Lou Yixuan shared the same October birthday as Lin Huayan. She had once looked up Lin Huayan’s zodiac sign and checked the compatibility between Libra and Scorpio.
It wasn’t high—just 70%.
Online descriptions said that Libra women were skilled at finding a balance between ideals and reality. They knew their place and could see through others’ needs.
They were delicate-minded yet rational, able to stay calm amid arguments and conflicts.
They also had high emotional intelligence, outstanding diplomatic skills and affinity, empathetic to the point where almost everyone took a liking to them.
Lou Yixuan didn’t deny all these so-called virtues.
Without them, she never would have broken into Lin Huayan’s life.
But what about Lin Huayan?
A mysterious Scorpio.
In life, confident and resolute, with strong willpower and personal charisma. At work, bold in challenges, with astonishing decisiveness and judgment. In love, icy on the outside, wildly passionate and loyally devoted within.
Over all those years, Lou Yixuan had only ever seen the first two traits in Lin Huayan—spot-on analyses without a single flaw.
But that bit about romance? Lin Huayan’s defensive shell was harder than diamond.
Lou Yixuan couldn’t even find a crack to peek inside.
Forget “wildly unrestrained”—she had simmered on a low flame for three years, and Lin Huayan’s face never once flushed.
The only time in her life she’d seen Lin Huayan blush like a tomato was from drinking too much.
Even that birthday they spent together, when Lou Yixuan seized the special occasion and kissed her cheek with the speed of lightning, Lin Huayan’s face stayed cool.
That was the first time in her life she’d kissed Lin Huayan.
Afterward, Lin Huayan looked startled, her expression freezing for a moment before snapping back to normal. She didn’t ask a thing, just gently ruffled Lou Yixuan’s hair.
Afraid she’d overthink it, Lou Yixuan quickly added, “This is the birthday gift you gave me. I know you didn’t prepare one, so I claimed it myself.”
After that kiss, after that day, she never acted out of line with Lin Huayan again.
Not until that night a few days after the college entrance exams, when a drunk Lin Huayan called her to pick her up.
And she brought Lin Huayan through her front door.
She had asked herself countless times: if time could rewind, would she still bring Lin Huayan home that night? Would she still kiss her the moment they stepped inside?
The answer was—yes.
Because in the taxi, Lin Huayan had hugged her waist, and her lips had brushed Lin Huayan’s forehead.
Everything that happened after they got inside couldn’t exactly be called taking advantage.
Because when she called out “Teacher Lin” and “Lin Huayan,” she got responses from the woman herself.
And she heard her own name from Lin Huayan’s lips too—from the doorway to inside, from the entryway to the bedroom, more than once.
She had scripted the beginning, dictated the process, but the ending derailed completely, far from expectations.
Yet the scariest part was that once two people crossed into an “improper” relationship, shared skin-to-skin intimacy, there was no going back—no reloading a save file.
Even if you’d only been together one night, even if you’d only done it once that night—as long as there’d been physical contact, the nature of things changed forever.
And she hadn’t taken Lin Huayan just once.
A physical relationship was just like a drug.
At first, it might feel fresh and thrilling, something you craved to try, convinced you’d never get hooked.
But once you tasted the sweetness, you wanted more, longer—until you were in too deep, addicted beyond escape.
And once hooked, the aftereffects were brutal. It could leave you with no appetite for food or tea.
If it ended abruptly—and disastrously—that lingering ache, that gut-wrenching pain, had destructive power strong enough to shatter your mind and body.
You’d wander soulless every day, a walking corpse.
No appetite, sleepless nights, room in your eyes and heart for no one else.
Lou Yixuan had endured enough of those inhuman days.
And what felt so unfair was—why hadn’t Lin Huayan, who rejected her, gone on to a fulfilling life of love and career success?
Only if Lin Huayan was happy would all the suffering and pain she’d endured have any meaning, right?
Years later, now 26, with Lin Huayan at 38, they met again at the same high school, just like eleven years ago.
