The last truth.
At the university, the counselors don’t care about you hanging out, skipping classes, going to clubs.
They only care if you die in school.
Many of the universities that look like they’re in peace, there’s a black screen.
At a media school in the middle and lower part of the Yangtze River, the deaths of students occurred at the school.
Specifically, I can’t say which school paid for the silence and threatened us with a successful graduation.
Now that I’ve graduated for years, I want to tell the story.
Try not to be emotional, but to be personal.
I have a good relationship with the dead, and I’m gonna call him, and I’m gonna tell him about it, and I’m gonna tell him the truth, because there are two versions of the story.
It is an incomplete version that is still in circulation in schools.
The names that follow are aliases and do not need to be traced.
When you first got into school, you had to do a psychological survey, and the last question was “Do you have a history of mental illness?”
Usually people fill out real information here, and then we ask the teacher, and the suicide student also fills out real information.
He has moderate depression.
Here’s what we call “silent.” That’s the nickname we gave him in our bedroom.
The nickname was not to bully him, everyone had a nickname, boys in college, everyone understood, always making unrealistic jokes.
In the bedroom, we noticed that the meds were always on, and then we found out that the drug was called “Paroctimines with hydrochloric acid” for depression.
The tablets of the tablets of hydrochloric acid are 10, each with a slit in the middle of it, and we usually take 1.5 tablets every time we look at the stutter.
It was a big semester, and he came back late to study and saw an empty aluminum table on his desk.
In retrospect, I and a few other roommates thought it was a dull night, or maybe it was a pill that had already eaten a lot, and he was just finished that night.
Speaking of which, it should be guessed that this suicide is my roommate.
Four people in one bedroom, three of us in one class, so we don’t usually know what’s going on with him.
He’s only good at his grades, he’s already a member of the RP, and he must have been a winner.
It’s not the sun, it’s the sun, it’s the skin, it’s the general, and I didn’t know it until the second year of school.
He’s a perfect man, except when he doesn’t talk.
But he doesn’t have any friends, except with us, alone.
Weekends are always early and late, sometimes they don’t come back.
We asked him where he went before, and he didn’t tell us, just a bitter smile.
Work. I’m sorry.
We know that his family is not well-off and that he takes his own medications often, so the cost of living is not enough.
There are therefore casual workers who are studying in canteens during the school year and are studying at home next semester.
That’s why our bedroom buddies took care of him.
It was Friday, after 11:00 p.m., he hasn’t returned to his bedroom.
Bedrooms are usually closed at 10:00.
We thought he might be working part time again today.
Because it’s Friday. We don’t have classes tomorrow.
So we didn’t lock the door, and if we’re back in the daytime, we can come in, so we don’t knock and wake us up.
And then everybody goes to bed, and they fall back, and the boys who love sports don’t sleep badly.
The next day,
One of the boys, who woke up in his urine, was lost and his eyes were not open, completely feeling out of bed, wearing slippers and then walking in the direction of the bathroom, hitting something on his shoulder, too sleepy and without a tube.
After the water was released, he returned along the same path and hit something this time.
He’s just out of water and conscious.
It’s not like I’m going to have to do this.
I took a look and scared the chair and the shoe racks on the wall.
“Aah!”
We woke up with this voice.
“What’s wrong? I’m sorry.
I just asked for the exit, and I looked against the cynics that were hanging at the time.
At that time, his body turned in half-empty, and it went in my direction, with his eyes on the top, his eyes on me, his tongue on his lower lips, and his tongue coming out a little bit.
I remember it well.
The brain is suddenly blank, its heart is squeezing, it’s squeezing, it’s breathing, it’s suffocating.
We saw the strangulation under the electric fan.
Let’s see, we’re all here to study in college, and our roommates in the same room are dead or hanged while we’re asleep.
The key is here.
It’s kind of chilly, and now I’m scared.
We’re all guessing about how the boredom died that day.
Maybe in the early morning, when we were asleep, he went back to his bedroom, looked for a rope, went through the walls to hang the hook used by the fan, and then hit a knot…
Let’s get dressed and we won’t move.
I went out with one of my roommates to call the canteen, and the other one was in charge of keeping the other classmates out.
On the way, we were asked:
Dead? Real dead?
“I heard it was hanging, really. I’m sorry.
I always say “dead” and “kill” and stuff, but I’m scared to see people die.
So we kept our mouths shut and said nothing.
If you’ve met someone you know, you yell at him.
“Shut the fuck up! Come on! I’m sorry.
I don’t know.
We went all the way, found the housekeeper and told her what happened.
She was scared to hear about it, and she kept her hands shaking over her chest and didn’t want to come with us.
Then the counselor came, and the housekeeper followed me reluctantly.
I don’t know.
As a result, the counsellors looked at the scene and felt that it was too much, and called for leadership, leadership and greater leadership.
At the end of the day, the headmaster, the school clerk, and the faculty clerk were all here.
When the principal arrived, he asked us, “Did you not tell anyone about this?” I’m sorry.
I shake my head.
“No, the counselor was contacted at first. I’m sorry.
Headmaster nod.
“Do it right. I’m sorry.
The headmaster then went to the dorm with the Minister of Logistics, and the faculty clerk and the school clerk took us to the corridor to start questioning.
“When did he die?” I’m sorry.
I said, “I don’t know, we slept at 11:00 last night and found him dead in the morning. I’m sorry.
“A great living man hanged by your three sides, and you didn’t notice?” I’m sorry.
One roommate replied, “We all slept so badly that we didn’t notice. I’m sorry.
“Did the three of you not like him and killed him?” I’m sorry.
When I heard that I was angry, I shouted, “Do not insult.” We had a good relationship with him! I’m sorry.
The school clerk also said to the faculty: “The old king, working with a strict attitude, can’t question the integrity of his students. I’m sorry.
Then the school secretary asked us, “He slept in his bedroom last night.” I’m sorry.
I replied: “No, we went to bed at 11:00 last night, he didn’t go back to his bedroom, we called him, we texted him, he didn’t answer, and we were worried that he might be back early tomorrow morning and the door would not be locked. I’m sorry.
After that, I’ll show the record of the conversation and the conversation to the school clerk.
The school clerk took my phone, not only read yesterday’s information, but also earlier.
But there’s nothing to see. The minutes of the earlier chats are all about bringing food, water, coming back to black.
The school clerk looked at it, thought it was all right, so give me back my phone.
Then he asked, “What are the special circumstances? I’m sorry.
And We answered: “He is not one of us, and he has no good relations with those of his own class, then he will take his medicine, the one on his table.” I’m sorry.
The clerk heard this and went into the bedroom, and came out in a minute, and she said to the school secretary, “Parocitine tablets of hydrochloric acid are antidepressants. The student is depressed. I’m sorry.
After the school clerk had listened, he seemed to have made up his mind and noded with the faculty clerk.
The clerk said, “There’s depression, it’s suicide.” I’m sorry.
The school secretary said to us, “These days, you will sleep in the guesthouse, and you will not be able to move the things in your bedroom for a while, and the police will come later and ask you what you want, as you have now.” I’m sorry.
We were surprised when we knew he was depressed, but more relieved, like he was finally getting rid of the suspicion.
I can think about it and I’m afraid.
It’s been over an hour since we found the stale remains.
He’s still hanging there. Nobody wants to put him down.
At this point, the headmaster and the minister of logistics came out of the bedroom, and he looked badly, looked at the secretary of the eye and asked, “Is it time to inform the comrades at the police station? I’m sorry.
The school secretary noded, “Well, we can call, so we’ll get the surveillance, then we’ll call the cops. I’m sorry.
To be honest, when I heard this conversation, I was filled with contempt.
That’s why they say they’re out of control.
