On the other side of road, the principal stood silently in the rain, holding an umbrella, but set A-Lai's essay on fire in a brazier.
The principal liked A-Lai a lot, even fantasizing about Alai's future as the next literature teacher or someone who ventured beyond the village to a broader future.
A-Lai never skipped class; occasionally, he might be a few minutes late. A-Lai loved literature, especially stories from beyond the mountains. His eyes would gleam during class, and after class, he would pester the headmaster to tell more stories from outside.
A-Lai was a forgotten friend, but now he was gone.
A-Lai's grandfather hunched over, tears long dried, standing silently behind the headmaster.
Dizzy Dan's face still had bandages on it, squatting in front of the tombstone, carefully studying the red rose. He then turned around and swept his gaze among the girls mourning, spotting that youthful face with deep sadness in her beautiful eyes. In his heart, it seemed like he had discovered some great secret.
"Oh, oh, Headmaster, I understand now!"
With a quick turn, it became clear that two man in black had already taken the principal away. Before leaving, the principal held a teacher's hand and said,
"If the kids come back to the school and want to keep learning, figure out how to keep things going, even if only one child stays."
Elsewhere on the grounds, a serious female reporter in black delivered her news report with a calm expression:
"Ladies and gentlemen, this is the Area 19 Neuraline News update.
The recent academy fire, caused by improper management of the bonfire event, has resulted in 9 fatalities and over 10 injuries, with the victims now receiving treatment at the hospital, where their conditions are reported to be stable.
In the wake of this tragedy, numerous valiant villagers emerged, battling the flames and rescuing the injured. We will continue to cover stories of these admirable individuals.
The academy's principal has been found to bear significant responsibility for mismanagement and has been taken into custody by the police for investigation.
Additionally, there have been claims from traveller of sighting a massive alien creature, which upon verification turned out to be an inflatable balloon prop used during the bonfire event…"
Her report was delivered as mourners stood in the background, their faces showing numb and vacant.
In the shadow of the distant woods, a black sedan, uncommon in this remote area, stood silently. Inside the car, two figures conversed:
"I've had my fill of this drunken nonsense," one voice said.
"Sir, wasn't it you who encouraged them to speak this way?" the other replied.
"Oh, are you idle now? Your task is to ensure Dr. James delivers the answers to us promptly!"
Beneath the incandescent lights of the federal laboratory, the silhouettes of two scientists were cast alongside the microscope.
Dr. James, fully dressed in protective gear, felt his eyes widening involuntarily, sweat forming on his forehead, fists clenched, his voice sharper than usual: "Look here, these black patterns… they're not ordinary fungi. This is a new type of fungus, its spores have caused genetic changes in the blood of wild wolves."
Dr. Monica's right hand went to her chest, calming her racing heart: "This is more than genetic change; it's a leap in biological evolution. These spores… they're like nature's paintbrush, altering the blueprint of life."
"These spores, they've completely transformed their hosts, enhancing their aggressiveness. The military folks must be treasuring them like precious gems," Dr. James's words betrayed a sliver of panic.
Dr. Monica's anxiety deepened: "But how do we control this change? The spores scatter with the wind, and once these black flowers bloom, the spores disperse in all directions like countless bombs."
Dr. James interrupted her: "Did you see that? Once the host dies, these black flowers start to wither, and the production of spores stops."
"But the number of mutated creatures at the site is vast, many have already escaped. These black flowers have long scattered their spores afar," Dr. Monica's voice carried a hint of helplessness.
"The range of animal activity is naturally limited, and the incident area is remote, seldom visited by humans; perhaps that's our good fortune," Dr. James mused, yet his eyes held no peace.
"We know nothing of these spores' effects on humans. Now, update all ventilation systems, equip filters smaller than the spores' size; we cannot risk letting these black flowers grow in the outside world," Dr. James commanded.
Dr. Monica nodded, her hands tightly clasped: "I will immediately notify the security team and the military."
After moving his eye to the next tissue slide, Dr. James slumped in his chair, his eyes vacant. He made the sign of the cross and murmured weakly, 'Oh God, is this mysterious power your punishment for this world? Or is it a gift from Satan to mankind?'
Dr. James's eyes widened as he leaned closer to the microscope, his breath catching in his throat. "Wait, oh God, what is this?"