Red lanterns hung at the entrance of the mutton soup hotpot restaurant, casting a warm glow. Inside, the bustling scene kept the early winter chill firmly at bay.
The air was thick with the rich aroma of mutton, mingled with scents of green onions, ginger, garlic, and spices—it was enough to make anyone’s mouth water.
It was mealtime, and nearly every table was packed.
Diners gathered in groups of three or five, or in pairs, sitting around with smiles on their faces. They clipped ingredients with chopsticks, swished them in the pot, and chatted animatedly.
At the center of their table, the steaming mutton soup pot bubbled vigorously, its creamy white broth churning as it cooked thin slices of mutton, daikon radish, asparagus lettuce, enoki mushrooms, and more to tender perfection.
A thin layer of oil floated on the surface, its enticing sheen making everyone salivate.
The four of them were now well-seasoned eating buddies—no longer did Du Heming bother pretending to be ladylike with her bites, like she had back at Youjian Little Tavern.
She ate the most at the table, and with the most gusto.
Due to her condition, Lou Yixuan didn’t eat much this meal, but she downed two big bowls of the hot soup—all ladled by Lin Huayan.
The dipping sauce bowl Lou had made for herself, with just a half-spoon of chili oil, had been slyly swapped by Lin Huayan for her own spiceless version.
While He Huan and Du Heming were off at the condiment station.
Lou Yixuan appreciated Lin Huayan’s care and happily played the part of an invalid.
Her habitual “thank yous” grew fewer and fewer, eventually dropping off altogether.
Considering Lou Yixuan’s unwell state, the group tacitly skipped lingering after the meal and followed Du Heming to settle the bill.
“This place wasn’t a mistake, right? Satisfied with the food?”
“Very satisfied,” Lou Yixuan echoed Du Heming. “Both Teacher Du and this restaurant deserve five stars.”
“With a five-star review from you, I’m satisfied too.” Flush with her friends’ approval, Du Heming said proudly, “This is actually a branch—their main store specializes in whole roasted lamb at an agritourism spot, a bit far from the city center.”
“Roasted whole lamb?”
“Yeah! Wait, Lou Lou, you haven’t had whole roasted lamb before, have you?”
Lou Yixuan shook her head. “I’ve only had roasted lamb chops at restaurants. I wonder if they taste the same as what you’re describing. Probably not. The roasted lamb chops in China and Australia aren’t the same. Different shops, different regions—methods vary too.”
Catching the anticipation in her voice for roasted lamb, Du Heming hooked an arm around hers and whispered in her ear, “Sometime soon, around New Year’s Day, I’ll round up those friends from Halloween—the ones we partied with—and take you. Best if you pull some strings to bring Teacher Lin and Teacher He too, yeah? A whole lamb is dozens of pounds; need a crowd to finish it, make it lively.”
The two quickened their pace to whisper.
Lin Huayan and He Huan, who usually trailed behind, had no idea what the pair was plotting and simply kept their steady pace, watching quietly.
Du Heming’s admonitions for Lou Yixuan to rest and recover followed them from inside the restaurant to out: “Lou Lou, don’t take your irregular cycle lightly. Jet lag’s one thing, but it’s been three or four months now…”
“Pfft.” Lou Yixuan laughed until her eyes crinkled. “Teacher Du, you make it sound like I’m pregnant.”
“Uh… pregnant my foot! I’m being serious.”
Pausing, Du Heming teased back, “Hey, I bet you wish you were. With who, hmm? Gonna make a baby out of thin air?”
Their banter was loud enough for the two behind to hear.
“Teacher Du!” Lou Yixuan was floored by her filterless mouth but not entirely willing to concede.
She shook off Du Heming’s hand, timed it just right, and playfully shoved her aside in mock anger, calling for backup: “Teacher He, control her.”
“!!!”
Du Heming, bumped into He Huan, instantly cowered like a quail. Hands clasped in front of her, she whined defensively, “Teacher He, it wasn’t on purpose—I bumped into you because of Lou Lou. She’s the one who did it.”
She looked just like a kid caught red-handed, tattling on her accomplice to the teacher.
Emboldened by favoritism, Lou Yixuan took a big step back and latched onto Lin Huayan: “Teacher Lin, you be the judge.”
“You… no justice.”
Caught up in the act, Du Heming grumbled, “Fine, with Director Lin backing you, I’ll let you off today.”
He Huan rubbed her forehead, stifling a laugh as she quickened her steps to put distance between her and Du Heming.
Lest she get roped in as “Dr. He” again.
Whenever the four went out together, it felt like she and Lin Huayan were chaperoning two kids.
Childish goofballs.
