The distance from the Teaching Building to the South Gate was farther than from the Dormitory Building, but Lin Huayan’s pace was already as quick as it could be. Her pant legs were splashed with water, and her shoes had filled up, yet none of it slowed her down.
But she was still one step too late.
Always one step too late.
“Teacher Lin, you’ve come too,” Old Man Zhang said, his face beaming with joy, his tone lifting cheerfully.
Du Heming stiffened at the sound of Old Man Zhang’s voice.
She didn’t even dare imagine the icy glare in Lin Huayan’s eyes upon seeing Lou Yixuan clinging to her waist.
Though Lou Yixuan hadn’t made a sound while crying, Du Heming knew she must have suffered a great grievance for her body to tremble like that.
So no matter what, she couldn’t let go while Lou Yixuan hadn’t yet calmed her emotions.
Lou Yixuan needed this embrace—someone else couldn’t give it, so she would. What was a hug between good friends?
As for that certain Lin someone…
Hmph.
Who cared about her.
Lou Yixuan, as if she hadn’t heard a thing, buried her face in Du Heming’s abdomen and cried for a good while longer.
She repeated to herself over and over in her heart: Today is just an ordinary day.
So many office workers went through such a wretched day.
Even more people faced this kind of uncomfortable ordeal once, twice, or many times a week, a month, a year.
But no matter how she thought about it, no matter how she tried to console herself, she still felt aggrieved, still felt heartbroken, and the tears just wouldn’t stop.
Because in Australia, she never had to get up early and stay late for work, let alone brave a torrential downpour to squeeze onto a bus.
And because her mood every time she came to Tianmu Middle School was no longer what it used to be.
Last year, every visit filled her with joy and eagerness at the mere thought of seeing Lin Huayan.
Even if she faced today’s mishaps—or worse, with fingers smashed and bleeding, toes stepped on and swollen, or tumbling into some massive puddle—she might have climbed up happily, then acted all pitiful at school, coquettishly whining to Lin Huayan so she could dote on her and ache for her.
But this year, every time she came, she desperately hoped not to run into Lin Huayan.
She didn’t want to see affection in Lin Huayan’s eyes toward her, nor indifference.
Those flights of abstract romance she had fabricated all by herself had been frozen solid by the wind and snow of the previous winter.
She was like a scraggly wild grass clinging to life—Lin Huayan just had to care for her a little, and she’d want to rip her heart out for her.
But what could a patch of wild grass offer?
Even if she burned herself to ash, she’d barely singe Lin Huayan’s fingertip. And besides, Lin Huayan was warm enough on her own; she had no need for that flicker of feeble heat.
“I’m really so stupid.”
“I never want to like rainy days again.”
Muffled mumbling came from her embrace. Du Heming didn’t catch it clearly and lowered her head to ask, “Lou Lou, what did you say?”
“I said,” Lou Yixuan sniffled, lifting her head a little, “I’m really so stupid. I don’t get work, I don’t get taking the bus, I don’t even get being a daughter… I don’t get anything…”
Du Heming had never seen anything like this. How had her little fairy gotten her brains muddled by the rain?
Remembering the voice call before school started, when she’d asked Lu Lingxuan about Lou Lou’s whereabouts and heard that heartbroken tone describing how Lou Lou had collapsed on her sobbing during Spring Festival, Du Heming felt it viscerally now.
“Lou Lou, don’t say such silly things…”
But somehow, before the words of comfort could leave her mouth, Du Heming herself was on the verge of tears.
She blinked, laughed through it, and wiped Lou Yixuan’s tears. “Flower-faced cat, come with me to the dorm. Let’s get you some dry clothes.”
“You’re not allowed to laugh at me.”
“I’m not laughing at you—I’m crying with you, okay?”
“Who asked you to cry with me?”
“You ungrateful little thing.”
Du Heming’s tear-wiping hand shifted into a face-pinch, threatening, “I should snap a photo and send it to your darlings to see.”
“I knew you were faking drunk that day.” Lou Yixuan shook her head to dodge. “Teacher Du, don’t let me catch you next time.”
“Next time? Worry about today first.”
Seeing Lou Yixuan’s mood and state improve, Du Heming finally stepped half aside and glanced toward the door.
Where was she?
Had she misheard?
Lin Huayan hadn’t come?
“Teacher Du, check if there are still lots of students outside?”
Lou Yixuan took small sips of the now-lukewarm hot water, one hand holding the cup, the other tugging Du Heming’s clothes.
“Not many. The rain’s eased up quite a bit.”
Du Heming turned back. “Do you have wet wipes in your bag? Let me wipe your face first.”
She’d rushed out with just her phone and umbrella. Lou Yixuan’s eye makeup, waterproof or not, couldn’t withstand the double assault of rain and tears.
Lou Yixuan looked dazed. “Huh?”
“I mean,” Du Heming tapped her forehead, “this little flower-faced cat needs her face wiped before we go out.”
