Let me ask you something. If your homeroom teacher put a glass jar in the classroom and told everyone to write anonymous notes praising their classmates, what could possibly go wrong?
Worst case, no one writes anything. Or someone writes something stupid like "So-and-so swept the floor really well today."
That's what I thought too.
---
My name is Li Yuan. I'm a second-year student at Chengdong Vocational School.
The full name is "Chengdong Vocational and Technical School," but everyone calls it "Chengdong Votech" because there's really nothing to brag about. The teaching building used to be a textile factory that went bankrupt. The sports field is just a two-hundred-meter cinder track. The basketball hoops have nets torn into strips. The dorms are new, at least, but there are only two buildings—one for boys, one for girls—separated by an iron fence with a "No Climbing" sign hanging on it.
My major is "Electronic Technology Applications," which is basically learning how to fix things. Theory in the morning, hands-on practice in the afternoon. That means crouching in the workshop soldering circuit boards, taking apart TVs, refilling old fridges with Freon. The workshop is on the first floor of the teaching building, and the windows face the trash station. In summer, you can imagine the smell.
Thirty-four kids in the class. Twenty-eight guys, six girls. The girls sit in the first two rows, the guys sit behind them, with a stretch of empty seats in between like a demilitarized zone.
I live in Room 302 of the boys' dorm. Four to a room. Top bunk above me is Sun Lei, who plays games until two in the morning every night. On speaker. No headphones. Across from me on the bottom bunk is Wang Dapeng, who does ab exercises every morning at six, grunting "hup-hup-hup" like his life depends on it. It drives me insane.
The bed by the window, across from Sun Lei's top bunk, belongs to Zhao Yu. This guy is so quiet that sometimes I forget he's even in the room.
Our homeroom teacher is Ms. Liu. Liu Min. Early thirties, wears glasses, teaches Electrical Fundamentals. She transferred from a votech school in the next city. Word is she used to work as a student counselor somewhere. Ms. Liu is responsible, I'll give her that, but sometimes she tries too hard. She loves organizing these "class bonding" activities.
"Song of the Week"—the whole class sings some motivational song before lunch break. "Wish Wall"—a big sheet of white paper taped to the back of the classroom where everyone writes their wishes. Every time, she goes all in, hypes it up for two weeks, and then nobody cares anymore.
End of last semester, during the teacher evaluation, someone wrote: "Ms. Liu, can you please stop with the useless stuff? Letting us sleep ten more minutes would mean more than all of it."
Ms. Liu didn't get mad. She probably took it seriously.
Second week of this semester. Monday homeroom period. She walked in carrying a glass jar.
It looked like one of those giant pickle jars from the supermarket. She'd taped a piece of pink paper to it and written "Praise Jar" in marker. She'd also drawn some flowers next to it. They looked like eggplants.
"Class," Ms. Liu set the jar on the podium. "This semester, we're doing a new activity."
A wave of chair-scraping sounds from below. Sun Lei lifted his head from his phone for a second, then went back to it. Wang Dapeng was stuffing a bread roll into his mouth, cheeks puffed up like a hamster.
"As you've all noticed," Ms. Liu adjusted her glasses, "a lot of people in this class don't really know each other. The kids in front and the kids in back. The boys and the girls. Between different dorm rooms. Hardly anyone talks. That's not good for the learning environment, and it's not good for your future employment prospects."
"So," she patted the jar, "I've decided to start a 'Praise Jar' activity. The rules are simple. I'll put this jar at the back of the classroom, next to some pre-cut paper slips and pens."
"At any time, you can anonymously write something praising a classmate. Like, 'So-and-so helped me fix my charger.' 'So-and-so did a really thorough job cleaning today.' Anything. Fold it up, drop it in the jar."
"Every Friday afternoon, during the last self-study period, I'll read them out loud to the whole class. Anonymous. Completely voluntary. No pressure."
She said this in a really casual tone, like it was the smallest thing in the world.
The classroom went quiet for two seconds.
Then Sun Lei was the first to speak: "Ms. Liu, can I not write anything?"
"Of course you can. I said it's voluntary." Ms. Liu smiled. "But I hope everyone participates. Think about it. If someone writes about you and you don't write about anyone, doesn't that look a little bad?"
"So isn't that basically mandatory?" Wang Dapeng muttered. Not too loud, not too quiet. Just loud enough for the whole class to hear.
