作者：金米
编辑：冯仍 责任编辑：罗志飞
翻译:何兴强
女孩蹲在地上，在拳脚与羞辱袭来时，以一朵花凋零的姿势蜷缩。她的身子摇晃起来，像挂在树上的风铃，也像极了她那聋哑母亲和她交流时不停摇晃的双手和唇。她的委屈没有声音，像阴天里的一场细雨，悄悄落下，却戳得我们的心生疼。
她已经足够卑微了，在那些人看来，还远远不够。她总是低着头穿过走廊，脚步轻得几乎不被察觉，只有影子在墙上拉长。影子不会说话，也不会反驳。是啊，这样家庭出来的孩子，生来就得学会安静、懂事、息事宁人。学会在沉默中活着，学会把痛苦折成纸鹤，装入口袋。
这个世界常常对无力者格外严苛，命运就像一条灰色的蛇，将他们锁在平静的绝望之中，动弹不得。冷漠与恶意，不是狂风暴雨，却像无形的针，一寸寸扎破他们赖以生存的空气。看着孩子眼中的光被惊惧一点点夺走，这片暗夜，便更暗了。
有人说这只是玩笑，时间会冲淡一切。可他们不知道，这不是过眼云烟，而是青春里最深的裂痕。每一次忍耐，都在消耗她本该明亮的年华。每一次孤立，都在熄灭她本该自由的笑声。
走廊的灯会一盏盏熄灭，铃声会一遍遍更替，但记忆不会。我们不能指望，她的遭遇像一封被压在抽屉里的信，迟早有人读懂。我们更愿她的名字成为一盏未熄的灯，去照见这个世界的冷暖。
江油人是好样的，他们的心依然在跳动着，没有麻木。他们让我明白，这片土地依然在生生不息，在脚下蓄积着力量。我们也并非一无所有，我们的手中握着的江河，依然在奔流涌动。无论这暗夜有多么漆黑，还要持续多久，我们依然可以在冷笑与旁观之间，伸出一只温暖的手，为受冻的人取火，为无声的人发声。
无论如何，我誓死也不会原谅这个让孩子受尽折磨的世界。
The Girl from Jiangyou
Summary: The girl from Jiangyou suffered violence and humiliation on campus. Her silence was like a quiet rain, piercing the heart. This is not a joke, but the deepest wound of youth. A cold and indifferent world torments the weak, yet the awakening and action of the people of Jiangyou ignite hope. We must reach out, speak for the voiceless, and illuminate the darkness.
Author: Jin Mi
Editor: Feng Reng | Chief Editor: Luo Zhifei
Translator:He XingQiang
The girl crouched on the ground, curling up like a withering flower as fists and humiliation rained down. Her body swayed, like a wind chime hanging on a tree, and much like her deaf-mute mother’s hands and lips constantly moving when they communicate. Her grievances had no voice, like a drizzle on a cloudy day, quietly falling, yet piercing our hearts.
She was already humble enough, yet in the eyes of those people, it was still not enough. She always walked through the corridors with her head down, her steps so light they were almost unnoticed, only her shadow stretching along the walls. Shadows cannot speak, nor can they protest. Indeed, children from such families are born to learn silence, obedience, and conciliation. They learn to live in quiet, folding their pain into paper cranes and tucking them into their pockets.
The world is often especially harsh to the powerless. Fate is like a gray snake, locking them into a calm despair, unable to move. Indifference and malice are not storms or gales, yet they are like invisible needles, piercing the air they need to survive, inch by inch. Watching the light in a child’s eyes gradually snuffed out by fear, the darkness becomes even darker.
Some say this is just a joke, that time will fade everything. But they don’t know: this is not fleeting, but the deepest scar of youth. Every act of endurance consumes the brightness that should have filled her years. Every moment of isolation extinguishes the freedom her laughter should have held.
The corridor lights will turn off one by one, and bells will ring again and again, but memories do not fade. We cannot hope that her experience will be like a letter left in a drawer, eventually to be read by someone. We prefer that her name becomes a light that never goes out, illuminating the warmth and cold of this world.
The people of Jiangyou are admirable; their hearts are still beating, not numb. They have made me realize that life still thrives on this land, gathering strength beneath our feet. We are not powerless; the rivers in our hands still flow and surge. No matter how dark the night, or how long it lasts, we can still reach out with a warm hand among cold laughter and indifference—to bring fire to the frozen and voice to the voiceless.
No matter what, I swear I will never forgive this world that lets children suffer so.
