Chapter 69

Du Heming, nursing heartbreak, looked listless, her tone equally wilted.

Lian Si on the other end of the phone said, “I’m fine, but my friend came all this way just to make one last plea in person. Even a greeting and a quick chat before turning her down would have been okay, but ignoring her like that really hurt.”

Lian Si was standing up for her friend, never expecting the usually kind and even-tempered Du Heming to be so resolute. “We’re all girls—did you have to be so harsh?”

“Yeah, I was in the wrong. Is she still with you? If she is, pass the phone over. I’ll apologize to her.”

Du Heming held the phone in her right hand and took the plastic bag of medicine and gauze from He Huan’s hand with her left. She gave He Huan a calm smile and pointed toward the Teaching Building.

In a hushed voice, she told He Huan, “You head to the office.”

Without waiting for a response, she turned and continued toward the Dormitory Building.

She was optimistic, outgoing—but that didn’t mean her heart was immune to hurt, pain, or sorrow.

Lian Si sighed. “She’s gone now. Everyone has their pride. She must be ready to give up this time—no more asking me to play matchmaker for you two.”

“Then next time there’s a chance, I’ll apologize to her in person,” Du Heming said, putting herself in the friend’s shoes and feeling even more guilty.

After all, the girl hadn’t done anything over the top, yet she’d been ignored without even a word. Who wouldn’t feel choked up in that situation?

Even if it didn’t last a week, it’d linger for a day or two at least.

Just like her own stifled feelings right now—she’d just choked herself up.

“But speaking of which, your rush to distance yourself from us and drag Teacher He away? Even my friend couldn’t help but wonder. She asked me if the person you pulled away was the school’s single teacher, if she was close to you, if she was someone you liked or had a crush on. I told her no way—Teacher He is… Anyway, I explained a bit on your behalf.”

Lian Si truly treated Du Heming like a friend.

But she could sense that Du Heming didn’t want to deepen their bond, or today’s mess wouldn’t have happened.

“I team-teach with Teacher He, so we naturally interact more. Thanks for explaining for me. And I’m really sorry—please pass on my apologies. I hope your friend doesn’t take it to heart, and I hope you both have a great May Day holiday.”

Du Heming walked slowly the whole way. By the time she hung up, she’d covered less than ten meters, still a hundred meters from the Dormitory Building.

Her heart heavy, she decided to take a shortcut and veered onto the Playground.

On the track, she glanced back at where she’d parted with He Huan. No one was there. What was I hoping for?

Hoping He Huan would follow?

Or hoping she’d say it again—Du Heming, I don’t like you.

Such a straightforward rejection, so simple and blunt that even an idiot would get it. How could she, an adult with relationship and work experience, not understand?

—Teacher He, um, what do you think of the match I introduced?

—Teacher Du, thank you for liking me, but we’re not right for each other. It’s not because of your gender—it’s that I don’t want to date anyone.

—Can’t we at least try? I can tell you don’t hate me, don’t hate my closeness…

—Does not hating mean liking? Teacher Du, I don’t like you. It might sound harsh, but…

—Okay, I get it! You don’t need to say more. You don’t need to say more.

For the past two months, to avoid suspicion and keep He Huan from thinking she was clingy, she’d minimized their alone time.

She’d even eaten with Lian Si two or three times a week on average, gone out with friends on weekends as usual, posted on Moments, and liked He Huan’s likes when she could.

What more could she do? What more could she ask?

No matter who else she got close to, ate with, drank with, or took photos with, He Huan wouldn’t care. Wouldn’t get jealous.

Because she doesn’t like me.

If she didn’t like her, why would she care about her every move? Why get jealous over her closeness with others?

He Huan had already been plenty tolerant.

At least she hadn’t locked her away. They still worked at the same school, taught the same class, saw each other every day, and occasionally—very occasionally—grabbed a meal or chatted.

She should be grateful.

Du Heming.

That’s not the person you’re hung up on.

Feeling low in body and spirit, Du Heming lacked the energy to head to the Teaching Building. For the last self-study period, she entrusted Lin Huayan to keep an eye on Class 8.

Seeing the neighboring class’s homeroom teacher patrolling the classroom, Class 8’s students assumed Teacher Du was badly hurt.

Fortunately, Lin Huayan explained that Teacher Du was fine—just a fall, some soreness, and she’d be good as new after a night’s rest.

After school, in the Teaching Building’s first-floor lobby, Lin Huayan and He Huan bumped into each other for the second time that day as they descended from opposite sides.

Both stayed silent, not even exchanging greetings.