Ms. Liu didn't answer. She just said, "The activity starts today. The paper and pens are next to the jar. Everyone, do as you see fit."
After she left, the vibe in the classroom was weird. Some people went to the back to look at the jar. Others went back to their seats and scrolled through their phones. On my way past, I glanced inside—empty jar, you could see the back of the sticker through the glass.
Zhao Yu stood next to the jar, pen in hand. He hesitated for a moment, then wrote something on a slip and dropped it in. He was the first.
I asked him, "What'd you write?"
He glanced at me and said, "Nothing."
---
First week. Friday self-study.
By the time Ms. Liu showed up, the slips in the jar were about a finger's thickness deep. She carried the jar to the podium and clapped twice to get everyone to settle down.
"Alright, first round of praise. Everyone listen up."
She pulled out a slip, unfolded it, cleared her throat:
"Sun Lei is loud when he games, but he never curses at his teammates. Good attitude."
Sun Lei froze for a second, then smiled, looking genuinely embarrassed. He does play games on speaker, but it's true he doesn't curse at people. His way of raging is throwing his phone. He broke two of them last year.
Ms. Liu pulled another one:
"Wang Dapeng exercises every morning. Very disciplined. Someone we should learn from."
Wang Dapeng puffed out his chest and flexed his biceps. A few people laughed.
"Zhao Yu is great at soldering. He helped me fix a circuit board during workshop. Thank you."
Zhao Yu said nothing, just nodded. He is good at soldering. Got third place at the school-wide skills competition last time.
"Li Yuan—oh, did you write this yourself?" Ms. Liu glanced at the slip, then at me. "'Li Yuan's bedside lamp is really bright, but he still reads after lights out. Very hardworking.'"
I didn't write that. But someone wrote about me. I had no idea who. My bedside lamp is one of those clip-on ones I bought online. It is really bright. Sometimes I read novels after lights out. But only my roommates would know that.
The first week's slips were all like that. "So-and-so brought someone food." "So-and-so lent me a pen." "So-and-so mopped the floor really well." After the reading, people clapped. Scattered, weak, like distant thunder before a storm.
When it ended, Ms. Liu picked up the jar and left. She'd said the jar would normally stay on the cabinet at the back of the classroom, but on Fridays she'd take it home to "organize," then bring it back after the weekend.
At the time, I thought the activity was dumb but harmless.
---
The second week's slips started getting a little different.
Ms. Liu read: "If workshop class feels like it's dragging on forever, just look at Zhao Yu. He's always the calmest one there."
That one was kind of funny, because Zhao Yu really does everything slow. When everyone else is done soldering, he's still there carefully lining up the holes. But his work never needs to be redone.
Another one: "Sun Lei changed his phone case. From black to blue. Looks much better."
Sun Lei scratched his head. "Changed it last week. How come you guys are all so observant?"
People laughed.
And another: "Li Yuan's alarm goes off at six-twenty every morning. Takes three rings to get up. Respect."
That slip made me uneasy.
It's true. My alarm does go off three times. First at six-twenty, second at six twenty-five, third at six-thirty. I've had that habit since middle school. But no one outside my roommates should know that.
Because at six-twenty, most people in the dorm building are still asleep. My alarm isn't that loud. Only I can hear it. Or I thought only I could hear it.
I turned to look at Wang Dapeng. He was staring at his phone.
Sun Lei was picking at his fingernails.
Zhao Yu was looking out the window.
I didn't say anything.
---
What really made me feel something was wrong happened in the third week.
Wednesday. Lunch. I was in the cafeteria line. Zhao Yu was ahead of me. After getting his food, he turned around and looked at me and said one thing:
"Li Yuan, have you not been sleeping well the past couple days?"
"Huh?" I touched my face. "I'm fine. Why?"
"Nothing." He walked off with his tray. "Just noticed your dark circles are worse."
I didn't think much of it at the time. I really hadn't been sleeping well—Sun Lei had gotten a new phone and his game audio was even louder. I could hear it through my earplugs. But what did that have to do with Zhao Yu? He slept in the bunk across from mine. He should've been more bothered by the noise than me.
Friday. Self-study.
Ms. Liu came in with the jar as usual. This week there were noticeably more slips—the jar was almost full. She unscrewed the lid and grabbed a handful.
First slip:
"Wang Dapeng trained all winter break. He really does have four-pack abs now. Respect."
