The first day of school, sunlight poured through the windows of Grade Nine, Class One, landing quietly on Song Xiaoyang's desk. He kept his head down, fingers picking at a scratch on the wood. The classroom buzzed with noise—everyone was excitedly chatting about their summer holidays. No one noticed the scrawny boy in the corner.
"I heard our new tutor is really young, transferred from a top school!" Class monitor Liu Chang announced, earning cheers from the others.
Song Xiaoyang stole a glance toward the door, then quickly lowered his head again. A new semester was never something to look forward to. Last year, he'd accidentally knocked over an ink bottle and got punished by the former teacher—made to stand the whole day in front of the class. Ever since, his classmates looked at him like he was a filthy rat.
The door opened. A tall man walked in wearing a crisply ironed white shirt. His gold-rimmed glasses reflected a warm, almost gentle smile.
"Good morning, everyone. I'm your new tutor, Mr. Tian Mingyuan," he said with a calm, steady voice. "I hope we can all become good friends this year."
Applause erupted across the room. Song Xiaoyang clapped along quietly, but he felt the teacher's gaze rest on him for a second too long. That look sent a chill down his spine.
"To get to know you all better, I'll be selecting class officers," Mr. Tian said, scanning the room. "Let's start with something simple—who would like to be the animal care monitor and look after the hamster at the back?"
Song Xiaoyang's heart skipped. He had always loved animals—he had three stray cats at home. He hesitated, then slowly raised his hand.
Mr. Tian chuckled softly. "Song Xiaoyang, is it?" he said, flipping through the roster. "Third from the bottom in the final exams last term, homework often incomplete… A student who can't even take care of himself—how could you possibly care for an animal?"
Laughter erupted in the room. Song Xiaoyang's face burned. He slowly lowered his hand. He had always submitted his homework on time. His grades were just slightly below average.
"Li Hao, you'll be the monitor," Mr. Tian pointed at the top-performing boy. "Outstanding students should develop in all areas."
Staring at the desk, tears welled in Song Xiaoyang's eyes. He didn't notice the brief smirk on Mr. Tian's lips—the first lesson had succeeded in marking out the bottom of the hierarchy
By the third Tuesday of the semester, Song Xiaoyang stood at the classroom door, taking a deep breath. His fingers clenched the straps of his backpack until his knuckles turned white. Yesterday, Mr. Tian had publicly said he "couldn't even solve the simplest math problem—was something wrong with his brain?" The laughter echoing from inside now twisted his stomach with dread.
The moment he pushed open the door, the laughter cut off sharply, replaced by hushed whispers. He kept his head down and walked quickly to his seat—second-to-last row by the window. Someone had used correction fluid to draw a turtle on his desk, with the word "retard" scribbled beside it.
"Looks like your classmates know you well," Mr. Tian's voice called from the podium. Today, he wore a deep blue shirt, and his gold-rimmed glasses gleamed with amusement. "Song Xiaoyang, where's your corrected homework from yesterday?"
His hands trembled slightly. He had done the corrections, but before he could hand them in, Wang Lei had grabbed the notebook "to check answers," and returned it covered in obscene doodles. Song Xiaoyang slowly pulled out the notebook—its pages were defaced with crude drawings of genitalia.
Another burst of laughter swept the classroom. Mr. Tian walked over, picked up the notebook, and frowned. "This is your attitude toward learning?"
"It wasn't me… Wang Lei—"
"Still blaming others?" Mr. Tian slammed the notebook onto the desk. "In all my ten years of teaching, I despise students like you the most—useless, yet always pointing fingers."
Song Xiaoyang's ears rang. He wanted to explain, but something clogged his throat. Mr. Tian turned away. "You'll stay after school and rewrite this ten times. And clean your desk. Don't drag down the class image."
The bell rang, and students filed out to the playground in groups for morning exercise. Song Xiaoyang scrubbed at the desk with an eraser, but the correction fluid had seeped into the wood grain—it wouldn't come off.
"Need some help?" a soft voice asked.
He looked up to see Lin Xiaoyu, the class's study monitor, standing nearby. She was one of the few who had never laughed at him.
"No… thanks," he mumbled, continuing to fight the stubborn marks.
Lin Xiaoyu hesitated, then lowered her voice. "Mr. Tian seems to be targeting you… Last week, when I collected the homework, I saw him deliberately mark several of your correct answers as wrong."
His hand froze. He wanted to ask more, but a loud voice rang from the door.
"Lin Xiaoyu! Mr. Tian's looking for you!" Wang Lei shouted.
She hurried off. Wang Lei swaggered over to Song Xiaoyang's desk and snatched the eraser. "Let's see how a retard cleans a desk—oh, can't get it off, huh?" He ground the eraser into the desk, flakes of wood flying. A few other boys gathered around, laughing loudly. Song Xiaoyang stared at his knees, counting the loose threads on his school uniform pants. It was his coping strategy—when humiliation came, he imagined himself invisible.
"Wang Lei!" Mr. Tian's voice called from the doorway. "What are you doing?"
Hope flickered in Song Xiaoyang's chest.
"Reporting, sir! I'm helping Song Xiaoyang clean his desk," Wang Lei said, standing straight. "But the things he drew are just too hard to remove."
Mr. Tian walked over, glanced at the desk, and said coldly, "Song Xiaoyang, you'll have to pay for property damage. This desk was fine for five years—now it's ruined the moment you use it." He turned to Wang Lei. "You're a kind and helpful student. But don't delay class. Go on."
Wang Lei smirked and winked at Song Xiaoyang, stomping on the eraser before walking off. Mr. Tian watched Song Xiaoyang bend down to pick it up, the corners of his mouth curling slightly—like a scientist observing a lab rat's reaction.