Lin Huayan was still that authoritative, decisive, revered teacher who called the shots.
But this time, Lou Yixuan’s role had changed.
She was no longer a student, harboring a covert crush from the classroom, gazing up at Lin Huayan on the podium.
Unattainable was in the past.
Now, they truly stood on equal footing.
Their eyes met at the same level.
Money, status, position… she was closer to Lin Huayan than ever.
She could never catch up to Lin Huayan’s age, but death—maybe she could catch that.
After all, she’d already… died once.
Xi Manchu’s words made perfect sense: Seeing something often makes it fresh, and time only makes it fresher.
What if.
What if, to Lin Huayan, she could be “fresh” too.
Worst case, she’d overhaul herself completely—renovate until Lin Huayan couldn’t call her a “kid,” until even she couldn’t tell she was acting.
Just be herself again.
Be the herself from those eight years, that’s all.
…
Lou Yixuan got off at the South Gate and hurried to the Security Room. “Old Man Zhang, is my coffee delivery in there?”
“Teacher Lou, yep, come on in and grab it.”
Old Man Zhang had just stepped back from a smoke in the dark corner. After answering her, he pulled throat lozenges from his drawer, popping three into his mouth to mask the tobacco.
Lou Yixuan found the coffee the delivery guy had left in the Security Room on the shelf—two paper bags.
“I ordered extra. Want one, Old Man Zhang?”
“No, no, I can’t stomach that stuff. But thanks, Teacher Lou.”
Old Man Zhang stopped her from reaching into the bag, instead offering his own throat lozenges.
“Watermelon-flavored ones. Want a couple, Teacher Lou?”
The familiar bottle, packaging, flavor—it yanked Lou Yixuan right back into the memory vortex.
—”Don’t you ever run out of throat lozenges in your pocket? Why do you love watermelon flavor so much?”
—”Watermelon is summer, but watermelon flavor is spring. Watermelon rind is spring, but the flesh is summer.”
—”What kind of logic is that?”
—”Of course it’s… Lou Yixuan logic.”
—”Can I try one? Your spring and summer.”
—”Of course. Here, all yours—my favorite spring and summer.”
She had given her spring and summer to Lin Huayan, thinking they’d share every future season together.
But Lin Huayan was so cruel, taking her spring and summer away.
And she’d never given them back.
Australia had springs and summers too, but without Lin Huayan.
“They’re tasty—not like those mint ones that burn your nose and throat. Teacher Lin loves these, for real.”
Old Man Zhang name-dropped Lin Huayan—not to brag that she’d given him the lozenges, but purely to boost her image a bit.
Shared tastes bridged people fast in social circles. No harm in that, right?
“No thanks.”
Lou Yixuan waved it off politely. “I just had coffee; mixing flavors probably wouldn’t taste great. I’ll buy some myself another day to try.”
She missed watermelon flavor, missed Huai’an’s springs and summers.
That’s why she’d come back.
Leaving the Security Room, Lou Yixuan suddenly itched to ask Old Man Zhang something.
She wanted to ask: How do you know Teacher Lin loves these watermelon lozenges?
But after hesitating, she didn’t turn back.
Because she wanted to ask Lin Huayan more: Teacher Lin, got a lozenge for me?
Can you give back my spring and summer?
Can you give back my Teacher Lin?
Colorful flags fluttered on the Playground, class banners strung high with motivational slogans. The broadcast booth announced the latest event updates in rotation.
On the track, athletes warmed up tensely, gearing up for the races ahead.
Several crouched at the starting line, poised to explode.
The starting gun cracked, and they shot off like arrows from the string. Deafening cheers erupted from the stands.
An exhilarating, all-out sports extravaganza was in full swing.
Lou Yixuan strolled the Playground’s perimeter, scanning for Lin Huayan, wondering which event she was judging.
Carrying the coffee made it awkward to head straight to Class 9’s cheering section.
She figured she’d wait for a free moment from Lin Huayan or Du Heming, deliver the warm, energizing brew, and ask about Class 9’s standings.