Wang Dapeng nearly jumped out of his chair, grinning so wide his mouth practically split.
Second slip:
"Sun Lei got a new phone, but the speaker volume is actually lower now. Thank you."
Sun Lei chuckled. "Of course. New phone has this 'smart volume' feature."
More laughter.
Ms. Liu kept going:
"Zhao Yu changed his bedsheets last week. Now they're blue. Looks better than the gray ones from before."
People turned to look at Zhao Yu. His face went red. He whispered "thank you," his voice barely louder than a mosquito.
"Li Yuan's tomatoes sprouted. Second row, third pot on the balcony. They're growing nicely."
My smile froze on my face.
Last semester, I planted a few tomato seeds in pots on the dorm balcony. After winter break, I switched to a bigger styrofoam box. Planted five seeds. Last week, they did sprout—three pushed through, two were still under the soil. Second row, third pot. That's the blue plastic one I use specifically for seedlings. It has a crack in the bottom.
I hadn't told anyone about this. My roommates didn't even know exactly how many seeds I planted or which pot they were in. Because I'd always been low-key about gardening on the balcony. The school technically doesn't allow plants in the dorms—says it "affects hygiene."
Ms. Liu set that slip down and picked up another. Her tone didn't change:
"Wang Dapeng's T-shirt was bought at Wanda last year. Fifty percent off. A hundred and twenty yuan. Looks good on him. Makes his skin look fairer."
Wang Dapeng froze. He looked down at his dark blue T-shirt. His mouth opened. Nothing came out.
"Sun Lei copied Li Yuan's answers on the English final last semester. Li Yuan has really neat handwriting. Huge help."
The classroom went dead silent.
Sun Lei's face turned ghost white in an instant. He did copy my English paper. End of last semester, English final. He sat diagonal behind me. I deliberately shifted my paper to the left so he could see a few multiple-choice questions. Only the two of us knew about it.
"Li Yuan hides an old phone under his pillow. Every night he reads novels under the covers until midnight."
A cold sweat broke out across my back. I do have an old phone. A Redmi from sophomore year of high school. No SIM card, just connected to the dorm Wi-Fi. I read novels on it every night. I hide it under my pillow so I can shove it under the blanket quickly during room checks.
I lifted my head and scanned the room.
Some people were whispering. Some stared at their desks. Some had blank expressions.
Zhao Yu was looking at me.
I couldn't read his expression. It wasn't concern. It wasn't curiosity. It was more like... confirmation? Like a teacher watching a suspicious student during an exam, waiting to see if they'll cheat.
Ms. Liu set the slip on the podium and coughed. "These... these slips are getting a little too specific. In the future, everyone, try to write things related to schoolwork, or—"
She didn't finish.
Because Sun Lei stood up.
"Who wrote that?" His voice was shaking. I couldn't tell if he was angry or scared. "Who the hell wrote that?"
"Sun Lei, sit down," Ms. Liu said. "It's anonymous—"
"So if it's anonymous, you can just write about someone cheating?!" Sun Lei's voice got louder. "If this gets out, am I supposed to just forget about graduating?!"
He turned and stared at the entire class. No one dared meet his eyes. His gaze swept past me, paused, then moved on.
"Fine," he said. "Fine."
He grabbed his phone and walked out. The door slammed hard.
Ms. Liu stood there, still gripping several unread slips. She folded them up, stuffed them in her pocket, said "That's it for today," and left too.
The classroom was left with the sound of chairs scraping and hushed murmurs.
Wang Dapeng leaned over and asked me, "Was that you?"
"Was what me?"
"Your tomatoes. And Sun Lei copying your paper. Did you write it yourself?"
"Why would I write about myself hiding a phone?" I glared at him.
Wang Dapeng didn't push.
That night, the atmosphere in our dorm was strange.
Sun Lei never came back. His bed was empty, blanket folded neatly. He never folded his blanket before, so that had to be from this morning's room check. No one had touched it since.
Wang Dapeng sat on his bed doing ab exercises, but slowly, like his mind was somewhere else. Zhao Yu wore headphones and stared at his phone, the screen light flickering across his face.
I went to the balcony to check on my tomatoes. Three seedlings. The tallest one had just grown its fourth true leaf. The blue plastic pot—second row, third one—really did have five seeds planted. Three sprouted. Two didn't.
