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Spring arrived early in Beijing that year, awakening something that had not yet fully stirred but was already preparing to spill out onto the streets. The city froze, as if lying in wait, anticipating something unknown. The school smelled of books, wet wood, and something subtly new — a scent that appears only at the onset of impending, as yet indistinguishable changes. The morning light filtered through unwashed windows, painting the maps and the portrait of the Great Helmsman in faded tones →