Chapter 21 Part 2

The cafeteria offered two soups each day; today it was tomato egg drop soup and pickled vegetable glass noodle soup.

Lou Yixuan’s bowl matched Du Heming’s and He Huan’s—half portions of tomato egg drop soup, since Du Heming had ladled them for the group.

She wanted tomato egg drop soup; Du Heming had seen her drink it before.

But what Du Heming hadn’t noticed precisely was that Lou Yixuan’s own ladled bowl of tomato egg drop soup had only egg flowers—no tomatoes.

“Teacher Lin, want some soup? I’ll go ladle you a bowl.” Du Heming had just finished gnawing her chicken drumstick and, seeing no soup bowl on Lin Huayan’s tray, stripped off her glove to run the errand.

“No need.”

The words were directed at Du Heming, but her gaze lingered on Lou Yixuan’s hands as she wiped the bowl.

Lou Yixuan meticulously wiped every inch around the rim, nice and slow: “If Teacher Lin doesn’t mind…”

“Mm. I’ll take it.”

The tomatoes you don’t eat, the eggplants you don’t like—give them all to me.

…

After the meal, Du Heming invited Lou Yixuan back to her dorm for a nap, to rest up before heading to the classroom in the afternoon.

Lou Yixuan politely declined.

So it ended up with He Huan and Lin Huayan heading back to the dorms, while Du Heming kept Lou Yixuan company for a stroll to aid digestion.

Du Heming’s box of Flower Moon pastries ended up with He Huan: “Then I’ll leave it to you, Teacher He. This afternoon, drop it off to me on the 11th floor of the Teaching Building.”

After they parted ways, Lou Yixuan voiced her confusion: “Why not ask Teacher Lin to bring it for you? Teacher Lin…”

“What’s going on in that little head of yours?”

Du Heming gave her a playful pat. “I didn’t ask Teacher Lin to bring it because her arm muscle got strained. I caught a whiff of medicinal balm outside her door the night before last, and when I asked, she didn’t want it spread around.”

“How does someone strain their muscle out of nowhere?”

In the office, the cafeteria—they’d been so close to Lin Huayan, but Lou Yixuan hadn’t smelled any balm on her.

Lin Huayan never wore perfume either.

Past or present, all Lou Yixuan ever caught was the scent unique to Lin Huayan.

“No idea. Teacher Lin didn’t say, and she’s always been so elusive and mysterious.”

“…”

Elusive comings and goings, shrouded in mystery—Lou Yixuan realized Du Heming didn’t see Lin Huayan as a “normal person.”

Yet Du Heming’s attitude toward her was one of respect and admiration.

“It’s rare too—those two years we were teammates teaching together, I never saw her take off her glasses.”

“…”

Du Heming’s chattiness inevitably sent Lou Yixuan’s thoughts wandering again. Could Lin Huayan’s odd behavior have even the slightest connection to her?

After all, just minutes ago in the cafeteria, Lin Huayan hadn’t said a word but had thoughtfully warned her about the soup stains and even drank the soup she didn’t want.

So then, when she’d delivered the Flower Moon to the office, what exactly had upset Lin Huayan?

Was it that she’d given it to Teacher Du and Teacher He first? Or that she’d given it to both of them at the same time?

It was absurd to even think it—absurd to be so overly sentimental about her own feelings.

Mid-October had already ushered in autumn.

The two strolled unhurriedly along the wide road by the playground, the cool autumn breeze carrying bursts of osmanthus fragrance that refreshed the soul.

Du Heming stretched lazily. “Sports festival the day after tomorrow—coming to play?”

“Play?”

“Oh, no.” Du Heming rephrased. “You not coming to cheer on your precious students, Xuan-jie?”

“That depends if I’ve got time, Min-jie.”

The midday dismissal bell echoed through every corner of the campus, turning the once-quiet grounds into a riot of noise in an instant.

Most students bolted toward the cafeteria, with a few heading straight for the sports fields or dorms.

They were nearing the Dormitory Building when Lin Huayan and He Huan turned onto the stone path leading to the teachers’ dedicated elevator. Osmanthus trees lined both sides, the ground scattered with petals blown down by the wind.

He Huan casually plucked a small cluster from a branch and sniffed it.

“Rain last night made the osmanthus even more fragrant.”

“Does Huai’an No. 3 Middle School have osmanthus?” Lin Huayan asked.