The slip mentioned "second row, third pot." That detail was too precise. No one could casually glance at the balcony and remember that.
Unless that person had been watching every night.
I checked the dorm door lock. Old-fashioned padlock. Only four keys, one for each of us. Had someone made a copy while I was out? Or had we just not locked the door? We often didn't bother—people went back to the dorm during class to grab stuff all the time.
I went back inside, wanting to ask Zhao Yu something, but I didn't know where to start.
He spoke first.
"Li Yuan, who do you think wrote them?"
His voice was quiet but clear.
"No clue," I said. "You?"
Zhao Yu thought for a moment. "Maybe someone who's just really observant."
"Observant enough to know what color you changed your bedsheets to?"
"I never told anyone about my bedsheets," Zhao Yu said. "But maybe someone saw when they came by our dorm."
"I can understand noticing bedsheet colors during a visit. How about the phone under my pillow?"
Zhao Yu didn't answer.
After a few seconds, he said, "If you feel unsafe, you could change the lock."
Then he put his headphones back on, turned over, and faced away from me.
---
Saturday. I went home.
My family lives on the east edge of town. Forty minutes by bus. I told my parents about what was happening at school—not everything, just that someone was writing anonymous notes in class, notes about my personal life, and it made me uncomfortable.
My dad said, "What's the big deal? Kids messing around."
My mom said, "Did you piss someone off?"
I said, "No."
My mom said, "Then don't overthink it. Go back and focus on your classes."
Sunday night, I got back to the dorm. There was a new lock on the door. Zhao Yu had installed it. Said he brought it from home.
"One key for each of us." He handed me mine. "Don't lose it. That's the only spare."
Wang Dapeng and Sun Lei were there too. Sun Lei seemed to have calmed down. He sat on his bed gaming, and the speaker volume was noticeably lower than before.
I thought changing the lock would fix everything.
---
Fourth week.
Wednesday. Afternoon workshop. I was soldering a circuit board. Zhao Yu sat next to me. He was soldering at his usual slow pace, but this time I caught him watching me. That kind of glance where you think someone's looking somewhere else, but they're really observing you.
"What?" I asked.
"Nothing." He paused. "Did you hide your phone under your pillow again last night?"
My hand jerked. The soldering iron nearly touched my finger.
"How do you know?"
"Just a guess." He smiled. "Your dark circles are worse again."
I didn't believe him.
---
Friday. Self-study.
When Ms. Liu came in, the whole class went silent. The tension snapped tight instantly. Everyone was waiting to see what would happen.
Ms. Liu stood at the podium, the jar in her hands.
"Let me say something first." Her voice was lower than usual. "Last week, some of the slips contained inappropriate content. I've dealt with it. Starting this week, every Friday afternoon I'll check the slips beforehand to make sure the content is suitable before reading them aloud."
Someone in the back made a "tch" sound.
"Also," Ms. Liu went on, "I've reported this activity to the grade director. He thinks it's very meaningful and recommends we keep it going."
The way she said "recommends" sounded off.
She reached into the jar, pulled out a handful of slips, picked one, unfolded it:
"Wang Dapeng really does have four-pack abs now. Last week it was only two."
Wang Dapeng didn't laugh this time. He sat there like a statue.
Ms. Liu read another:
"Zhao Yu fixed Li Yuan's broken charger cable. Li Yuan still doesn't know who did it."
That was true. My charger cable broke last week, then somehow it was fine again. I thought it fixed itself. Zhao Yu never told me. I turned to look at him. He was staring at his desk, the tips of his ears turning red.
Ms. Liu continued:
"Sun Lei went to Wanda in Chengdong on Saturday. Ate at the snail noodles place on the third floor. Medium spicy. Added a fried egg."
Sun Lei's face went white, then red.
"Li Yuan's mom sent him five hundred yuan last Wednesday. He bought a pair of shoes on Taobao. A hundred and sixty-eight yuan. He hasn't spent the rest yet."
My hands started shaking. Not hyperbole. I did get five hundred from my mom last Wednesday. I did buy shoes on Taobao. They did cost exactly a hundred and sixty-eight. And I really haven't spent the rest. Only my mom and I knew about this. I hadn't even deleted the Alipay transaction notification, but no one could see my phone.
When Ms. Liu got to the fifth slip, her voice tightened:
"Wang Dapeng went to the sports field bleachers with his girlfriend last Friday night. They were in the corner spot. Stayed there for forty minutes."
