He was just an ordinary student who loved to draw and dreamed of getting into art school. He gave everything he had to pursue that dream. But after one brave act, a powerful person set their sights on him, turning him into a toy for their amusement.
He tried to cry for help, but his teacher asked, “Why doesn't he bully anyone else?” and his mother said, “Just put up with it. You'll be fine once you graduate.” After the police got involved, the bullies were back at school just a few days later. They pressed his face into the mud, trampling the administrative penalty notice beneath their feet. His classmates lowered their heads to scroll on their phones, and a girl who had once secretly watched him went out of her way to avoid him. Every time he asked for help, it felt like a pair of hands pushing him another step toward the abyss.
Until he stopped asking for help and became a demon, fighting violence with violence.
Only when the police opened that sketchbook after the crime did they piece together the full picture of the tragedy: If just one person had stopped, if one teacher had asked the right question, if that call to the police had really protected him, none of this would have happened.
Ten years later, Lu Wantang went to Li Mo's hometown out of guilt, but there was no one left to hear the apology that had come a whole youth too late.
On the drive home, she passed an intersection. A truck running a red light barreled toward her from the side. As the windshield shattered into countless points of light, the last thing that came to mind was the autumn when she was seventeen. A plane-tree leaf fell into the classroom. He looked up at her, his gaze clear, his features like a painting.
Suddenly, Lu Wantang jolted awake from her dream.
In the classroom, her deskmate Li Mo was quietly sharpening a pencil. His cuffs were clean, a little charcoal dust smudged his fingertips, and a plane-tree leaf drifted down in front of him.
