"Haha, Tian Yinghua has come back for revenge. It's you people—it's all your fault!" A girl stood up and pointed at those who had often bullied Tian Yinghua.
"How dare you say that? On the last day, didn't you throw things at her too?" Someone immediately retorted.
The noise grew louder and louder. Some complained, some cursed, some tried to persuade the others, and some said it had only been an accident. Only one girl remained silent.
That girl was named Song Qinghui. She took a sheet of white paper from her drawer. She clearly remembered throwing it into a roadside trash can when winter break began last semester. Yet now, it had somehow appeared here.
The white paper bore the number "2," along with a drawing. In the picture, a woman held a small knife in her left hand and carried her own head in her right.
"What does this number mean? Jiang Ran's was '1,' and now he was the first to die. Does that mean I'm second? How could this happen? I don't want to die—I don't want to die!"
The girl's emotions churned violently. Suddenly, she dropped to her knees before Tian Yinghua's desk, hugged the chair, and cried.
"Yinghua, I'm sorry. I was wrong. I deserve to die."
As she spoke, she slapped herself across the face.
"That day, I shouldn't have thrown your books into the trash. That day, I shouldn't have deliberately poured unfinished milk all over you. That day..."
Song Qinghui kept crying and admitting her mistakes, but everyone present knew exactly how hateful the things she had done to Tian Yinghua were. Her face had already swollen from her own slaps.
Yet the number and drawing on the white paper in her hand did not change.
Jiang Ran's accidental death