Wang Dapeng's head snapped up. He did have a girlfriend. She was in the class next door. They did go to the bleachers last Friday night. But he had never told a single person about it. Because dating is against school rules. If you get caught, you write a self-criticism and your parents get called in.
"Sun Lei hides his cigarettes behind the dorm building. Inside the fire hydrant box. Second shelf from the top. Wrapped in a plastic bag."
Sun Lei shot to his feet. He didn't yell this time. He just stared at the jar in Ms. Liu's hands, his eyes like he wanted to burn a hole through it.
Ms. Liu didn't look at him. She kept reading:
"Zhao Yu—"
She stopped.
She turned the slip over to look at the back, then flipped it back.
"I'm holding onto this one for now." She folded the slip and put it in her pocket. "We're about out of time. I'll read the rest next week."
"No, Ms. Liu!" someone shouted.
"Yeah, finish reading them!"
Ms. Liu ignored everyone. She picked up the jar and left.
This time she didn't leave the jar in the classroom. She took it with her.
---
After class, Zhao Yu found me.
He stood at the hallway corner, his voice low: "Did you see Ms. Liu's face when she read that last slip?"
"Yeah."
"What was on it?"
"How would I know?"
Zhao Yu stared at me for two seconds. "I think it was about you."
"Why?"
"Because she paused right after reading 'Zhao Yu,' then suddenly stopped. If it was about me, there'd be no reason to stop. Unless—"
"Unless what?"
"Unless what was written on it was something she couldn't read out loud."
I didn't respond.
---
That night, I lay in bed tossing and turning, unable to sleep.
Sun Lei wasn't gaming. He lay there, eyes open, staring at the ceiling. Wang Dapeng skipped his ab exercises too. Zhao Yu had his headphones on, but I noticed his phone screen stayed on the lock screen. He wasn't looking at anything. He just didn't want to talk.
I pulled out my old phone, connected to the Wi-Fi, thinking I'd look up whether there were any surveillance blind spots at school.
Then I got a text.
Unknown number.
"Go to sleep, Li Yuan. There's still a lot of praise to hear tomorrow."
I sat bolt upright.
The dorm was quiet. So quiet I could hear someone walking down the hallway.
No. Not walking.
Standing outside the door.
I stared at the gap beneath the door.
A slip of paper was pushed through.
White, neatly trimmed, folded twice.
I got out of bed. Bare feet on the cold concrete floor. Bent down and picked it up. Unfolded it.
One line of handwriting:
"Li Yuan, I love watching you check the locks. But you forgot the hallway window isn't shut."
I looked up at the dorm door. The padlock was on. Locked. The key was in my pocket.
The hallway window. Two meters to the right of our door. That window never closed properly. The latch was broken. A gust of wind could push it open.
Barefoot, I walked to the door, unlocked it, pulled it open.
The hallway was empty.
That window was wide open. Wind blew through, cold and sharp, carrying the stench of the trash station.
I walked to the window and looked down.
A few e-bikes and bicycles were parked below. One streetlamp was broken. The light was dim. But I could make out someone standing next to the flower bed.
Couldn't see the face. Just enough to tell it was a guy, about my height.
He stood there for a few seconds, then turned and walked away. The way he walked was familiar.
I wanted to chase after him, but I realized I was only wearing boxers.
Back in the dorm, I locked the door. Locked it again. Closed the hallway window too.
Zhao Yu turned over, facing me. His eyes were open.
"You saw?" he asked.
"Saw someone standing downstairs."
"Recognize him?"
"Couldn't see clearly."
Zhao Yu was silent for a moment. Then: "Tomorrow is Friday."
"Tomorrow is Thursday."
"Oh," he said. "Then the day after."
He turned back over.
---
Thursday. All day, I paid attention to everyone around me.
The jar sat on the cabinet at the back of the classroom. The lid was screwed on tight. During the break, I pretended to get water and stood next to the jar for five minutes. Nobody put anything in.
But by the afternoon, there were more slips.
I went to ask Zhou Ting. She sat in the second row, short hair, usually didn't talk much. I walked over and said, "Zhou Ting, did you see anyone put something in the jar?"
She glanced at me. "No."
"Did you write any?"
"No."
Her tone was flat. She didn't want to talk to me.
I asked Wang Dapeng. He said, "I stopped writing a long time ago. This thing is messed up."
