Smiling as she revealed her true age of 26, Lou Yixuan’s heart bled.
The Lin Huayan before her felt so unfamiliar.
The old Lin Huayan hadn’t been like this.
The old Lin Huayan would gently drape an arm over her shoulder and guide her safely across the street whenever she walked too slowly or got distracted.
The old Lin Huayan had never gotten angry at her once, let alone lashed out without reason.
In her memories, she couldn’t recall a single harsh word Lin Huayan had ever said to her. Even though Lin Huayan was known for her aloof strictness, she’d never raised her voice or glared fiercely at her.
A sudden autumn gust tousled the hair by her ears, severing the spring in her memories. The flowers and moonlight were no more.
The world had changed so much, the noise so overwhelming.
The roar of passing vehicles made Lou Yixuan’s ears ring, the world spin, her head throb like it might explode.
She didn’t want Lin Huayan to notice her distress, nor did she crave her concern.
Fate seemed to lend a hand—Lin Huayan’s phone rang.
She glanced at the caller ID: Qin Fengru.
“I’ve got to take this call.” With that, she held the phone to her ear and stepped away to answer.
As soon as Lin Huayan turned, Lou Yixuan clapped a hand over her ears.
Some sounds could be physically blocked, but others rampaged like wild winds, infiltrating everywhere, tormenting every nerve ending.
She couldn’t tell where the pain came from—real or illusory.
“With a colleague, out for dinner.”
“You don’t know her.”
“Won’t be long. Stay in the car or stroll the campus, wait for me.”
“If you’re too lazy to wait, leave the stuff at the Security Room.”
“Talk later.”
The call lasted less than two minutes before Lin Huayan returned.
Before she could speak, Lou Yixuan forced an awkward laugh. “Teacher Lin, go ahead with your business. I’ve actually lost my appetite—I don’t feel like eating now. If I get hungry later, I’ll grab some midnight snack at the cafeteria.”
Her right hand clenched into a fist, her left idly fiddling with the thin strap of her crossbody bag, her eyes fixed on the traffic light. “Green light. Let’s head back to school.”
This time, Lou Yixuan dashed across the street, taking barely ten seconds.
She didn’t glance back once, didn’t check if Lin Huayan was following.
On the other side of the crosswalk, the older woman felt her heart twist like a knife.
She regretted her emotional outburst, her senseless temper, her words that didn’t match her heart.
She’d meant to show concern, but it came out cold and cruel. How could she be so cold-blooded to Lou Yixuan?
Dusk fell in the blink of an eye.
The pedestrian light cycled green to red, red to green who knew how many times before the lone woman finally crossed.
Lin Huayan had just reached the other side of the zebra crossing when two WeChat messages popped up in succession.
【Lou Yixuan: I was going to explain over dinner—the pastries weren’t meant to settle the Teacher Card debt. If they need a reason, I’ll be honest: it was mostly for Teacher Du. Just hoping the sweets would lift her spirits quickly and fully. Nothing more.】
【Lou Yixuan: And I don’t deserve Teacher Lin’s praise of being ‘shrewd.’ Truly shrewd people don’t get treated like kids at 26.】
The night was too dark; Old Man Zhang at the Security Room hadn’t made out the person who’d swiped their card and rushed into campus minutes ago.
But he clearly saw Lin Huayan return alone.
Lin Huayan exited the school gate, and Qin Fengru entered the Garage right after.
Looks like the old friend beat out the new one.
Zhang had started sighing from the moment Lin Huayan swiped her card—a bit of that “hating iron for not becoming steel” frustration.
Old friends were precious, sure, but why not cherish a new one until she became an old friend too?
That brave, admirable young Teacher Lou, pushing forward despite the odds—and yet Teacher Lin, that stubborn rock, kept hurting the poor girl’s heart again and again.
“Tough luck. What a pity.” Old Man Zhang muttered to himself from his chair by the window, sipping hot tea leisurely.
If he hadn’t seen Lin Huayan standing alone outside the gate for so long before coming in, he might not have held his tongue.
He’d at least have asked: Teacher Lin, finished dinner already?
But someone else beat him to it.
Qin Fengru had taken Lin Huayan’s call and arrived at the Dormitory Building entrance with bags in tow. “I called you less than ten minutes ago, and you’re back already? Did you grow wings and fly?”
She’d figured it’d take twenty or thirty minutes in the little garden, a chance to soak in some campus vitality.
“What’d you buy this time?”
Lin Huayan dodged the dinner topic, still agonizing over the edited-and-deleted 【Sorry】 she hadn’t sent.
She should apologize to Lou Yixuan. For her… outburst.
But every time she typed 【Sorry】, she couldn’t hit send.
Lou Yixuan had explained.
Yet the explanation didn’t improve her mood.
If anything, it made it worse.
Because it glaringly showed how much Lou Yixuan cared about Du Heming.
A month and a half of acquaintance, getting so close—Du Heming’s preference for women wasn’t something Lou Yixuan could be unaware of.
So the two of them…
Women of similar ages…
“What else? You fragile thing…” Qin Fengru bit back the crude remark.
“Anyway, didn’t you strain yourself doing yoga? I asked an orthopedic doc— for mild cases like yours, with proper care, you’re healed in under ten days.”