I’m afraid we’ve already deleted the surveillance. There’s nothing to show, but lies.
Subsequently, the principal, the Minister of Logistics, the Chief of Security, the Secretary of the Faculty and the Counsellor, five of them took us to the control room.
I don’t know what the other leaders are doing.
To be honest, while it’s daytime, the contents of the surveillance leave an indelible impression on everyone here.
The men’s room is in the bedroom.
The leader sent the housekeeper out of our surveillance.
And then you see on the scene, at 2 a.m., the twirls appear at the end of the hall.
He went to the door of the bedroom, put his hand on the door and the picture was still.
The tube thought it had hit the pause button, but the time on the lower right side of the surveillance scene had changed.
It’s not that the picture stopped, it’s that stale.
So, the catheter pressed the fast-forward button.
Almost two minutes later, the lights in the hallway were dark, but the surveillance was night-vision, and it was still able to see the boring movement.
He hasn’t moved for five minutes.
He then dropped his hand from the door, took out his cell phone, turned it over and put it back in his pocket.
Still not in the bedroom. Turn around.
The cathedral went in the direction of the boredom and pulled out the surveillance.
And then it was weird.
This smudge has been walking in the hallway of the dormitory for the entire morning between 2 and 3.
From the fifth to the third floor and from the third to the top.
Late at night, the students are asleep.
He’s like a midnight ghost. He’s white in surveillance. He wanders on every floor.
The sensor lights are dark and light, and they’re black and black.
From time to time he crouched down and cried, and from time to time found the window in the middle of the stairs.
He will stand on the windowsill and look down at the scene, then he will retreat back to the stairs and cry on the floor.
And in that black and white surveillance, we were watching this.
There’s an irrefutable depression in the heart.
This surveillance is like a horror canvas that has been painted with black crayons.
Later.
In the surveillance, he went to the top floor, and after a short surveillance blind zone, he resurfaced.
This is when he goes to the wall, climbs up the fence and looks downstairs.
I can feel the urge to jump, but I can feel the fear.
He made a jump-up in place, repeatedly.
But he didn’t jump.
Maybe it’s like you’re afraid of losing your body when you crash.
The only thing he could see was his hand in the pocket, and he took out a bundle of nylon rope, which he could not watch, but which he should have hung.
As if he were determined, he turned down and headed straight for the fifth floor.
On this occasion, he came to the bedroom door without hesitation and slowly pushed the bedroom door into it.
And then he didn’t come out.
Two hours short, it’s almost seven times.
We actually see less than 15 minutes.
That’s the short 15 minutes that put everyone here in a mood.
The principal’s face is the worst, he sighs.
“Alas, there is still no mental health education for a fellow student, who has been snuggling for more than two hours and has decided to end his life. I’m sorry.
I’m so sorry.
“He was desperate when he decided to die. I’m sorry.
Following the police station ‘ s intervention, the incident was quickly characterized, concluding that the depression patients had committed suicide.
The school has also begun to do public relations work simultaneously.
In the course of the school, students were urged to discuss the matter.
Media schools are used outside schools to limit media coverage.
The three of us in the dormitory, after completing their statements, stopped for two days and cooperated with the police investigation.
The police did not give much attention to the matter.
They merely confirmed the identity of the depressed person, as well as his interpersonal relationship, and reportedly investigated his cell phone.
Only his cell phone had been formatted in his pocket, so the police did not find any useful leads through the phone.
The case was closed for suicide by combining the forensic medical report.
Then the Minister of Logistics said to us, “The bedroom will not be occupied for a while, so pack up and move to the empty room on the third floor.” I’m sorry.
“Good. I’m sorry.
The Minister of Logistics had just left and thought of something, and came back and told us: “During the search, the police found the electric wind, the hot kettle and the plane cup, and two more. I’m sorry.
As soon as I heard, I looked in the back.
Those two are frightful, they’re not very good.
I don’t use it, so I know who it belongs to.
The Minister of Logistics, who is also a clear-sighted man, said to me, “But this time you will not be punished, but you will be charged $8,000 to each of you for your food. Don’t mention this to anyone from now on. If you mention it, the money will not only be returned, but the school will drop you off immediately.” I’m sorry.
We accepted the conclusions of stifling suicides and were forced to accept school conditions.
Later, we moved to the third floor with our bags.
On the way, we saw the boring parents, two people who looked like they worked their whole life, the most common middle-aged people in the ordinary neighborhood.
I saw in their faces the grief of the middle-aged.
Good school and the police protected our identity and prevented us from meeting with boring parents. Of course, it’s just a courtesy.
The real reason is that the school didn’t allow us to meet because they were afraid we’d talk about things we shouldn’t have.
A person with depression, unable to adapt to university life, chose to give up his life in his bedroom.
So far, it’s the current version.
It’s the version everyone knows except me.
In fact, the story is not over.
This story is followed by another unknown version.
Perhaps many of you will doubt the authenticity of this version after reading it.
But as soon as you read some news, you’ll know.
There’s a lot of horrible things going on in college.
After moving to the third floor, two weeks later, we have not recovered from the shadow of that event.
Until recently, we were afraid to turn off the lights at night.
It’s not just us. Most of the men’s beds are lighted all night.
The man who died or hung himself in his bedroom was afraid.
I don’t know.
After Friday, I took advantage of the lunch break and went back to the bedroom to remove the pillowcase and prepare for cleaning.
Found a note in the pillowcase.
It says on the note that the top floor door exits the floor brick of the second ventilator. 940821.
The last time I washed the pillowcase was a month ago, there was no paper in the pillowcase.
Then I thought about it, and maybe it was stuffed in my pillow before hanging.
We did not tell the other two men for a while, except that when they were not in their bedroom, they turned over their pillowcases.
They’re not as sanitary as I am, and the pillowcase hasn’t been washed for two semesters.
Just flip it and make sure there’s nothing in it.
So I’m sure this is just for me.
It’s got an address and a list of numbers.
This number I know is his birthday.
What about this address? I decided to go see.
I went to the penthouse in the afternoon, and this place was locked up after the incident, and I was afraid that there would be another student.
It’s good that we haven’t had time to block the windows in school.
I flipped through the window and found the place on the note.
I found this position, the blind zone under surveillance.
It was a time of boredom in the blind zone.
Walking around this pillar, one piece of the brick was loose, and it came up.
Under there, on a bank card at the farm.
The card is covered in mud and it stinks.
I’ll pull the card out of the mud, grab it in my hand and run back to the bedroom.
I didn’t know if the bank card could be washed.
So we scrape the silt from the bank card and wash it with the wet tissue.
Look at this bank card and the note’s birthday.
I like it in my heart. I can tie it up.
This birthday is probably the key to the bank card.
I went to the school ATM while nobody was there.
The bank card was inserted and found to be undamaged and usable.
So enter his birthday.
It’s really a password.
Click “Query the Balance”.
It’s 47,000, 700 of them.
I can’t figure out how cynics have so much money.
So this time I went to the agricultural bank outside the school and checked the bank card’s trade records at the counter.
The money was found to have been transferred to the bank in the amount of 5,000.
In addition to 10 transfers, banker Kari is living at $1,300 per month.
I know he spends $700 a month on medicines and only $600 on living.
It can be seen that the stutter is always cheap to eat and drink.
I looked at the transfer dates of the $5,000, which are quite regular.
They are:
March 17, 24, 31.
7 April, 14, 21, 28 April.
May 5, 12, 19.
Ten remittances totalling $50,000.
It happens every other week, most recently three weeks ago.
Looking at the calendar, remittances are on Sunday.
Remittances coincided with the week when they died.
The more I feel that it’s not easy to be bored.
I’d like to find out who gave the money to the stutter.
However, account information on the sender is not available at the counter.
