way out of your confusion."
The person in black vanished right before the girl's eyes. She thought it had all been a hallucination. But the book and the "water" lay on the swing beside her, and everything felt so real.
"Confusion..." the girl murmured.
At last, she made up her mind, hid the things and took them back to the dormitory.
Huddled beneath her blanket, she secretly turned on a light and opened the book to its first page.
There were no words in the book; it was made up of all kinds of lifelike pictures.
It began with a simple fairy tale. Someone saw a beautiful rose by the roadside and wanted to reach out and pick it.
The rose refused the boy and warned him that it would prick him.
The boy praised the rose again, but in the end he still reached out his hand. Its fragile stem was ruthlessly snapped, and the rose's life came to an end.
She turned to the next story: a life that fell short of her wishes, an oppressed existence, a wretched station.
They endured the abuse of those around them and bore their husbands' beatings. When things became unbearable, she raised the knife in her hand at night. The next day, she announced that her husband had died in an accident and came into a considerable sum of money.
A widow who loved her husband and was unwilling to leave and remarry lived a perfect life with a sum of money.
Or perhaps they lacked the absolute strength to fight back. So they took the simplest step—poison.
On the last page of the book, a sheet of paper had been tucked inside.
The girl stared blankly at the bottle of "water" lying beside her. The hesitation in her heart gave way to resolve.
The girl found several others and handed them the book. They were shocked by its contents and likewise made up their minds in secret.
One of them, who could read and write, wrote down the pictures in the book and added easy-to-understand illustrations. She also carefully deciphered the sheet of paper: it was the recipe for the "water," or rather, the poison.
Find a subordinate to deliver the books to the suffering girls, along with a little poison.
When someone took the first step...
"Damn it, who was it! Who was it!" The kind person raged at them.
He dragged the girl who had used the poison in front of them all, yanking her hair and making her identify the others.
Having seen the stories in the book, they began to hate such behavior, and the will to resist took shape.
The girl said nothing. She had saved a little poison and gave it to herself.
She died, and the girls joined forces to bury her body beside the road to the school.
After that, more and more customers were poisoned to death, and the kind person taught them all a lesson.
Even so, it did not stop.
One day, someone arranged to meet the girl who had first received the book. She said she wanted to kill the kind person and hoped the girl would cooperate.
But when the girl went to meet her, she fell into a trap.
Someone... had betrayed them.
She was to be executed in public.
A blazing torch drew near, and she calmly closed her eyes. As the flames burned, countless sheets of paper fluttered down from the sky.
They recorded the stories, the recipe, and the outcome of their scattering the papers!
This was the decision they had made at the very beginning!
The stories and the truth awakened them completely. Now, anyone could be a rebel.
"You—you dare!" The kind person grew afraid under their gazes.
He fled, but the girls, unafraid of death, pursued him relentlessly.
Going to school and learning had always been their cherished wish. They were not objects for others to play with.
There were many people here who were stronger than them, but they were not afraid.
Because only by killing them all could they live as well as the people in the stories.
The survivors buried everyone's bodies and turned the place into a real school.
Spring passed and autumn came, a season, a year. Clusters of roses sprang up along both sides of the road.
We are wild roses, and we possess a powerful vitality. The road ahead will be no smoother than the one behind us, but we will never retreat.
Bones lie buried beneath us, blood staining our stamens. As the wind blows past, we too can be roses.