“No. No. 3 Middle School’s campus is full of azaleas at most.” The osmanthus trees were in Xuelin Ya Garden.

Lin Huayan disliked beating around the bush and cut straight to it: “Among Class 9’s teaching staff, you’re the only one who volunteered to join. Mind if I ask why?”

He Huan had come to Tianmu Middle School just last year, taking over that year’s freshmen.

This year, she was supposed to teach sophomores but had recommended herself at the end of last semester’s finals to take on this new batch of first-year Art Class students.

At the time, many teachers had no hope for the class, didn’t see potential in it, and wanted nothing to do with the mess.

Fail to handle it well, and it’d be chalked up to incompetence—giving others ammunition and adding worries.

Succeed, and it’d still cost layers of skin and pounds of flesh. On a bigger scale, risking the greater good for the small.

Health mattered more than reputation.

Lin Huayan never denied to herself that a big part of her “following” the school’s assignment stemmed from Lou Yixuan’s ties to Haifan Art School.

But what about He Huan?

What was her reason?

She wasn’t overly curious by nature, or she wouldn’t have waited until now to ask.

The trigger was her sensing that He Huan seemed particularly attentive to Lou Yixuan.

He Huan was gentle with all her colleagues by temperament.

She was considerate toward Teacher Du too.

But instinct told Lin Huayan that He Huan’s “attention” to Lou Yixuan differed from that toward Du Heming.

When it came to Lou Yixuan, even the usually unflappable Lin Huayan felt a bit “off.”

He Huan blew the osmanthus from her palm, lowering her hand and her gaze.

“I once had… a star pupil, an art examinee from Haifan Art School. Haifan may not be a traditional full-time high school, but it’s a reputable formal art school that carries and fulfills many kids’ dreams of higher education through art. Art, like literature, is a light illuminating students’ paths forward. Kids pursuing art shouldn’t face biased looks or differential treatment.”

That was why she felt affinity for Lou Yixuan, another Haifan Art School student. But “affinity” wasn’t something to voice aloud.

It could spark rumors.

“Your student—was she an art major?”

“No.”

He Huan shook her head, turning the question back on Lin Huayan. “Teacher Lin must have taught art examinees before, right?”

No. 3 Middle School had been ahead of the curve, running art classes for years, but she’d never taught them.

And from what she knew, before Lin Huayan left No. 1 Middle School, they hadn’t started art classes yet—still observing the “culture + art” model.

Tianmu Middle School focused on scouting top talents from impoverished areas, with years of deep cultivation earning it top prestige in Huai’an City for education quality and student performance.

Only in the last couple years had it restructured strategically to launch the “Art Class.”

“Yes.”

Lin Huayan admitted candidly. “Both at No. 1 Middle School and Tianmu. Scattered art examinees pop up in regular classes—homeroom teachers actually support it. Eases the teaching load and boosts enrollment rates.”

Senior-year art examinees’ prep timelines didn’t sync with regular exam-takers; they usually sought targeted crash courses or small-group tutoring off-campus.

More precise, more effective.

Back then, Lou Yixuan’s math had been tutored by Lin Huayan herself.

No charge.

—Teacher Lin, you won’t take a dime—how am I supposed to focus?

—It’s not that I’m not charging. We’ll set the price after your scores come out.

—How?

—Free if over 110.

—And under?

—Xuan, I only want “over.”

—Got it, Teacher Lin. Only “over,” no “under.” Trust me.

She trusted Lou Yixuan.

Before the exam.

But that year’s math paper was unusually brutal. Candidates emerged from the exam halls griping nonstop, some even breaking down in tears on the spot.

With classmates, parents—clouds of worry everywhere.

Teachers fretted too.

After seeing the questions, she lost confidence in Lou Yixuan hitting 110.

She held back from asking how it went, afraid to shake her confidence.

But that evening after self-study, as they walked back to Hongding Court together, Lou Yixuan comforted her instead.

—Teacher Lin, this afternoon’s math exam was tougher than every mock we did.

—Yeah, all the city’s seniors faced it.

—120 might be out, but our agreed 110? I can bottom it out. Believe me, Teacher Lin?

—I do. I believe you.

—Then Teacher Lin, a full year of free one-on-one—you got the short end.

—Not at all.

What Lou Yixuan brought her couldn’t be measured in money.

From start to finish, she’d never been shortchanged.

…

[Lou Yixuan: Not in the mood for cafeteria dinner tonight. Teacher Lin, take me out? Craving spicy beef noodle soup.]