"Who do you think is writing?"
"No idea." He paused. "But think about it. Someone who can see the phone under your pillow and count your flower pots from outside the balcony—what kind of person is that?"
"What do you mean?"
"Either someone who stays up all night watching you sleep, or someone who goes through your stuff when you're not around. Either way, it's someone in this dorm."
Wang Dapeng said this, then glanced at me. Then glanced at Zhao Yu's seat.
Zhao Yu wasn't there. He'd gone to the bathroom.
"You suspect Zhao Yu?" I asked.
"I didn't say that." Wang Dapeng turned away. "Think for yourself."
---
Thursday night. I made a decision.
I wrote a slip of paper. Folded it. Friday morning, when no one was around, I dropped it into the jar.
"Zhao Yu, I know it's you writing these. Stop pretending."
I wasn't sure.
I was testing him.
---
Friday self-study. Ms. Liu didn't come.
The class monitor said Ms. Liu had taken leave. Today's Praise Jar was canceled.
But the jar was still at the back of the classroom.
During the second self-study period, someone went for the jar.
A guy who usually didn't stand out—Li Hao. He walked up to the jar, picked it up, shook it, heard the slips inside. He unscrewed the lid and pulled one out.
"Don't—" Zhou Ting shouted.
But Li Hao was already reading:
"Zhou Ting, your new hair clip is really pretty. The pink one with the flower. You just bought it on Wednesday."
Zhou Ting covered her ears.
Li Hao pulled another:
"Wang Dapeng, you moved your cigarettes, right? The fire hydrant box is empty now."
Wang Dapeng's face went pale.
"Sun Lei, you talked to your dad on the phone for forty minutes last night. You cried. It's okay. Everyone goes through it."
Sun Lei lowered his head and buried his face in his arms.
"Li Yuan—"
Li Hao paused.
"Read it!" someone shouted.
Li Hao looked at the slip. His lips moved.
"Li Yuan, do you still think changing the lock helped? Ms. Liu can't save you now."
The classroom went silent for one second.
Then everyone was looking at me.
I stood up. Walked to Li Hao. Snatched the slip out of his hand.
Those words were written on it. Neat, clean handwriting. Blue ballpoint pen.
I clutched the slip and scanned the room.
Zhao Yu wasn't there.
I asked Wang Dapeng, "Where's Zhao Yu?"
"No idea. Haven't seen him since third period."
I burst out of the classroom, ran down the stairs, across the field, toward the dorm building.
On the way up the stairs, I tripped. My knee slammed against a step. The pain made me grit my teeth.
The door to Room 302 was open.
The lock hung on the hasp. Unlocked.
I pushed the door open.
Zhao Yu stood at the balcony door, his back to me.
"Zhao Yu."
He turned around.
His expression was calm. Too calm to be normal.
"You saw that slip?" he asked.
"Did you write it?"
"The one you wrote to me—I saw that one too." He spoke evenly. "'Zhao Yu, I know it's you writing these. Stop pretending.'"
"So is it you or not?"
Zhao Yu didn't answer. He stepped aside, revealing the balcony door behind him.
It was open.
My tomato seedlings were there in the styrofoam box. Three plants. The tallest now had six leaves.
Next to the pot was a stack of neatly cut A4 paper slips and a blue ballpoint pen.
"What are you doing?" My voice was shaking.
Zhao Yu smiled. It was a gentle smile. The same smile he gave you in workshop class after helping patch a solder joint.
"Finding things to write about," he said. "Your tomatoes look great. I can write another one tomorrow."
I stepped back.
"Li Yuan." He didn't move. "Don't be scared. Everything I write is positive. I praise you for being hardworking. For being attentive. For being a good son. Your mom sent you money and you don't even spend it. Isn't that a good thing?"
"You went through my phone?"
"No." He shook his head. "I just glanced at it. When you read novels at night, the screen is on. I can see the notification bar."
"What else did you look at?"
Zhao Yu tilted his head. "Not much. Just your Alipay balance. You don't clear your notifications. That's not a good habit."
I thought about all those nights, lying under my blanket reading novels, phone screen glowing. I'm on the bottom bunk. Zhao Yu sleeps on the top bunk across from me. From the foot of my bed, someone walking past could indeed see part of the screen. But to read the notification bar, he would have had to walk up and stand right in front of my bed.