Nonsensical.
It was fun to watch their antics, but under so many eyes, it was embarrassing too.
She could observe their joy, but couldn’t join in.
Time marched on—for her, turning 39 next month meant crossing into 40 after New Year’s, solidly middle-aged.
At her near-forty years, how could she not yield to age?
“Teacher He, what’s the rush?”
Du Heming panicked and chased after, tugging He Huan’s clothes like a pitiful puppy. “Are you embarrassed by me? Hmm? I’ll change.”
He Huan was helpless against her and slowed down.
Patting the back of her hand, she cooed softly, “Teacher Du, don’t slander me. When did I ever say I was embarrassed? You two were having too much fun, and the path’s narrow—I’m just ahead to give you space.”
Narrow path?
The walkway outside was wide enough for a few fat sheep.
“You’re not being honest; you totally are…”
“No, really!”
“Then slow down so I can hold your arm. I won’t goof around anymore.”
Du Heming bluffed masterfully and successfully hooked He Huan’s arm.
They’d arrived early among the diners; now at peak hour, a crowd waited for tables. Teacher He seemed thin-skinned—this much teasing was too much.
Behind them, Lou Yixuan laughed even harder, oblivious to how tightly she clung to Lin Huayan or how close she pressed.
Realizing it, she loosened her grip and murmured, “Sorry, did I grab too hard?”
“No.” Lin Huayan sounded nonchalant, but her heart raced wildly.
“Have you noticed Teacher Du toward Teacher He…”
Realizing she and Lin Huayan might not be close enough for such gossip, Lou Yixuan trailed off.
She started to pull away, but Lin Huayan let out a faint “Mm.”
Mmph? So she had noticed?
Lin Huayan gossiped too?
“Then Teacher He…”
Lou Yixuan’s hesitation could mean anything, but Lin Huayan intuitively grasped it.
Drawing back her held arm slightly, she clarified: “Single. Beyond that, I don’t know much.”
“Oh.”
Single’s good. Single’s good.
Love strikes unbidden, deepens relentlessly—Lou Yixuan truly feared Du Heming getting deeply infatuated.
But if both single, that simplified things.
Downstairs near the parking spots, Du Heming called back: “Lou Lou, I’m riding with Teacher He. See you tonight—be safe with Teacher Lin!”
Lou Yixuan slipped her right hand free from Lin Huayan’s arm and waved: “Got it, see you next week!”
Friday nights drew crowds; spots were tight. He Huan and Lin Huayan’s cars were parked left and right.
Lin Huayan asked Lou Yixuan, “Where’s your car?”
She’d scanned around on arrival and hadn’t spotted it.
“Not feeling great, so I didn’t drive.”
Lin Huayan’s heart skipped again: “I drove today. If no one’s picking you up, I’ll take you.”
Lou Yixuan ducked her head, thumb rubbing the ring on her left hand. After a beat: “No one. Ya Ning-jie’s busy—not always free to fetch me.”
Lin Huayan had brought up “others”; Lou merely explained accordingly.
“Mm.”
The light in Lin Huayan’s eyes dimmed. “Let’s go, this way.”
Du Heming, already in the car, lowered the window and craned her neck to spy from afar under streetlights.
Watching their moves.
“What’re you staring at? Careful with your head.” He Huan pulled up Du Heming’s address from the nav history—entered earlier.
“Watching Teacher Lin and Little Teacher Lou.” Du Heming pulled her head in and half-closed the window.
“See anything?”
Glancing right to confirm the seatbelt and window, He Huan started the engine.
She’d noticed Teacher Lin’s pattern: contacts Mon/Wed/Fri, frames Tue/Thu; sprucing up her style and makeup; quietly slimming down; intimately attuned to Lou Lou’s tastes.
Could she say that?
A bold idea flitted through Du Heming’s mind, but she dismissed it as wild fancy.
“Teacher Lin’s great, but distant with strangers, measured with friends. I’ve never— these years anyway—seen her dote on anyone like this. Feels like she’s… special with Lou Lou.”
Lost in self-doubt, Du Heming sighed deeply. “At first, I wrongly thought Teacher Lin disliked Lou Lou, was cold to her. Nope—she likes her more than any of us, does more too.”
He Huan agreed.
She didn’t know past Lin Huayan, but recent interactions and observations screamed “something’s up.”
She wasn’t one to gossip behind backs; from a hazy view, even bystanders couldn’t see clear.
“You can’t judge people or things by appearances alone. True opportunities or encounters hide beneath.”
Du Heming nodded thoughtfully: “Teacher He, sometimes you sound just like Lou Lou.”
