When reporters reached Maru Township Primary School in Baqen County early on the morning of October 24, tents were being set up one after another on the playground. Large patches of plaster had peeled off the walls of the teaching building and student dormitories. The eaves of the security room had collapsed to the ground, and broken bricks lay scattered along the base of the walls. Principal Dampa Gyatso stood nearby, his hair and jacket covered in dust, hoarsely urging the teachers pitching tents to secure the corners firmly.

On October 22, a magnitude-7.0 earthquake struck Baqen County in Nagqu City, Xizang Autonomous Region. After a night of danger, all 217 boarding students were accounted for, with not one missing and none injured.

That night, not a single faculty or staff member at the school backed away.

Pulling students out through windows when doors were jammed

When the earthquake struck, Teacher Pianduo was getting ready for bed. Suddenly everything began to shake. She got up to run outside, but the full-length mirror beside her fell heavily onto her. Ignoring the pain, she ran straight toward the student dormitory building.

By then, several male teachers were ramming the dormitory door with their shoulders, but the door panel had only cracked open a narrow gap.

"First-floor students, come out through the windows first!" someone shouted. Pianduo rushed to the window, pushed the frame open with all her strength, and reached in to pull the students out. She pulled one out and handed the child to a colleague beside her, then turned to take the next.

Soon, the dormitory door was forced open. Some teachers led students on the upper floors to evacuate to the playground, while others continued to rush back into the dormitory building.

Just then, when Teacher Chozom counted the students in her class, her heart sank -- three students were missing.

She and Teacher Lhatso sprinted back into the dormitory building, shouting the students' names loudly. The students, who had been sleeping deeply, groggily poked their little heads out from under the covers. The two teachers picked them up and ran out of the building immediately.

Back on the playground, Principal Dampa Gyatso counted the heads again: all 217 boarding students were present. It was only after all the children were safe that Pianduo stopped to catch her breath. She looked down and realized she had not been wearing shoes or socks. The ground beneath her feet felt sticky -- her instep had been cut by broken glass at some point, and blood had already stained the top of her foot red. She pulled out a piece of tissue paper from her pocket and pressed it against the wound.

It was not until the morning of October 24, after she had safely handed every child over to their parents, that she limped to the township clinic to get a single stitch.

"I am usually extremely afraid of pain," she said with a smile. "But at that moment, I felt nothing. Seeing that all the children are safe, this little injury is nothing at all."

A quilt and a blanket

On the playground, the wind carried a chill that cut straight to the bone.

Some students were barefoot on the cold ground; some wore only a pair of autumn trousers. All of them hunched their necks and shivered. Many children were so frightened that they cried. Teachers squatted beside them and softly soothed them: "It's all right now. Teacher is here!"

Dampa Gyatso and the male teachers turned and ran to the warehouse. Cracks had already been shaken into the warehouse walls, and broken stones were still falling.

Several of them rushed inside and carried out cotton quilts and blankets. Some carried two thick quilts at once; others tucked three blankets under their arms.

Back on the playground, the teachers quickly distributed the bedding. One cotton quilt, two blankets, and one thick blanket -- four layers of warmth packed tightly layer upon layer, so that no matter how strong the wind blew, it could not get through. Beneath the students, bedding was laid out too: a moisture-proof mat and a mattress. Some teachers felt the students' feet one by one; when they found a pair that was icy cold, they took off their own coats and wrapped them around the child's feet.

The students sat close together in the center of the playground. The teachers spontaneously formed a ring around the outside, constantly sheltering the children toward the middle while retreating farther outward themselves. Meanwhile, the search team, flashlights in hand, returned for a second time to the dormitory building, canteen, and teachers' temporary housing to confirm that no one had been left behind.

Movements practiced countless times

This composure did not come from nowhere.

It was an iron rule written into Maru Township Primary School's emergency plan: one teacher responsible for each dormitory room, which route students should take to evacuate, and what procedures the search team should follow -- all were spelled out clearly.

What made the plan truly work, however, were the movements practiced countless times.

Lodro Tsering of Class 3, Grade 6, recalled the scene that day and grew more frightened the more he thought about it: "If we hadn't taken the usual drills seriously, this time would have been too dangerous."

Earlier in the month, the school had just held an emergency drill. Lodro Tsering and several classmates had been fooling around and laughing, and their head teacher stopped them on the spot. "You think this is a joke? If this really happens, grinning like that will cost you your life." At the time, he only felt that the teacher had spoken too harshly and did not take it to heart.

That night, as he was pulled out through the window, he suddenly remembered those words.

Maru Township Primary School has always had a tradition of emergency drills.

In 2021, when Dampa Gyatso was appointed principal, he made the rules even stricter: twice a month, not one drill missed. Some people did not understand: "Nothing major has happened for decades. Drilling every month -- who is it for?" "Disasters don't announce themselves. If you don't practice normally, when the real thing comes, your legs turn to jelly," he said. After more than 20 years working at the grassroots level, he firmly believed one simple truth: prevention cannot wait until after something happens.

Chozom had also had doubts: twice a month -- wasn't that a bit of a waste of time? But that night, as she ran toward the dormitory building and received children by the window, where to place her feet, how much strength to use with her hands, and which route to take to the playground -- she did not have to think at all. It was all built up through ordinary practice. "When that moment really comes, drills save lives!" Chozom said.

The Baqen County Education Bureau has long required schools to solidly carry out emergency training, and Maru Township Primary School has never stopped at paper. When the county organizes safety training, teachers attend in batches; when they return, one trains another, passing on what they have learned. The fire and emergency departments also often come to the school to give guidance -- how to break open a blocked door, how to soothe frightened children -- all practiced and refined again and again in ordinary times.

All these efforts made in ordinary days were put to use that night. After the children were picked up, the campus was empty, but the teachers did not leave.

Tents were set up one after another on the playground. By day, they cleaned the school buildings and checked for hidden dangers; at night, everyone squatted at the entrances of the tents and gathered together to discuss plans for online teaching. "The cracked houses can be repaired, but classes cannot be delayed. We need to figure out how to arrange supplementary lessons for Grade 6, and how to organize online classes for all other grades."

As darkness fell, the streetlight at the school gate came on. The frames of the tents on the playground stood one after another, like another row of houses that would not collapse.

Source: Xizang Daily

Translator: Luo Rongting

First Review: Drakpa Wangchen, Liu Fang

Second Review: Drakpa Wangchen

Third Review: Hu Rongguo