After half a lap, she spotted Lin Huayan.
Too bad—someone had beaten her there, already delivering their own “warmth.”
She’d arrived full of high hopes, only to leave disappointed.
Priorities mattered. To heal her pulled arm faster, Lin Huayan skipped judging duty, sticking to patrols.
“If you keep messing around like this, I’ll tell the Security Room not to let you on campus anymore.”
“Messing around?”
Qin Fengru bristled instantly, hands on hips. “Coming to make sure you rest is ‘messing around’? If you’d just listen, why would I bother? If I didn’t nag, you’d turn into a total invalid.”
“Health comes first—as you can see, I know my limits. I’m just handling discipline.”
Lin Huayan kept walking toward the Playground edge, Qin Fengru trailing her across the field—hardly proper.
Good intentions met with disdain; Qin Fengru fumed.
But after glaring at Lin Huayan’s face for a few seconds, her anger softened.
“Look at you, preaching ‘health first’ with lips so chapped they’re peeling. Ugly as sin—don’t you know to use lip balm? Or drink more hot water?”
She hefted a large pink thermos, scolding Lin Huayan while unscrewing the lid.
“Dry autumn—perfect for this. Moistens the lungs, generates saliva, even beautifies.”
Qin Fengru shoved the open thermos under Lin Huayan’s nose. “Drink it all, or I’m not leaving.”
Inside was snow pear and white fungus soup.
Zero compatibility with Lin Huayan’s style.
But she took it anyway.
How lucky—to have a friend who neither curses nor scares off, 23 years strong.
“Go sit over there. I’ll finish it, then you leave.”
“Fine, whatever you say.”
Off she went—she could never out-stubborn Lin Huayan anyway. No point picking fights.
…
By 5:30 p.m., the first day of the sports meet wrapped up. Class 9 ranked third school-wide.
Competitors beamed with pride; non-runners shared the glory. Class morale soared.
“Can we hold top three tomorrow?”
“No doubt. We’ve got aces in tomorrow’s events.”
“We haven’t faced off against other classes yet…”
“Hey, stop—why boost others and psych ourselves out? Believe in them—no, in us. Believe in the power of belief…”
Class 9’s class president chatted race results with the PE rep when Teacher Du from Class 8—Du Heming—intercepted from the side.
“Teacher Du?”
“Come on, a glorious task from your Xuan-jie.”
Lin Huayan handled cleanup, leaving the Playground ten minutes after the students and Du Heming.
Walking to the cafeteria with colleagues, she ran into Class 9 kids, each with ice cream or soda in hand.
“Teacher Lin!”
“Thanks for treating us, Teacher Lin!”
“Teacher Lin, we’ll hold third and fight for first tomorrow!”
The kids waved their treats happily, thanking her profusely—but what was she supposed to have treated?
She was about to ask when Du Heming caught up from behind. “Teacher Lin!”
Spotting Du Heming wanted to talk, her colleagues tactfully peeled off.
“Thought about it—better give you the card.”
“What card?”
“It’s Lou’s school card.” Worried it might be sweaty, Du Heming wiped the card clutched in her palm on her clothes before handing it to Lin Huayan.
How did Lou Yixuan’s school card end up in Du Heming’s hands?
And when?
“She…”
Du Heming caught on and picked up right where Lin Huayan left off.
“I messaged Lou this morning, saying your class’s kids were putting up a great fight on the field. She came to watch the races this afternoon.”
“She even bought us some new coffee drinks.”
“But she said you had a friend with you, so she didn’t bring one over for you.”
Four cups of coffee: one each for her and Teacher He, one for Lou Yixuan herself, and the fourth given to a young male teacher from the same grade who had come asking Lou Yixuan about art college entrance exams.
That male teacher had even added Lou Yixuan on WeChat. According to him, he’d wanted to add her back on Teachers’ Day during the gathering.
But Lou Yixuan had been sitting next to Director Lin, who kept glancing her way now and then, so he hadn’t dared to ask.