She hefted the shopping bags, half-grumbling, half-concerned. “I found a spa for you, daily therapy—and you make excuses about no time. Fine, guess it’s partly my fault; time for personal service.”
Over eight years, besides parents of students, Qin Fengru was the only friend visiting Lin Huayan at school.
At least once a month.
The Security Room staff knew her car well; with Lin Huayan’s vouch, they waved her in every time, no matter how long she parked.
In the elevator, no outsiders, Lin Huayan finally spoke. “My issue—don’t take the blame.”
“Your issue?” Qin Fengru scoffed twice, grinding her teeth. “Then explain: what’s making you so hard on your own body?”
“Too long without…”
“Don’t BS me.” Qin Fengru rolled her eyes. “Is the problem in your head?”
“…”
“Doesn’t your school have a counseling room?”
“…”
“Counselors only care about students’ mental health, not teachers’? I need to give your principal an earful.”
“…”
“Quit messing around, okay?”
“No mess if you spill.” Qin Fengru arched a brow, eager for gossip. “I massage and hot-pack; you confess and get leniency.”
Lin Huayan fell silent.
Her matters—her and Lou Yixuan’s—weren’t something “confession” could sum up.
Out of the elevator, at Room 1107, just before tapping the door card, she murmured, head low: “Qin Fengru.”
“W-what?” Qin Fengru startled, eyelids twitching.
She tilted her head to her best friend’s face and paled. “Why that ‘life not worth living’ look? Fine, don’t tell me—I didn’t hold a knife to your throat…”
“Go buy some booze.” Lin Huayan said.
“…”
Lin Huayan wanted booze, but Qin Fengru didn’t buy it—not unwilling to drink with her, but bad timing.
A good bender had its appeal.
But booze really hurt the body, especially with Lin Huayan injured.
Inside, Qin Fengru advised: “Want to drink? I’m game. Wait till you’re healed—pick a weekend spot, and I’ll go till we drop, deal?”
Lin Huayan smiled it off. “I’m no drunk.”
…
After the first evening self-study session, a hungry Lin Huayan headed downstairs to the Teaching Building.
She desperately wanted to detour to the Art Classroom, ask if Lou Yixuan was hungry, suggest cafeteria midnight snacks.
If Lou Yixuan came, she’d say the unsent 【Sorry】 in person.
She detoured—and ran into Lou Yixuan.
But two Class 9 girls flanked her.
One had a dimple on her right cheek when she smiled—the one who’d given them red roses, complimented their hair color.
Her name was Lin Jianlu.
“Teacher Lin!” “Teacher Lin.”
The girls greeted first; Lou Yixuan followed. “Teacher Lin, here to patrol the classroom?”
Lin Huayan had subbed several times; she’d never seen her patrol.
Maybe she had, without notice.
“Teacher Lin,” Lin Jianlu took a small step forward, pleading, “It’s break time—we’re starving. Teacher Lou and us are grabbing wonton soup at the cafeteria. Back in fifteen, okay?”
Art class breaks weren’t rigid—a “privilege” for Class 9.
Teach to aptitude, adapt to circumstance.
“Fine, go.” Lin Huayan, sans daytime glasses now back on her nose, let the streetlamp shadows camouflage her.
“Thanks, Teacher Lin!”
Lin Jianlu beamed, grabbing Lou Yixuan’s wrist. “Teacher Lou, hurry!”
“Okay.”
Lou Yixuan stumbled slightly from the pull, laughing. “Lin Jianlu, slow down.”
The three hurried off; Lin Huayan stood silent.
Lou Yixuan got whisked away by a student right under her nose.
Holding her wrist.
Lou Yixuan was close with Du Heming, He Huan, and now Class 9 kids too.
Just not with her.
She’d created this herself.
Lou Yixuan glided effortlessly through colleague and teacher-student bonds—not the “kid” she’d called her. She was the child.
Her day’s mood swings were childish tantrums.
She deserved the scolding.
What had Lou Yixuan done wrong?
Nothing—she’d taken undeserved flak.
No wonder she ignored her.
Lin Huayan turned to the Teaching Building. Director Li’s office was empty; tidy desk suggested she’d gone home.
Hunger returned.
She opened a drawer, grabbed a pastry.
Weren’t they super sweet? Delicious? Presentable?
She ate one after another, but none tasted sweet.
On the fourth, dry-munched, she choked.
She got up for water, gulped too fast, coughed.
“Cough, cough.”
Tears from the choke.
How could they taste sweet at all?
My taste buds must be off.
She thought.
Qin Fengru wouldn’t lie; Lou Yixuan… probably wouldn’t either.
So it had to be her own sense of taste.
She finished the half with water, pocketed the other three in her nightly laptop bag.
Then she skipped work.
Skipped the shift she’d assigned herself.
She slipped out the South Gate again, returning with a bottle of VC throat lozenges handed through the window to Old Man Zhang.
“Thanks, Teacher Lin.”
He’d taken her lozenges for years; no more pleasantries. “My granddaughter loves these too—argues peach beats watermelon. Nah, I say only Teacher Lin’s watermelon flavor—clear and sweetly refreshing.”
Dozens of staff passed mornings, noons, evenings; some chatted or stored items at Security. Many offered smokes; Lin Huayan was the first with throat lozenges.