Bank information on the sender can only be found at the counter with his/her identity card.
Apparently, the clue is broken here.
But not completely disconnected.
Remittances are very close to the weekly hours of work.
So the money is probably related to the “part-time” of the weekend.
This part-time job is definitely not a tutor.
What kind of tutor makes $5,000 a week?
“Was it a crime to be bored? I’m sorry.
That’s what I thought.
“What job does a freshman earn $5,000 a week? I’m sorry.
“Drug trafficking?” “Fraud?” “theft”? I’m sorry.
The more I think about it, the more I think about it.
I didn’t tell the other two roommates what I was investigating.
I don’t trust them.
Just don’t want the boring things to be known to more people.
Maybe it’s not good.
Don’t make his reputation worse when he’s dead.
Early in June, the first school year was almost over.
The teachers of the departments have put in place final exams, and my professional requirements are particularly stringent, so we have a bunch of kids in the bedroom.
In many cases, university homework is not necessarily self-made, and it is possible to seek help from experienced students.
To tell the truth, the three of us are not learning masters, and most of our usual homework is to ask for help.
He’s not a professional, but he’s got a lot of work done.
I can’t believe we missed him for the first time.
It’s a coincidence that I came up with a clue from this point.
Once upon a time, the boring class had classes and we didn’t have classes.
He was bored without a computer in class, but he needed a document from the computer and called me and sent it to him.
He sent me his computer unlocking code.
It’s this unlocking code that reminds me of the direction to follow.
In life, many people have the habit of setting passwords by setting the same numbers for lock-screen passwords, QQQs, and Twitter.
Now that I know the lock code for the muffled computer, it’s possible to open his Twitter and QQ Q.
With this idea, I opened the QQ, found the boring QQ and found the computer code he sent me.
I tried to log in with his QQ account.
The results were easily registered.
QQQ messages are all cloud-sync, chat records are available.
But he was not a member and only had to keep a one-month chat, but that was enough.
After reading the chat, I can’t help but lament that boredom is boring.
QQQ chatted with a few people in total, and didn’t talk in the class group.
I know, QQ. It doesn’t matter to him.
So I’m going to put my eyes on the more private micro-intelligence.
I used the same method to log in micro-mail accounts.
Results.
It worked!
Once the micro-mail login is successful, identification is also required.
There are three options.
“Sweep 2D”
“Invite friends to assist with verification.”
Message Validation
It is clear that the first and third approaches are not applicable to me, and that only the second is most appropriate.
The other two of us in the bedroom, all his best friends, were able to get a good friend’s help.
So I borrowed their cell phones, and I finished the test.
The secondary records were subsequently deleted and the cell phones returned to them.
A set of processes down, I successfully log in on his micro-message.
We believe this software is completely different from QQ, and his chat records are basically not tied to the cloud, but stored in your original phone.
So even if I log in on his micro-message, there’s no chat records.
If you want to see the chat, you can only use his original phone.
However, the police had already stated at the time of the investigation that the boring cell phone had been formatted.
There are no more tweets on his phone.
But I’m not discouraged, because I know that, besides his cell phone, his computer also logs in.
The information should be synchronized with the computer.
The boring computer has been brought home by his parents.
To be honest, if I hadn’t been too curious to know the answer to this mystery at the time, I might have simply abandoned the search and remitted all of the bank’s money to his parents, taking that as a matter of fact.
But I didn’t. I contacted his parents as a schoolmate.
In a boring computer, there’s a file that I worked with, hoping that they can send the computer, which can be paid for, and then send it back when it’s finished.
Uncles and aunts are reasonable people, and I succeeded in getting bored computers on the third day, after I added my obscurity.
I couldn’t wait to open his computer, log into his computer’s emails by means of a phone scan, and I managed to trace the tweets on his computer.
He has a small number of followers and will soon be able to filter out an account number that is “XX-Doctor.”
Not to mention the name of the account, you just need to know that it’s a contact for tutorial work.
I looked at the content of the chat, and I found that there was a sophomore girl, and the conversation between them was normal.
Girls occasionally send their own photos to stutter, and the girls in the pictures look pretty good.
Most importantly, the work of a tutor is closed by a micro-credit transfer of $300 a week.
There are still over 600 in his Twitter account.
I am beginning to realize that the extra $5,000 that banks send out every week has nothing to do with tutorial work.
I’m afraid to contact this girl.
Because it’s a boring account.
He’s dead.
A dead man shouldn’t send messages to the living.
The clue is broken here again.
I think things are getting weirder when I track them down here.
He did do his homework every weekend, but according to the records of conversations about his work, he worked only two hours a day on weekends.
Why doesn’t he go back to his bedroom on the weekend?
Perhaps there is an extra job after his tutorship, a job that makes him $5,000 a week.
It’s been two days since I found the clues broken.
At lunchtime today, we heard the classmates at the table next to the cafeteria talking about hanging from their feet.
“He borrowed money from the Internet to kill himself. I’m sorry.
“He was bullied by the school, tortured to commit suicide. I’m sorry.
“He was pushed away by his classmates to kill himself. I’m sorry.
“He was bullied by his roommate and killed himself. I’m sorry.
Everything has to be said, but the three of us have come to an agreement, no matter what we hear, no matter what we talk about, not even to mention it, after all the money we’re paying for lunch is from school.
It’s probably what one of the roommates thought of.
“I told you, when you two went to the bedroom, the sulking phone rings. I’m sorry.
As soon as I listen, I’m busy asking:
“The phone rings. Who called? I’m sorry.
The roommate shakes his head.
“The phone was in my pocket, and I didn’t dare to take it out, but his pants were full, and I saw the caller in two words. I’m sorry.
I listened to the chin.
Suddenly realizes that maybe the person who was in touch with the Quakers, not through QQQ or Twitter, was on the phone.
Since it was a telephone call, his cell phone had to be used for the investigation.
But his cell phone has been formatted.
Maybe hackers can, but we’re all media professionals, and that’s not what I’m thinking, so I don’t really care.
After that, all leads were broken.
I transferred all the money from the stifling bank card and the tweet to my bank, Kari, and in full, anonymously, to the stifling parents.
I know it’s impossible.
I’m just a regular student, not a cop.
Besides, even if I were a cop, a bank card alone would not count as evidence.
Even if, as evidence, stifling suicide is a fact, it is objectively impossible to change the established fact of “suicide” without other external intervention.
So I almost gave up the investigation.
The bank card and the note were in the bag with my other card.
The turn of events occurred at the fourth year of the internship.
Yeah, three years after it happened.
We have completed three and a half years of study at the university campus, and we are about to get a social internship.
At that time, I went to the office to prepare for a new flow card because the school card package left the school.
That’s the X King’s card.
I asked the clerk when I was running this card.
“Hello, this contact I’m with Kari, can you move to New Carri? I’m sorry.
The clerk told me.
“The smartphones are now stored on the phone, not on the phone. I’m sorry.
I was just saying that when I heard the news, I didn’t think of anything else at first.
And then when I got out of the office, it was like I had electricity.
I suddenly realized that there was another clue to the events of the year.
The roommate said that when we went to call the canteen, there was a call on the boring phone.
And the caller’s name is two words!
Maybe you haven’t figured out how important it is.
Remember what the police said?
Cell phones have been formatted.
A formatted cell phone, the contact data should also disappear.
Even if there was a call, it should be just a list of numbers.
But after the call, the roommate saw two squares. That’s the contact’s note.
So the name, most likely, was stored on the phone. So you can continue to display your cell phone after formatting.
There’s no break!
My heart beats faster when I think of it.
To be honest, I haven’t given up the truth for three years.
So when I found the clue, I gave up the afternoon interview, followed the address I wrote down that year, and took the afternoon car to the boredom home.