In the end, he emphasized that he’d only added her to ask on behalf of a relative’s kid about whether the art exam path was viable and how to tell if the child was suited for art.
Du Heming skipped all these details and conversations when telling Lin Huayan.
Lou Yixuan liked women.
No matter how tall, handsome, or wealthy the men were, no matter if they approached her openly or covertly and pulled out all the stops, they could forget about turning a deeply affectionate and devoted pure lesbian straight.
Treating men as equals was already the greatest respect these women could offer them.
Anything more? Don’t even think about it.
A top-tier little fairy like Lou deserved to pair up with another girl. What did it have to do with men?
“The ice cream bars and drinks were something Lou entrusted me to buy, in both your names, for the whole class.”
“She used this very card, and there’s plenty of money on it.”
——Teacher Du, one more thing to ask: after the races end, use my school card to treat Class 9 to drinks and ice cream bars. Say it’s from Teacher Lin and me, to celebrate their wins today and wish them even better results tomorrow.
Something like this really was “tough” for Lin Huayan’s personality. Making things convenient for others and helping out brought joy—that was just who Du Heming was, so she didn’t think twice.
A thousand yuan was indeed plenty.
Lin Huayan gripped the school card tightly. “My friend brought me some silver ear dessert. I’ll skip dinner.”
“Oh, then I’ll go find Teacher He.”
“Mm.”
Lou Yixuan had come. She’d met with Du Heming but hadn’t seen her.
Was that coffee that never made it to her hands really meant for her?
Qin Fengru…
Lou Yixuan hadn’t met Qin Fengru before today.
“How long ago did she leave?”
Du Heming, with one foot already stepping out, pulled it back. “Let me check.”
She pulled out her phone from her pocket, glanced at the time, and said, “Almost an hour ago. She didn’t drive—took a cab.”
An hour. Too late.
Too late to call and tell her not to leave or to turn around at some intersection and come back to school.
An hour—she should’ve gotten home by now.
Anywhere in the city limits, she should’ve arrived no matter where she lived.
Lin Huayan walked toward the dorms while messaging Lou Yixuan: [Teacher Du left your school card with me. I’ll give it back next Wednesday.]
[Lou Yixuan: Okay.]
Not a single extra word. No “typing…” indicator at the top. What was Lou Yixuan thinking when she sent that “Okay”?
On this day of their “agreement,” on this day they were supposed to “spend the birthday together,” Lou Yixuan had treated the whole class in both their names. Was it really just about celebrating the sports meet?
She didn’t believe it.
But what could she do about not believing?
Should she ask—Why didn’t you come see me if you came to school?
Or say—That person you saw with me is a friend of over twenty years?
The first sounded like a complaint.
The second, like an excuse.
And she had no standing for either.
Back when she’d lived those three years at Hongding Court, Lin Huayan had kept it airtight.
Her parents and Qin Fengru didn’t know the exact building or apartment number, so no relatives or friends ever showed up, and none of her close ones ever met Lou Yixuan.
Would Lou Yixuan misunderstand?
Misunderstand that she and Qin Fengru were in a romantic relationship, that her being unmarried all these years meant she’d turned lesbian too.
If she did misunderstand, what a bitter irony that would be for Lou Yixuan.
[Lin Huayan: Do you need to come early for lunch next Wednesday?]
The moment she sent the message, Lin Huayan paced restlessly in her dorm.
To her, all electronic communication was just work tools. She rarely, very rarely expressed any personal emotions in social apps or chat tools.
Any kind of personal feelings.
She preferred talking face-to-face over typing out long explanations. Face-to-face let her read people.
She could always see the other’s shifting expressions, giving her a sense of control.
She could adjust her responses in real time based on those changes.
The trickiest part was, she wanted to explain her perfectly platonic friendship with Qin Fengru, but she hadn’t found the right opening yet.
She needed to think more.
Lou Yixuan’s reply came a bit late this time.
After five or six minutes: [Does Teacher Lin have something to discuss?]