All those times I thought I was safe under my covers.
"Every night you—"
"Not every night," he said. "Just sometimes. When I can't sleep, I take a walk around the room. You sleep really deeply. You really do."
I turned and ran.
---
Running out of the dorm building, I nearly crashed into someone.
Ms. Liu.
She stood at the entrance, phone in hand, like she was on a call.
"Ms. Liu?"
She looked at me. Her face was exhausted.
"Li Yuan." Her voice was flat. "Why are you running?"
"Zhao Yu—" I was gasping. "He's in the dorm. He wrote all those slips—"
"I know."
"You know?"
"I found out last week," Ms. Liu said. "But there's nothing I can do."
"What do you mean, nothing you can do?"
Ms. Liu turned her phone screen toward me.
It was a WeChat message. From the grade director.
"The Praise Jar activity is excellent. Keep it going. Stay safe."
Stay safe.
"The grade director says next week they're rolling it out to the whole grade," Ms. Liu said. Her voice was so quiet I had to lean in to hear her. "Every class will have a Praise Jar. Our class was the pilot."
"And you're just going to let them—"
"Li Yuan." Ms. Liu cut me off. "Do you think I can decide anything by myself?"
She looked toward the dorm building, then back at me.
"Besides, I've already talked to Zhao Yu in your class. He says he just wants to build better relationships with everyone. Everything he writes is positive. It's all praise. There's nothing I can do about him."
"He stands in front of my bed every night and looks at my phone screen. You're calling that 'building relationships'?"
Ms. Liu said nothing.
After a long pause, she said, "I suggest you switch dorms."
"If I switch dorms, will it stop anyone from watching?"
Ms. Liu's phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID and declined it.
"I'm leaving," she said. "You should go back too. Don't stay outside too long."
She left.
I stood at the entrance of the dorm building. The wind blew. The stench of the trash station.
I looked up at the third-floor windows. Room 302. The light was on.
The curtain moved.
Someone was behind the window. Watching me.
I looked down at my phone.
A new text.
Unknown number.
One line:
"Li Yuan, you forgot the balcony door is unlocked."
---
I ran back into the dorm building. Up the stairs. Pushed open the door to 302.
Zhao Yu wasn't on the balcony anymore.
The balcony door was closed. Locked.
One of my tomato seedlings had been pulled out. Roots and soil, dumped in the sink.
On the counter next to the sink, a slip of paper.
I picked it up.
"Sorry, I pulled out one of your seedlings. But I replanted the soil for you. Your excellence deserves to be seen by more people."
I clutched the slip and stood there for a long time.
I didn't know what to do.
Switch dorms? Switch classes? Drop out?
Or maybe I could write a slip too.
Write one about Zhao Yu. About how he walks around the dorm at night. About how he reads people's phone notifications. About how he pulled out my tomato seedling, then wrote "sorry."
Write it. Drop it in the jar.
And then what?
Friday, Ms. Liu or someone else reads it aloud. The whole class applauds.
Then Zhao Yu writes more slips.
And there will always be someone there. Watching you.
Memorizing what shampoo you use while you're in the shower. Reading your phone screen while you're asleep. Counting your flower pots while you're gone.
And they call it praise.
I'm not sleeping tonight.
I locked the door. Checked the balcony door. Checked the hallway window.
But I know it's useless.
Because tomorrow is still Friday.
The jar is still at the back of the classroom.
The slips will keep multiplying.
And Zhao Yu—or someone else—will still be there.
Watching me.
Writing about me.
Praising me.
---
I suddenly remembered something.
Last Wednesday. Workshop class. Zhao Yu said, "Your dark circles are worse again."
At the time, I thought he was concerned about me.
Now I remember—
When he said it, the soldering iron was in his hand. He was working on a circuit board.
He didn't look up at my face.
He was looking at my hand.
My phone was on the table. Screen facing up. Lit.
The notification had just popped up: "Your payment of ¥168.00 has been successfully processed."
He glanced at it.
Just one glance.
Then he said, "Your dark circles are worse again."
That's praise.
That's what passes for praise in our class.
Everyone is watching everyone.
And everyone thinks it's normal.
---
If you're in a class like this. If your teacher brings out a Praise Jar.
Don't write.
Don't let anyone write about you.
And most importantly—
Don't let them know you're reading this.
Because if they find out, they'll write about you too.
They're already writing.
Look out the window.