I waited at the door until my aunt and uncle got home from work.
After they saw me, they stopped.
I’d welcome you to know I’m a boring classmate.
When I got inside, I didn’t drag any water and asked them.
“Uncle and Auntie, you still keep your boring phone? I’m sorry.
The two men listened to each other, looked at each other and showed a complex look.
Aunt said:
“It’s still there. I’m sorry.
I’m busy saying:
“Will you please show me the SIM card on your phone? I’m sorry.
As soon as Auntie listened, she stopped and said:
“What do you want a scrap card for? I’m sorry.
I lied:
“I had a very important number, and now I don’t remember. He had it on his phone. I wanted to see it. I’m sorry.
When she heard this, she said:
“All right, let me show you, but it’s definitely not. His cell phone’s not on the phone. I’m sorry.
After that, auntie found a boring phone in a small box.
Look carefully, the box is full of stuff.
I took off my phone card and put it in my cell phone.
As Auntie said, this is really an empty card with no telephone number.
Do you think the clues are broken here again?
Wrong.
This empty card without any phone calls is the biggest clue.
It’s this blank card that I’ve been trying to connect and look back on a million times over the past four years.
Today I have an answer.
But this answer really scares me.
People may be confused and listen to me.
Let me tell you all about the analysis around that year.
First, the beginning.
In the surveillance footage, suffocated for more than 10 minutes at the door of the bedroom.
He used to pull out his phone.
Although the surveillance was not very careful, it was certain that what he did in a few seconds was definitely not a formatting cell phone.
Friends who used to format their phones should know.
Cell phones are black when formatted.
However, on surveillance, he turned over the phone screen, looked at the news and stuffed it back.
So at this point in time, his cell phone has not been formatted and is still fully functional.
In the follow-up surveillance footage, he also did not pull out his cell phone.
Time to go back to the mornin’.
When we went to call the canteen, the cell phone in the suffocated pocket turned on.
And the call shows that the contact person is two words through the pants.
But the boring SIM Kari didn’t record any numbers.
This message may only come from the phone itself.
So mobile phones have not been formatted at this time.
After that, the head of the school came.
The three of us were brought out, the two secretaries spoke to us, and the headmaster and the Minister of Logistics entered the bedroom.
No one else entered the dormitory until the police intervened and the cell phone was suddenly formatted.
I don’t doubt the police’s “cell phone formatting”.
So what I can suspect now is the headmaster and the logistics minister who entered the bedroom.
The cell phone was formatted through the hands of one of them while they were entering the bedroom.
That’s all I can think about.
Analyzing to here, I feel scared.
Particularly afraid.
I suspect I’m thinking too much.
Or maybe the roommate was wrong.
But no one can talk me out of it.
I remain convinced of my judgement at this moment.
So I decided to keep looking.
Although things have been going on for the past three years, there are still things I cannot let go of.
I intend to go first to the Minister of Logistics.
There are two reasons.
The first is that for four years in school, I’ve been dealing with the Minister of Logistics, and he’s made me feel good. He’s a very decent teacher.
Secondly, because of the vague call note, which is two words, the headmaster is two words.
I went into the logistics office.
Go to the bottom of the table.
The Minister of Logistics saw me and smiled at me for four years.
“What’s wrong? Other students should be throwing résumés all over the place at this time. I’m sorry.
I looked at the Minister of Logistics and asked:
“It’s probably a little bumpy, but I’d like to ask you something about hanging in my freshman year, remember? I’m sorry.
The Minister of Logistics apparently had no resistance, replied.
“Remember, the fact that the dead at the university are not strange things, but whether he hangs himself or someone in his dormitory is a matter of concern. I’m sorry.
When I saw the Minister’s reaction, I asked him:
“I wonder what you did in the bedroom with the principal. I’m sorry.
When asked about the exit, the Minister of Logistics looked at me and whispered:
“Why are you asking all of a sudden? I’m sorry.
I lied.
“It’s important to think now that I’m missing something, that I don’t care if I don’t need it. I’m sorry.
The Minister of Logistics responded quietly.
“You’re missing something and you suspect it’s me and the principal? The two of us went in and didn’t move your position, the headmaster was looking at the body, and I was looking at the table of the deceased to see if there was any drugs. I’m sorry.
When I heard it, I said, “Why are there drugs?” I’m sorry.
“Why did a college student hang himself? The first thing we suspect is that he’s on drugs or has touched hallucinogen. I’m sorry.
“So you check his desk bed, the headmaster check the body’s belongings. I’m sorry.
The Minister of Logistics noded.
“Yes, you’re about to graduate, and it’s okay to tell you about it. Just know that we don’t have it. I’m sorry.
“Okay, please, I’ll look back. I’m sorry.
I got the answers I wanted, and I got out very quickly.
The statement of the Minister of Logistics makes me more convinced that this matter has something to do with the headmaster.
Obviously, I’m not very good at investigating the principal.
But I know how to determine the connection between the headmaster and the boredom.
Since the stifling bank had records of transfers, it was only necessary to establish that the bank card that sent the money belonged to the other party.
If it had anything to do with the headmaster, I’m sure he wouldn’t be stupid enough to use his own bank card.
The bank card, most likely, is the one he runs the grey industry.
Right now, I just need a clue.
The headmaster of our school did not do much, and the abuse of power in the daytime was done, and as long as I started by buying a degree, it was easy to get on that line.
It took me a week to figure out what to do.
You may think it’s a little fake, but it’s not strange that universities sell their education years earlier.
I had easy access to the school line through a store near the school for academic education.
The few thousand dollars that were available at the time were added, and the whole number was rounded up, and the contact details and bank accounts of the school-related personnel were obtained at a price of 5,000 dollars.
Four contacts and bank accounts were obtained.
I’m one by one.
Indeed, there was a bank account that was the same as the one that sent the stifling money.
Look at this, I think the answer’s almost surfaced.
I’m afraid it’s a fake education deal.
Principal, it’s probably boring on the line.
The transfer of about $5,000 a week is a fee for intermediaries earned by boredom.
That’s why the headmaster was so anxious to format the boring cell phone after he committed suicide.
Because according to the police procedure, some information about the deceased’s life is investigated.
Once investigated, the link between the headmaster and the stutter will inevitably be detected from the cell phone.
So, the scandal of buying and selling education is exposed.
I’m taking a deep breath.
There’s a feeling of relief.
But the feeling of forgiveness is not true.
It’s like I’m lying to myself.
It may seem that there are no problems.
But I’ve been following this for three years.
For three years, I think I know him better than bored myself.
It’s just selling his education. Why would he want to kill himself?
Did he really commit suicide because of depression?
If it was depression, then why did he leave me his bank card and password?
Shouldn’t we just transfer it to his parents?
I think there may be a deeper truth.
To be honest, I can only make sure that this is related to the business of the school, but I cannot prove it to be related to the headmaster.
Because it’s hard to tell if this bank account belongs to the headmaster, after all, it doesn’t have a name.
So I pretended to be a college student.
There’s a call over there.
But the phone didn’t work. It was hung up.
Then I got a text over there.
“Don’t make phone calls, text messages, media professionals 100,000, finance professionals 150,000, legal professionals 200,000, first pay a guarantee of 10,000 and arrange for your teaching. I’m sorry.
It’s like copying paste.
It’s a hundred thousand if you buy a degree. I don’t have that kind of money, but I have my own way.
I went to the principal’s office. I know it’s a regular school meeting in half an hour. The principal’s in the office before the regular meeting.
So I knocked.
“Come in. I’m sorry.
I pushed in.
Headmaster, look at me, it’s weird.
“You are… I have a little impression of you, you are…”
I said, “I am a bored roommate.” I’m sorry.