“Oh.” Lou Yixuan ducked her head. “I used up all my tissues.”
She’d used them to wipe the earbuds that fell on the ground, and the shoes with footprints stomped on them—but it was like wiping for nothing. The earbuds still felt dirty to her, the shoes too.
She hated those rude people so much that she hated the whole bus by association—and anything they’d dirtied.
But the earbuds…
Du Heming glanced around. “There’s a pack of tissues over there. I’ll grab them for you.”
She fetched tissues from another table, but Lou Yixuan snatched them quickly. “I’ll wipe myself. Turn around—don’t look.”
Pretty thin-skinned, huh.
“Fine, fine, I won’t look.”
Du Heming smiled in relief, ruffled Lou Yixuan’s hair swiftly, then stepped away. “I’ll wait by the door.”
At the doorway, she looked out.
Whoa—standing under the shelter with Old Man Zhang, staring at the rain, if not Director Lin herself?
The atmosphere among these women teachers was far too delicate. Old Man Zhang clasped his hands behind his back, coughed dryly, and shuffled a few steps to the side.
Du Heming suddenly had no words for Lin Huayan.
It was just… awkward.
Lin Huayan glanced sideways at Du Heming but said nothing, continuing to hold her umbrella, gazing at the rain, the sky.
A few minutes later, Lou Yixuan emerged, tidied up. “Teacher Du, I’m ready. Let’s go.”
Spotting Lin Huayan at the door, she paused in surprise, then apologized. “Teacher Lin’s here too? Sorry to keep you both waiting.”
She’d assumed Lin Huayan had been called by Du Heming.
But Du Heming mouthed to her—Not me. I didn’t.
The rain had visibly lightened; Lin Huayan’s large umbrella was utterly superfluous.
Even the heavens weren’t on her side.
“Let’s head to the dorm.” She opened her umbrella anyway, blocking the gaze Lou Yixuan cast from her right, using it to conceal the sudden storm raging in her heart.
Du Heming bent to pick up Lou Yixuan’s umbrella and her own. “Lou Lou, how’s your umbrella wet inside too? Water’s dripping from the ribs…”
Lou Yixuan took it, gripped the handle, and shook it out. “It got dirty, so I let the rain wash both sides.”
That was why even her hair roots were soaked.
Before she could press the auto-open button on the handle, a hand reached from the left, grabbing her wrist. “Use my umbrella.”
Lin Huayan pulled Lou Yixuan under her umbrella, just like in the old days, but Lou Yixuan no longer smiled up at her with crinkled eyes. Instead, there was only a flat, distant “Thank you.”
On the walk to the Dormitory Building, she neither pressed too close nor stayed too far.
At the door to 1107, Lin Huayan grabbed Lou Yixuan again, stopping her from heading to 1109. “I have a tracksuit in my dorm you can wear.”
“Teacher Lin…” Lou Yixuan started to say “No need,” but Lin Huayan’s grip hurt.
Through those bottomless eyes, she read an emotion that had never appeared on Lin Huayan before.
—Fear.
Lin Huayan was afraid.
Afraid of what? Afraid she wouldn’t obey, afraid of rejection?
But the one who’d been rejected and pushed away time and again was her.
What right did Lin Huayan have to be afraid?
“Then, Lou Lou, why don’t you try it on? If it doesn’t fit, I’ll dig out some of my clothes for you.”
Du Heming spoke up, saving face for them both. Lou Yixuan compromised with a smile and a nod. “Sorry to trouble you, Teacher Lin.”
In the end, she couldn’t bear to ignore Lin Huayan’s “fear.” In a relationship, the one in the subordinate position had no dignity.
“No trouble.”
Lin Huayan murmured softly before releasing her hand.
As she swiped her card to open the door, Du Heming headed back to her own 1109, swiping hers too. “Lou Lou, I’m right next door. Call me if you need anything.”
“Okay, thanks, Teacher Du.”
Just then, a homeroom teacher from another grade came upstairs, passing 1107 and greeting curiously. “Good afternoon, Teacher Lin. This little beauty looks unfamiliar—is she a friend or a new teacher at our school?”
Du Heming paused mid-entry, hearing Lin Huayan reply, “Art teacher from my class. Rain was too heavy; brought her up to change.”
“Oh, oh, March weather’s so fickle, temps all over the place. Wet clothes need changing quick. Carry on.”
The colleague said goodbye. Du Heming entered her room.
Lou Yixuan followed Lin Huayan inside, stopping at the door. “Just lend me a jacket or something, Teacher Lin. I won’t go farther in—I’ll dirty the floor.”
Her boots were laced, and after all that walking through invisible puddles, they were thoroughly soaked.
Lin Huayan shut the door and pulled her straight to the balcony without a word. “Put the umbrella on the balcony. Wait for me.”
“Mm.”
Lou Yixuan went to the balcony, set the umbrella on the laundry platform, washed her hands, and waited. Lin Huayan returned with a pinkish-purple spring-fall tracksuit set.