He Huan smiled. “Do I? We call it ‘sentimental.’ Innate or from life—easily stirred by the world, optimistic amid pessimism, emotionally rich, but mostly self-healing.”
Failing that led to depression.
She’d worried once, sought counseling—results were good.
Optimistic amid pessimism.
Du Heming savored it.
Sudden realization dawning, half-dubious, half-certain, she eyed He Huan.
“Why not pessimistic amid optimism? Teacher He, your unhappiness outweighs joy, right?”
“I’ve long passed the age of tallying joy…”
“Teacher He.” Du Heming cut in, rejecting her age-resigned tone. “Enough—drive. Mind if I crack the window for air?”
She desperately needed cold wind to wake up—from He Huan’s gentle vortex, from that white lie “I’m He Huan’s girlfriend” meant to comfort Grandma.
A woman so kind, poised, empathetic—perfect everywhere—couldn’t be her girlfriend.
It was just a expedient ploy at Grandma’s bedside.
She owed He Huan pure gratitude for the help, the act—not base, shameful fantasies.
But…
How could she not fall for He Huan?
The most serene, elegant woman she’d met—one smile like an ancient lady.
And her?
A loudmouth commoner.
Not class or mismatch—it was lacking courage for grand love again, fearing futility, or worse, offending her goddess.
He Huan claimed past joy-counting age; she’d long passed reckless-love age too.
The towering mountain before her blocked not just He Huan, but all women.
Falling easy; loving hard.
“Fine, but close it more—wind’s chilly, don’t catch cold.”
Seeing no move, He Huan adjusted the passenger window narrower, leaving a quarter gap.
Love stirred with the wind.
Wind unrelenting, heart unrested.
Hair whipped messy, Du Heming ignored it.
She tilted her head, letting night air pour down her collar.
Let forbidden feelings drain from eyes to heart, bury them—deeper the better.
She kept telling herself over and over in her heart: Don’t dream anymore, Du Heming.
…
Lin Huayan had changed cars two years ago. It wasn’t the same one where Lou Yixuan had first sat in the passenger seat.
The color was still silver-white.
The interior remained pristine and stock-standard.
Except…
There was one new ornament on the rearview mirror.
“Teacher Lin, isn’t something missing here?”
“Hm? What’s missing?”
“Car owners usually hang a little peace charm or a Peace Buckle like that.”
“Driving safety is in your own hands. Hanging objects obstructs the view—that’s the real hazard.”
“Oh, then you have to drive safely for sure. Stay calm and composed, take it slow.”
“Heh, when have you ever seen me not calm and composed? I’ve tutored you so many times—have I ever yelled at you or lost my temper?”
“But saying it like that sounds like you’re admitting I’m pretty dumb.”
“Lou Yixuan, if you want me to drive calm and composed, then don’t twist my words. Don’t rile me up.”
“Oh. Sorry, Teacher Lin. I know I was wrong. I’m not riling you.”
Eight years ago, Lou Yixuan had never riled Lin Huayan. But eight years later, Lin Huayan was always riled by her.
Her words riled her. Her silence riled her.
Lozenges riled her, beef noodles riled her, and now even Lin Huayan’s car riled her.
Right there on the rearview mirror hung an exquisite, translucent white jade Peace Buckle. It wasn’t adorned with flowing tassels but strung with several dark brown wooden beads.
It barely obstructed the view, yet it stood out glaringly.
Obnoxiously so.
“I bought it myself. For safe travels.” While she stared at the Peace Buckle in a daze, Lin Huayan handed over her phone. “Your home address.”
The screen showed a map interface. Lou Yixuan took it, typed quickly, selected the destination, and tapped [Start Navigation].
“Done.”
Memories flooded in like the tide. Lou Yixuan shrank into her seat, hugging herself tight.
She couldn’t pinpoint exactly what felt wrong, but everything felt wrong. Even breathing was hard, like a beached fish gasping its last breaths.
Surrounded by oxygen, yet it couldn’t save her.
“Are you cold? I’ll turn on the heat.”
“Not cold. Don’t.” Lou Yixuan refused decisively. She closed her eyes and leaned toward the car door. “I’m afraid it’ll feel stuffy.”
Seeing her so uncomfortable, Lin Huayan wanted to touch her forehead, to check if she was sick.
But as if reading her mind, the curled-up figure spoke again: “I’ll take a painkiller when I get home. It’s just the first day that’s rough—tomorrow it’ll be better.”
Tomorrow would be better, sure. But today, seeing Lou Yixuan in “pain,” how was Lin Huayan supposed to feel better?
The driver’s side door opened. Lou Yixuan turned her head to look.
Lin Huayan had gotten out of the car.