When it comes to boredom, the headmaster’s face reacts with a clear twitch.
I feel right.
The headmaster pushed his eyes and said, “What are you doing here? I’m sorry.
I’m talking like I’m talking, and I’m putting my hand in my pocket, and I push the phone button that’s ready.
“Oh, I’m going to the internship. I hope you can help me with some good offices. I’m sorry.
While I was talking, the headmaster’s desk sounded like a cell phone vibrating.
I looked at it, not his phone on the desktop.
He opened the drawer, pulled his cell phone out of the drawer and hung it.
Then my cell phone in my pocket stopped dialling.
I did it again.
I saw the principal’s phone in the drawer again vibrating.
The principal was impatient to hang up and the dialling in his pocket stopped.
Here, I’m sure.
But it doesn’t help to make sure, just to make sure that the principal is really buying and selling.
And…
It’s true the headmaster’s bank accounts are transferred every week.
The headmaster put his phone back and said to me:
“It’s hard for me to interfere with things like finding a job. What about the headmaster’s authority? My work will be difficult. I’m sorry.
I’m finished, fake laugh.
“Yes, excuse me, excuse me. I’m sorry.
Say a bow.
On the bend, I saw the frame on the headmaster’s desk.
That’s his whole family.
Headmaster, principal’s wife, eldest son and a little daughter.
This little girl looks exactly like the girl who was at home teaching.
I don’t know.
I’m afraid I’m mistaken, and I went back to the chat session.
No matter how many times, the girl at the headmaster’s desk is the same person for the boredom of counselling.
At this point, I suddenly realized that the girl was actually the most important person I had to know the truth.
Three years later, I once again log in a boring micro-intelligence account.
I found the contact named “XX-Doctor” and sent a message.
Hello?
On that side, the girl may have been scared, and she must have known that she was bored to death, after all, the principal’s daughter.
A dead governess sent her a message.
How creepy is that?
It’s like a midnight bell.
As the top of Twitter continues to be converted between “name” and “in the process of being entered.”
I know, I did scare her.
I don’t know.
She waited a long time and finally sent a message.
“Is it in person?”
I respond.
“I was his classmate. I’m sorry.
After that information had been sent, she was also concerned that she was unsure and sent another voice message to her.
“I’m a boring classmate. I came to ask you something. I’m sorry.
When she heard the real person’s voice, she took it down.
“What do you want to know? I’m sorry.
“Do I want to know if you taught me how to be bored? I’m sorry.
“Yeah. I’m sorry.
“When is the weekly class? I’m sorry.
“Why do you ask? I’m sorry.
“I’m looking for the truth about the stale suicide. I’m sorry.
“…”
She apparently hesitated and thought for a long time, asking only one sentence.
“Didn’t the teacher hang himself for depression? I’m sorry.
“I don’t feel that simple, so I’d like to ask you, when does he go to school for you, where is it? I’m sorry.
The girl was quieter this time and didn’t answer my message.
I don’t know.
Later, I was so scared.
I suddenly realized I was too impulsive.
She’s probably going to tell the headmaster about this, and the headmaster probably noticed me in the context of my unusual behavior today.
The vortex, which is behind it, makes me feel dangerous.
Go back to the dorm and pack up and leave school today.
But just as I was packing, the girl sent me a long message.
“Friday, Saturday, Sunday, 7 to 9 p.m. I’m sorry.
“The site is in the area of the river garden, which cannot be further elaborated. I’m sorry.
“Six hours a week, 50 dollars a week, 300 dollars a week. I’m sorry.
“I don’t know why you’re investigating these things, but I don’t believe that teachers will kill themselves easily. I’m sorry.
“He taught me to be optimistic and encouraged me to face the challenges. I’m sorry.
“I don’t believe such people will kill themselves. I’m sorry.
“If you find out the truth, please tell me. I’m sorry.
I see these words, I just think it’s a good girl, and she won’t tell the headmaster.
But to be careful, I sent another message.
“Don’t tell your father about this. I’m sorry.
“Okay. I’m sorry.
I thought about it and asked:
“Will he drag in?”
Girl back:
“No, class’s off at 9:00, on time. I’m sorry.
“But after his work as a tutor, he often does not return to his bedroom. I’m sorry.
“Don’t go back to the bedroom? No, my father drove him back to school every time. He said he was afraid of being delayed. I’m sorry.
“The principal drove him back? I’m sorry.
“Yes, every time he drove him back to school. I’m sorry.
If the principal drives every time he comes back from class, they don’t go back to the bedroom.
I came to the river garden area.
Think about the girl.
What did he do if he didn’t go back to his bedroom?
The headmaster used a secret account to call stutter.
Boring is the headmaster’s daughter’s tutor.
The headmaster also drove the tumblers back to the dorm.
Everything points to the headmaster, and to be honest, I have a subjective, hypothetical answer, but I’m not sure.
I’ve been crouching until night and I saw the principal’s car drive into the neighborhood.
Then it didn’t come out.
I didn’t wait till late at night.
Back to school quietly.
Go back to the bedroom, lie in bed.
I felt like I thought it was, but I had no proof, and I couldn’t find it.
This hypothesis in my head really shook me.
After one night, I thought for a long time, and decided to stop looking for it.
If you’re waiting for the next story, you don’t have to waste time.
Because back there, I really didn’t keep looking.
So far, it has been years, and I haven’t pursued it.
I’m sure a lot of people have guessed the truth from my subjective assumptions.
Every weekend from 7 p.m. to 9 p.m., the principal’s daughter is given a tutorial.
At the end of the remedial session, the headmaster will personally drive the stutter back.
But boredom usually comes back to the bedroom the next day.
His bank, Kari, receives $5,000 a week from the principal in a secret account.
If the people who were supposed to be back in the bedroom had been with the principal for several nights, I would never have thought of anything other than a physical trade.
This may be the truth of the stutter of suicide.
That’s it. That’s it.
This is the second version I’m going to tell you.
No need to look. No need to look into it.
I was asked, “My pillowcase is zipper, or a bag.”
I know what the person who asked me this question wants.
If you ask, I’m not afraid to say it.
My pillowcases are zippers, and our entire bedroom pillows are zippers.
Right.
He did not choose me the night of the stifling suicide, but because of the three, only my pillow was zipped to the outside of the bed.
He zipped my pillow and stuffed it in.
To be honest, I was awakened by the zipper.
But I wasn’t fresh at once, I was just waking in half a dream.
I heard strange noises coming out of sulks.
But I don’t care. Just keep sleeping.
Finally, I was asked why I was so devoted to investigating the truth about the stifling suicides, and even developed as an obsession.
I’ll tell you, because that night, when he put the note in my pillow, I saw him coming back at half a dream.
I even heard him making some strange noise.
I could have stopped him, but I fell asleep.
The next day, when I saw the contents of the surveillance, I saw him wandering in the hallway like a ghost.
I can’t imagine how desperate he was.
At the same time, I feel ashamed.
If I had woken up and asked him, even if only one, perhaps he would not have succeeded in committing suicide, and perhaps he was about to graduate as well.
So I put myself in his perspective and tried to be in a relationship.
When he went to tutor the girl, it happened to be Friday.
The day he committed suicide, it was Friday.
How scared he is of coming Friday.
When a girl’s tutor is finished, he’ll be bored with the worst thing he hates.
A boy.
A male college student.
A male college student with no family.
A male university student with an underdeveloped family and depression.
When he came across something like that, it lasted for more than two months, shamed and unable to resist and refused.
I think that Friday must have been hard for him.
He must have taken a whole set of depression pills to try and paralyze himself.
But it didn’t work, and the deep emotions swallowed him, and he couldn’t escape, and he couldn’t face it.
It was only in this infinite torment that he stood on the windowsill again and again.
