Chapter 6 — The Photograph in the Pocket

She lowered her head, quickly wiping away a tear, and pleaded in a low, trembling voice: "I know I did wrong by you, but my son is about to take his college entrance exams. He knows he made a mistake, he truly does. I beg you to show mercy. Please do not let him leave a criminal record..." I looked at her in silence. The woman who, just a few moments ago, had professed such bitter hatred for me was now humbling herself, begging for the sake of her son's future. It was not for her own sake, but for his. She knew her own life was in ruins, yet she still desperately wanted to carve out a path for her child. I gave no reply. Before the call disconnected, she spoke once more, her voice so faint as though afraid of disturbing the dead: "Your daughter's injuries... have they healed? I am truly, deeply sorry." Could a belated apology ever carry any weight now? I hung up the phone, stood up, and walked away without once looking back.

In September of the following year, my daughter started university. Standing before the grand gates of the campus on her first day, the two of us paused to take a portrait together. After the harrowing trials of the past, she had never once wavered in her dedication to her studies. In the end, she earned admission into the very institution of her dreams.

"I will accompany you as far as the dormitory, then I shall head back."

I reached out to gently stroke the back of her head. Her hair remained as soft as it had always been, yet her shoulders had grown noticeably broader, bearing the weight of a maturing woman.

"Mother." As we reached the entrance of her residence hall, she suddenly spoke up. "Thank you for not letting me suspend my studies."

She was thanking me for refusing to let her hide from the world. I replied: "Taking a year off was your proposal, and continuing your education was your decision too. From the very beginning to the end, you have charted your own course through this life." She nodded, wrapping her arms around me in a fierce, tight embrace. Then, she turned and strode briskly into the building, her ponytail swaying behind her like a determined banner in the wind. On the flight home, I pulled a photograph of my late husband from my pocket. He stood proudly in his uniform before a fire engine, smiling with a profound, honest warmth. Gazing at the image, a deep and unshakeable peace settled over my heart.

"I whispered to him in the silence of my thoughts: "Our daughter has made it through. She has even made it to university.""

Pressing the photograph tightly against my chest and leaning back into the cushioned seat, I drifted effortlessly into a profound, dreamless slumber. Descending from the plane on my journey home, the taxi veered around a familiar intersection and abruptly slowed its pace. By the roadside, a woman sat hunched over, silently eating a cheap cup of instant noodles. Half her hair had turned stark white, and she wore a faded, washed-out t-shirt, keeping her head ducked low as if terrified of catching anyone's eye. Once she finished, she tossed the empty container into a nearby bin, cast a nervous glance to the left and right, peered across the thoroughfare, and hurriedly jaywalked against the red light. It was Wang Lili. The taxi glided past her silhouette, and she never once turned her head. I pulled my gaze away, suddenly reminded of the fates that had befallen the others, fragments of news I had gathered from the murmurs of strangers. Jiang Zhenghan had been forcibly sent to a reformatory school, only to be expelled shortly after for repeatedly engaging in violent brawls with fellow inmates; no institution was willing to touch such a volatile liability. Former head teacher Liu had applied twice to be reinstated at her post, but both petitions were summarily rejected. On her final application, the school administrator scrawled a single line across the form: Lacking in pedagogical ethics, application denied. The director of academic affairs attempted to seek employment at a private academy, but unable to stomach the steep decline in prestige and compensation, he resigned of his own accord, and not a single soul made an effort to stay his hand. As for the parents who had screamed the loudest in our initial confrontation, following their defeat in court, some had fled to distant cities while others hastily transferred their children to new schools. The remainder, I imagined, were much like the Jiang family, spending the rest of their days writhing in the quiet agony of a guilty conscience.

"Driver, please change our course to the cemetery."

The space before my husband's headstone was impeccably clean, the stone pedestal entirely free of dust. I carefully selected a fresh bouquet, placed it respectfully at the base of the monument, and sat down, leaning my back against the cold, unyielding stone.

"Our daughter has chosen to major in education, I murmured softly. She says she wants to become a teacher who will always stand up to protect students who face bullying."

I drew the photograph taken outside the university gates from my pocket and set it gently beside the flowers. The sky above remained vast and crystal clear, washed in a brilliant azure as though newly cleansed by a persistent rain. The storm that had once sought to consume us had finally, irrevocably drawn to a close.