Lin Huayan got Lou Yixuan’s WeChat message as the bell rang for fourth period that afternoon, but only replied near dismissal: [Sure.]

[Lou Yixuan: Almost dismissal, lots of students. Meet at 6:30 at the school gate. South or north?]

Students dismissed at 5:55 p.m., back in class by 6:40.

If they left at 6:30, few students would linger outside.

Lin Huayan had no evening self-study today.

Lou Yixuan’s color theory classes were usually afternoon lectures plus homework assignment; evenings were for student drawing practice.

The Art Classroom was separate from culture class rooms—Class 9 students fetching water or cleaning brushes wouldn’t disturb others.

[Lin Huayan: South Gate.]

South Gate led to a huge block-style neighborhood packed with eateries.

When Lin Huayan arrived at the gate, Lou Yixuan stood steady, but the little bird in her heart had long flown overhead, cheering around Lin Huayan.

“Teacher Lin.”

“Mm.”

Passing the Security Room, Old Man Zhang poked his head out the window.

“Hey now, I just saw little Teacher Lou peering around over there—figured she must be waiting for you. Teacher Lin, that meal you two set for opening day—you’re finally going tonight?”

Lou Yixuan: “…”

Lin Huayan replied politely: “Something like that.”

They’d eaten together more than once, but tonight was the first time just the two of them.

Old Man Zhang raised his voice: “Little Teacher Lou, Teacher Lin doesn’t eat out much—better ask Teacher Du. You two steer clear of those sketchy joints; don’t let the signs fool you.”

“Got it, Old Man Zhang. Thanks for the heads-up. We’ll keep our eyes peeled.”

After thanking him, Lou Yixuan grinned and murmured to Lin Huayan: “Old Man Zhang and Teacher Du are hilarious—they’ve got this innate sense of humor.”

The sky wasn’t fully dark yet, but the streetlights were on.

Lin Huayan stared straight ahead, her faint “Mm” swallowed by the whoosh of passing cars.

Lou Yixuan didn’t catch it.

She quelled her smile, glanced sideways at her, and asked tentatively: “Teacher Lin seems… unhappy?”

Happy about what?

Happy that Lou Yixuan used nine loose pastries worth 699 yuan to settle a debt?

Or happy that she’d lavished praise on everyone around her?

She’d changed her hair, her style, ditched the glasses—and not a word of compliment from Lou Yixuan.

The pedestrian green light lasted a full 30 seconds.

Four lanes—plenty of time.

But gazing at Lin Huayan’s back, Lou Yixuan could only think of one phrase: walking at a brisk pace.

She wasn’t just shorter than Lin Huayan—those high heels seemed glued to Lin Huayan’s feet, letting her stride effortlessly as if walking on flat ground, her steps both longer and faster.

Lou Yixuan trudged sulkily across the street at her usual pace.

Lin Huayan’s hot-and-cold distance left her utterly baffled.

Lin Huayan had agreed to come out for dinner herself, yet now she ignored her completely, treating her like less than a stranger.

If it was such a reluctant ordeal, why bother?

In the end, it was her own fault for sending that WeChat message—Dinner, don’t want to eat at the cafeteria—to Lin Huayan.

She hadn’t controlled her hand, or her heart.

“I remember telling you before: when crossing the street, don’t let your mind wander.”

“…” Lou Yixuan’s brain short-circuited. She’d just crossed the street and was already getting scolded? “Teacher Lin, I…”

She tried to smile her way through it, but Lin Huayan cut her off mercilessly: “Lou Yixuan, don’t use those childish tricks of yours on me anymore.”

“…”

So much for emotional stability or endless patience—Lou Yixuan was three seconds from the traffic light away from completely breaking down.

What a line: childish tricks. Lin Huayan had summed up her three years of genuine feelings with a single contemptuous phrase.

Childish.

In Lin Huayan’s eyes, she was just a child.

Eight years ago, and eight years later, still the same.

It might not qualify as a personal insult, but it was tantamount to calling her scheming, with impure motives.

A chill spread through Lou Yixuan’s entire body, as if her feet were planted on an ancient glacier. Piercing cold seeped upward from the soles, infiltrating her skin and freezing her blood solid.

Sorrow welled up from within.

She suddenly burst out laughing, tilting her head back and blinking rapidly several times before she said, “Teacher Lin might not know this, but I’m 26 this year.”