I wanted to see the truth with deep guilt.
But, as you can see, the truth is too strange to be found.
Years later, when I saw the news of the school’s transfer to the new principal, I was so excited that I decided to share this with you in an anonymous manner.
Or that.
No need to look. No need to look into it.
The Last Truth: A Landing Perspective
(All the boring ideas in the article, the author’s assumptions, have nothing to do with the first article)
At the end of February, Mr. Zhao of the Department of Engineering told me that the place for food canteens had been given to another, more difficult student, to transfer me to a library if I wanted to.
Teacher Jo told me:
“There’s nothing wrong with libraries, they’re free and they can learn. I’m sorry.
Maybe in Mr. Zhao’s eyes, I haven’t had a hard time getting to that point, just trying to make some extra time off school.
But Mr. Zhao doesn’t know I need to take my medicine, a hundred dollars a box, 10 pills a box, 200 mg.
I’m in a good mood when I eat 30 mg a day.
Felony times, eating 60 mg a day.
It usually takes less than four days to eat a box.
The canteens were supposed to work well, with free meals and wages.
The library, although free, is more than double the salary of the canteen.
If I were to be transferred to the library, that would mean that I had lost the canteen meal and a portion of my salary.
So I tried to talk to Teacher Zhao.
I’ll go to the workshop and find Teacher Zhao.
In the course of the communication, I was nervous, holding my hands on the lower of the feathers and holding my head up.
“Sensei Jo. I’m sorry.
“Well, it’s you.”
“Mr. Zhao, I really need to work in the cafeteria. I’m sorry.
Mr. Zhao’s answer was also brief.
“It’s already on the list. You’re not looking for me. I’m sorry.
Nevertheless, I must fight.
“Mr. Zhao, please, I really need you. I’m sorry.
Mr. Zhao just opened the cup, looked at me and covered it.
“The one at your top is a single parent. I’m sorry.
“But I…”
“Well, there’s a lot of other part-time jobs in and out of the school. I’m sorry.
“…”
I was invited out to the stairwell by myself.
And I found the most remote corner, sitting still on the steps, and then I took the cup out of the bag.
And a tablet of tablets of hydrochloric acid.
There are only two pills left.
I usually ate half, but this time I took two.
I put the tablets in my mouth after making sure it’s warm.
The pills followed the hot water and I swallowed it down my throat.
As my breath calmed down, it turned out there were so many people around.
I sat against the wall on the steps.
Feels like these people have nothing to do with me.
It’s cold. It’s colder with a glass of aluminum.
My eyes are red and hot.
And then we cried.
“Student?”
I slowly turned my head and saw a middle-aged man in a suit taping my shoulder.
“Are you all right? Why are you crying in the Szeki Building?”
I rise and nod in his direction.
“Thank you, I’m fine. I’m sorry.
I’ll be downstairs after that.
I’m just having a hard time, now.
I can’t sit here. Mr. Zhao is right. There’s a lot of part-time jobs.
I’ll find it.
Packed jobs are the best, if not, at least paid more…
I think so.
It’s almost time for the afternoon class. We’ll have to go after the afternoon class.
I went back to the bedroom and saw three roommates in three rows.
A flat head and glasses over one bed to command each other.
Sit under my bed with Brother Fat.
He saw me come and brought me a meal.
“We waited for you in the cafeteria for half a day and you didn’t come back, so I called you. I’m sorry.
I picked up dinner.
“How much? I’m sorry.
“What money do you want? I’ll take a copy of your homework. I’m sorry.
I’d love to laugh for Fat, but I just took my meds, and I’m dizzy and I can’t.
Fat realized I was wrong and asked me:
“Didn’t you go to Miss Zhao? I’m sorry.
I sit back in my place.
“Hmm. I’m sorry.
Fat, when you turn off the game, you have to leave.
“Mr. Zhao is in the wrong hands. I’m sorry.
“You’re going to find him?”
“He must’ve seen you talk so well. Why don’t you switch to the guy who’s in the same window as you? I’m sorry.
Fat is going out.
I tried to stop him, but he’s from the basketball club, and he’s gone.
Even if he goes now, it won’t help. According to Mr. Zhao, the list has been filed.
I should still get another part-time job right now.
After dinner, I posted a part-time message to the club around the school and waited for it.
About 10 minutes later, it’s time for class.
I pulled out the textbooks and left the bedroom.
It wasn’t long before I got out. I got a call in the hallway. It’s local.
I’m down.
Hello.
“Hello, class. I’m looking for a tutor for my daughter. A 50-hour class. Two hours on Friday, Saturday, Sunday night. I’m sorry.
“The tutor? Yes, I can. I’m sorry.
As soon as I heard the part-time tutor, it was probably the best job I could do.
The man at the end continued:
“It’s Friday. Can you come to the river garden at 7:00 p.m.?” Let’s try a lesson. I’m sorry.
“The trial course…”
“There’s also time to spend on trial classes. I’m sorry.
“Yes! I’m sorry.
After class, I didn’t go back to my bedroom, went out for a simple bowl of noodles and took a bus.
I follow the address on the phone, go to the river garden and call back.
According to the man on the phone,
Entered the man’s house.
He’s got a big, fancy family.
After entering the door, I saw the man standing at the door and greeting me. He was the one I met today at noon in the Szeki Building.
That man looked at me and said:
“Hello, class. Come on in. I’m sorry.
I looked at the slippers I had prepared in advance and asked:
“You are…”
“I’m the principal of your school. I’m sorry.
I’m panicking.
Headmaster? I’m sorry.
“Easy, I do have a daughter in my family, and he needs a tutor.” I’m sorry.
Says he points to the inside.
I put on my cheeks and slippers and followed the principal into his daughter’s room.
The principal and his daughter briefed me and I left.
I’ll just sit next to the girl.
She’s a sophomore this year. She was supposed to study at school tonight.
According to her, the headmaster suddenly called her back.
I’m a little sorry.
It feels like the headmaster called her back to give me this part-time opportunity.
“Perhaps at noon, the principal talked to Teacher Zhao. I’m sorry.
That’s what I think. I really appreciate the headmaster.
The sophomore year is very tight, and she’s been studying for almost a moment.
When she was studying, I found out that she deliberately avoided all her subjective questions, but that she was always able to answer questions that had fixed answers.
I look at this girl and feel a little pathetic.
It’s the same age, but it’s stuck in a book.
Think about it. I don’t deserve her.
Because it’s the first time I’ve had an extra class, and I’ve just learned the general level of girls.
With the girl’s current studies, it’s already a nail job.
What really bothers her is just the ability to impact 985 and 211.
All I can do is get her on a subject matter, a little more.
The first class was conducted in a regular manner.
At night, I was leaving, and the headmaster grabbed me, and he said:
“I’ll drive you home. Don’t delay the lockdown. I’m sorry.
I’m a little embarrassed to scratch my head.
“No good…”
“On the way, I’ll tell you something. I’m sorry.
The principal said so, and I didn’t say no.
On the way back, I was sitting on the co-driver.
The headmaster said, “I heard about you from Teacher Zhao. I’m sorry.
I’m just nodding, not making a sound.
The headmaster went on to say, “You’ve done well, and my daughter is yours.” I’m sorry.
“You come to class, but you can’t tell anyone! I’m sorry.
I understand that university students work part-time at the headmaster’s house, which is a very easy thing to do.
“Outside I’m just saying I’m a tutor. I’m sorry.
“Well, good boy, you have to learn yourself and become a social person. I’m sorry.
I listened to this, and I was touched…
“Hmm. I’m sorry.
Go back to the bedroom.
The roommates asked me where I was.
I just simply answered them.
Work. I’m sorry.
Working?
“Well, I got a job as a tutor, a weekend job, and I got paid well. I’m sorry.
Speaking of which, a couple of roommates are happy for me.
I feel like I’m getting better.
Second class, I looked at her first week exam.
She took most of the base points on her dead body, but was never able to express her views on subjective issues that required brain action.
I spoke to her, and her answer surprised me.
“I don’t like the subject matter. Two years ago, I studied the Queer Snow, which depicts the cedars of the warm country, and I think it’s not united, it can’t be condensed, but it’s meant to be low, low, uncooperative and what is subjective? To force you to admit that the standard answer is your own subjectivity. I’m sorry.
Her answer leaves me without words.
Because I agree with her.
There are often instances in which the content of the author’s own writing is unprovenly assumed by the teacher.
In this case, who can say that the subject matter is a subject matter?
At the end of the third class, the girl suddenly said to East Chang Xie:
“Don’t you wonder why it’s just me and my dad? I’m sorry.
I frown, I was curious, but I didn’t mean to ask.
The girl says:
“My mom left last year. They’re not divorced, but my mom just moved out. I’m sorry.
“She asked me to read, not to see her, and I don’t know why. I’m sorry.
She has no face and no feelings.
Like reading in a textbook.
I see her as lacking in the joy that girls of this age deserve.
Just like I was having depression.
I don’t know.
After the third class, I took the principal’s car back to school.
He usually sends me to the entrance by the school door, and the rest of the road goes back to me.
This time he sent me to the school door, he didn’t want me to get off.
He left me in the car and gave me a bag.
It’s in a sneaker box.
It’s just the fourth time I’ve met the principal, and I can’t accept such a valuable gift.
“I can’t take it.”
“My daughter’s going to have to ask you from now on. I’m sorry.
The headmaster stuffed the shoebox into my hand, then stretched out the body from the driver’s seat, held up and opened the door on my side.
I didn’t think too much, just feel guilty.
But the principal didn’t give me room to say no.
So I took it.
“Thank you, Principal. I’m sorry.
Back in the dorm, lying in bed, I got a transfer from the girl.
Three hundred dollars.
I have to say, it’s really easy to teach this job.
It’s almost finished.
That’s $300, $200 to buy medicine.
One hundred dollars left. Let’s have dinner tomorrow at noon.
They’re good to me.
On Tuesday, the grade group distributed a number of places for party activists, and we had two classes.
I can’t afford to.
I don’t talk much in class and I don’t have a good relationship with my classmates.
This activist is not my place anyway.
The same is true.
That’s probably what this society is about.
It’s not as good a job as it is.
The final result, as I thought, was that the two places were given to the two most recent girls in our class.
Yeah.
It’s a little hard.
Take two today.
Friday, the list of activists came in.
Strangely, the teacher suddenly found me and he told me:
“You’ve changed the list from the grade group to the activist. I’m sorry.
I was just surprised and confused.
Because I don’t understand. It’s nice. Why did you change it to me?
That night, I went to class for the fourth time for girls.
Five days without seeing, the girl is still a serious look.
The headmaster went to pay today, and I wasn’t home, and I thought maybe I could do something other than school.
I turned my head to the girl’s bookcase.
It’s got several books from Wilder.
I’ve heard of Wilder.
His work is said to cry after reading.
I shot the girl on the shoulder.
She looked up and wondered about me.
I pointed to “The Nightingale and Rose” in the book cabinet and asked:
“Do you like Wilder? I’m sorry.
Speaking of Wilder, she’s got some spirit.
When I saw her reaction, I asked her:
“The book. Can I borrow it? I’m sorry.
Nightingale and Rose
A boy and a girl confess.
The girl says, “Give me a red rose and I’ll marry you.”
♪ Boy looking in the snow ♪
“Only white roses.”
Where’s the red rose?
He’s looking, he’s looking…
I just can’t find it.
A nightingale hears a boy’s wish, gets moved.
She came to a white rose and hit her chest against a thorn.
In the snow, the nightingale sings like love
The white rose draws the blood of the nightingale and finally becomes a red rose when its song stops
The boy found the red rose in the nightingale song.
♪ He’s happy to bring red roses to the girl ♪
The girl turned him down because the boy was poor.
♪ Boy’s mad at the red roses ♪
Crushed over and over by the wheel…
“It’s a sad story.”
I read Nightingale and Rose, and tears fell unconscious.
I forgot my pills today because of this book.
But I’m not uncomfortable at all.
It’s just that I fell asleep in the smell.
Fifth class.
Towards the end, I talked to the girl about Nightingale and Rose.
This is the first time she smiled and talked to me.
She stated that she regretted the sacrifice of the nightingale and was ashamed of the behaviour of boys and girls.
She said that if she were to write the ending, she would write that the girl still rejected the boy for money.
But the boy will treasure this red rose.
I saw the light in her eyes.
“I wish you could be your pen boy. I’m sorry.
I told him so.
I gave her “The Nightingale and Rose” after the fifth remedial.
She lent me another one.
The English version of Doreen Grey.
There’s a handsome teenager on the cover of this book.
The principal drove me back this time.
Halfway through the car, while waiting for the light, the headmaster’s right hand left the wheel.
Put your hand on my thigh and hit it twice.
And then ask me:
“How’s my daughter’s study going? I’m sorry.
My attention was taken by the headmaster’s hand, and I answered the principal’s question unconsciously.
“Fine, she’s been fine. I’m sorry.
The headmaster seemed to care, and went on to say:
“You’re doing well, you’re not late, you’re not the activist, I’ll have your name added to the class. I’m sorry.
His hands began to change from slap me in the thigh to rubbing back on my thigh.
I swallowed saliva.
“Thank you. I’m sorry.
The headmaster’s hand began to stop on my thigh and began to squeeze the meat on my thigh.
“You deserve it. I’m sorry.
I feel bad about the strong discomfort, but I have no medicine around me.
I can only breathe with a big mouth, pointing at the red and green light, saying:
“Green light out. I’m sorry.
The principal paused.
Then pull your hands off and keep driving.
Get out of the car.
I push the door, get off.
The principal suddenly grabbed my hand and said:
“Remember to come to class tomorrow. I’m sorry.
I looked at the headmaster in the car and felt there was some black wire around him.
I can’t. I can’t.
“Hmm. I’m sorry.
The principal let go and drove away.
I didn’t dare move until after his car was so far away.
I was carrying a bag and slowly moving to the side of the road.
Turn around and sit on the bricks outside the flowers.
Watch the car.
In my eyes, these cars became a long, long light.
At first it was the color of neon lights.
And then it turned gray.
I watched, slowly burying my head in the arms.
About crying.
I quietly went back to my bedroom and took off my shoes from the principal.
In my cabinet, take out the new medicine.
Took two, didn’t feel enough, and half.
No matter how hot it is, put it in your mouth and drink it.
My brain is dark, my eyes are black.
I feel like the principal…
Something’s wrong.
Just go tomorrow once.
I won’t go to school with $300.
I made up my mind.
I just took my pills and I’m slow to think.
I don’t know if my roommate’s looking for me, but I’m just sitting in my place and taking the book out of my bag.
Doreen Grey’s Picture.
Just start to look like that.
Doreen Grey.
Greendore is a beautiful young man.
The painter saw him and tried to draw a self-portrait for him.
That picture shows the beauty of Greendore more than a mirror.
“Youngers are obsessed with self-image.”
♪ And then the youths ♪
He’s violent.
Later, when he went to see a self-portrait, he was ugly.
He couldn’t accept that ugly self-portrait, so he pulled out a knife and stabbed him in the picture.
But the knife.
♪ I used to stab a teenager in his own chest ♪
People see this scene.
We found the faces on the ground.
“The painting on the wall is still shining.”
This is clearly a work of virtue.
But I thought of something else.
When the headmaster was nice to me, I thought he was like Doreen Grey.
But in my eyes, the headmaster is getting ugly like that self-portrait.
Sixth time in class.
I look very mundane.
I couldn’t solve the questions raised by girls on several occasions.
Girls find it strange, ask me:
“Is something on your mind? I’m sorry.
I don’t know how to answer that. I can’t say it’s your father.
She’s a good girl. Just don’t know about it.
“No, nothing. I’m sorry.
Then.
The principal pushed the door.
He said to me:
“Come on, I’ll take you home. I’m sorry.
I went out with him and looked at the girl.
Yeah.
Give her a smile.
Then.
Give yourself a smile.
Ahh…
This is probably hell.
It was the next day, and I came out of a very simple hotel with my own clothes.
“Dawling Gray’s Pictures.”
I remember yesterday.
Same time, same car, same person.
At the turn-off to the school, he took a call.
“Hmm? Oh, well, wait for me. I’ll be right there. I’m sorry.
He hung up on the phone and turned his head and said:
“There’s an important document here. I’m sorry.
I’m not thinking much.
Then he took me downstairs in a hotel.
He threw the briefcase at me and said to me:
“Come up with me. I’m sorry.
I didn’t think too much.
He’s the principal after all.
I’m just helping him get his briefcase…
Should be all right.
How could it be okay? How could it be okay? How could it be okay? How could it be okay? How could it be okay? How could it be okay? how could it be okay? how could it be okay? how could it’s okay? how could it be okay? how could it’s okay? How could it be okay? How could it be okay? How could it be okay? How could it be okay? How could it be okay?
Get in the room.
Nobody.
He pushed me.
He locked the door.
He’s coming.
He got me.
Ahh…
That’s the hell it is.
It’s good, it’s bad, it’s bad, it’s bad, it’s bad, it’s bad, it’s bad, it’s bad, it’s bad, it’s bad, it’s bad, it’s bad, it’s bad, it’s bad, it’s bad, it’s bad, it’s bad, it’s bad, it’s bad, it’s bad, it’s bad, it’s bad, it’s bad, it’s bad, it’s bad, it’s bad, it’s bad, it’s bad, it’s bad.
Why me?
The Last Truth: The Art of Behaviour.
This is the last time I’m gonna update this story in front of my computer.
It’s been a month since the story was published.
The story has now broken 10 million in total readings on all platforms.
You’re all looking at boring things and looking for boring prototypes and background on the Internet.
I’m worried, I’m upset, I’m questioning, I’m sorry.
I’ve seen tens of thousands of netizens who are looking for the truth.
Today, I will tell you the truth.
Actually, the story has no prototype.
If so, it’s Internet and media.
You may hear it in the clouds, but after my brief explanation, you may understand.
I’ve been following the news.
But I found that, in addition to the mainstream media, the network was full of unregulated self-media.
There was a boy looking for his biological parents the previous day.
Having received the attention of society as a whole, he left a silent note and left the world.
I talked to my friend at dinner, and I asked him:
“Why is he being followed by society or is he leaving?” I’m sorry.
He said:
“The concern is not to be helped, the Internet is more of a theatre watcher, and the child is seen alive and dead. I’m sorry.
This sentence, turned into a needle, inserted into my throat.
I am.
Nothing to say.
Later, I went to see the account number of Liu Jiay State.
The comment section is full of joy, and everyone is nice and warm.
I’m like Ruther.
It’s in the words of people eating.
It was clear that earlier he had been called a obstinate, ungrateful and compassionate.
They’re all clean and clean today.
Few people remember this, too, are drowning in time.
This is the best proof that the Internet has no memory.
I know, of those who yell at him, it’s definitely the sailors and the robots.
I’m sure you’re gonna yell.
If you don’t, how do you get the talk and how do you get more attention?
Today’s network needs to be the subject of debate.
If there is discussion, there will be users, there will be traffic.
But with time, it wasn’t just robots and sailors.
And some of you.
Unidentified blood-eating crowd.
The blood-eating crowd was just watching the play.
He’s a bad man, looking deep, not having to know the truth.
People scolded me.
I am also a righteous man who picks up his cell phone.
I was at the moral high ground.
I will live with the truth, and I will live with it.
And there’s a vagabond of lovers.
I understand you’re being fooled by the Internet.
You have to wrap your hearts together and look at things more calmly and rationally.
Too often, it is only when there is no remedy that you regret your hesitation.
And the media, alone, have more people than the media.
Great, great!
I think the blood eaters really don’t care about the truth.
The blood-eating people look at the boy’s story like a web novel.
Enormous of the scenes, find your position, raise your arms and swear your pleasure.
Those who are supposed to be helped by the Internet, who are suffering from the spread of the Internet, have become the more sophisticated online and script killings in our eyes.
In other words, if you can get emotional swings, you can get “Ah!” It’s so depressing! It’s terrible! It’s so sad!
It doesn’t matter if it’s true or not. As long as it’s a story that’s beautiful and irreversible, you’ll like it.
I thought so.
It’s decided to show you the microcosm of the Internet.
I have decided to make myself the self-media that controls the truth, so that people can feel the so-called truth.
I started writing.
In my truest words, in my many experiments, I have constantly changed, and I have finally written a story.
This story is the first one you see.
An irreversible, hidden tragedy.
That’s the boring story.
After writing this story, I put it in front of you.
I sent people to see the story, to guess the truth of the story, to search the web for the prototype.
More than 10 million people read, and nearly a million people are concerned about this reality that does not exist.
Some of them opened the map and searched the place names in the text.
Some visited schools and asked if they had done so.
Some simply put their speculations on the Internet and unprovokedly suspected innocent people.
Sitting in front of a computer, watching an individual initiate private conversations with him.
I am deeply afraid of the huge traffic in the Internet.
I’ve been telling you this story is false.
Nobody believes me.
Most people think it’s an excuse for me to defend myself.
From this angle, I’m both happy and sad.
I’m glad these people care about themselves.
I am sorry that these people believe only what they want to believe, and do not care about the truth.
Not to mention after the truth, after the truth.
Everyone’s looking at the boring story, as if it’s the end.
But I didn’t stop at all.
You’re all my characters.
It’s like a little behavioral art.
I’m putting the truth in the media.
You’re a bunch of people who don’t know the truth.
In addition to our two groups, there is a third.
That’s…
A few netizens who know the truth!
When I’m done with this story, I’ll carefully select some readers.
Some of them are mothers, others are university students, some are teachers and others are editors of the media.
I’ll tell them the truth and let them know that I invented the story.
They are then asked to look to those who know the truth.
The new ones learned the boring story.
Me and those who know the truth.
Watching them leave a message in the comment area, running online.
I saw them deny my own fiction.
Watching them get into a fantasy network.
Some readers who know the truth are afraid.
A boy told me.
“He also has fears about the Internet. I’m sorry.
I just said:
“Believe in the light. I’m sorry.
So people keep asking me what the last truth is.
I’m deleting the truth exactly.
I always say that.
You’re crossing the border.
The whole story is a behavioral art.
All the people who read this story are the ones I wrote down.
I love Mr. Shang’s words.
“In the Internet era, we’re too used to controlling life.
“as long as there’s a cell phone with Wi-Fi power.
“It feels like everything is in hand. I’m sorry.
And finally, I’d like to end with an already old web section.
“Do you see who killed you? I’m sorry.
“No, he stood at the height of morality, under the holy light, and I couldn’t see his face. I’m sorry.
No, he’s hiding behind the phone screen. I can’t see his face.
[Final] filing number: YXX1RBz0jbtYDZ58AzCM1Mb
I don’t know.
Keep your eyes on the road.