Lin Huayan was silent because she was wondering how to face Lou Yixuan tomorrow. He Huan was silent because she was debating whether to check on Du Heming later.

Last week’s cultural subject midterms had just ended; this week, Class 9 was doing art major midterms.

And tomorrow afternoon was the color theory exam…

“Teacher Lin.” Halfway there, He Huan spoke first.

“Hm?”

“You heard about Teacher Du’s basketball injury this afternoon, right?”

“I did.”

“She has an abrasion on her left shoulder, wrapped in gauze.”

“…??”

“The school doctor said it might get wet if she’s not careful, so it needs changing promptly.”

“So the school doctor asked you to keep an eye on her?” Lin Huayan smiled faintly. “Teacher He, if you’re concerned, say it or do it yourself—don’t pass it off to others.”

“…” Amazed by Lin Huayan’s perceptiveness, He Huan felt a flush of shame. “You two are friends too.”

“But those aren’t things I’d do, friends or not. Don’t you know what kind of person I am by now, Teacher He?”

She knew all too well—probably only Lou Yixuan could get Lin Huayan to do such things.

A bit annoyed, He Huan wanted to see Lin Huayan flustered for once, so she “retaliated.” “Teacher Lou said tomorrow she has a gift for us. Do you know what it is, Teacher Lin?”

She saw it clearly—even in the dim light, Lin Huayan’s eyelids twitched from the side.

“Looks like Teacher Lin is in the dark too. Teacher Lou being so formal with gifts out of nowhere—who knows why. I thought you might have some insight.”

Lou Yixuan’s gifts were for all three of them.

For these gifts, Lou Yixuan had even invited them to lunch—no, to meet at the Garage first.

Clearly not some small trinket or snack.

But He Huan didn’t know Lou Yixuan hadn’t invited Lin Huayan to lunch or the Garage—Lou Yixuan hadn’t specified times, just messaged on WeChat: [Hit me up when you’re at the Garage.]

That “you” in her mind meant her, Du Heming, and Lin Huayan.

“Teacher Lin?”

“I don’t know.” Lin Huayan’s heart throbbed with pain, wave after wave. She didn’t even know if He Huan’s mentioned “gift” included her share.

Why the sudden lunch invite? Why the sudden gifts? And why was she the only one left out…? She had no clue.

The elevator stopped at the 11th floor, and He Huan got off too.

Lin Huayan, who’d originally planned to tag along to Room 1109 to check on Du Heming, scrapped the idea.

She swiped her card and entered her room, too rattled to even say goodbye to He Huan.

He Huan paused at her door, realizing she’d said something she shouldn’t have. Regret hit her belatedly.

She hadn’t meant to embarrass Lin Huayan. She just…

Just felt that Lou Yixuan’s recent odd behavior seemed like a farewell ritual—to this place, to them.

Worried Lin Huayan was too involved to notice, she’d hinted deliberately.

No taking it back now.

He Huan trudged a few more steps in gloom and knocked on the door of Room 1109.

Du Heming hadn’t expected He Huan to come by. Thinking it was Lin Huayan, she didn’t bother fixing her appearance.

She hid her body behind the door, poking only her head out, her hair a messy bird’s nest.

“T-Teacher He?”

She’d just removed her shower cap, tousled her hair to check dryness, and was about to blow-dry it before bed.

She wore a thin summer short-sleeve and shorts pajama set, nipples faintly visible.

“Just out of the shower?”

“It’s been a bit. Hair’s not dry yet.”

“Did the gauze get wet?”

“…” The door opened inward to the right; with Du Heming hiding behind, her right shoulder was exposed.

“Let me see your shoulder.”

He Huan stood outside, not asking to enter. Du Heming didn’t invite her in.

They gazed across the threshold—one heart burning, one steeped in worry.

The worried one yielded first. “Teacher Du…”

The named one ducked her head behind the door too, right hand gripping it, forehead against the frame. “If you want to see, come in and look.”

He Huan couldn’t help but chuckle.

Despite how inopportune it was, despite their unhappy parting that afternoon, seeing Du Heming always brought these sudden, meteor-like sparks of joy streaking through her heart.

Bringing waves of warmth.

And fresh little surprises.

As if with Du Heming nearby, everywhere brimmed with “ordinary” little happinesses.

“Happiness” was such a luxury, so precious—she hadn’t truly felt or owned it in years.

Yet in the half-year since meeting Du Heming, these bursts of joy had enveloped her again and again. Happy moments outnumbered the unhappy ones in her daily life.

But that month at home over Spring Festival, without seeing her or getting messages? She’d been miserable.

Du Heming’s heartfelt confession—she’d replayed it seriously several times.

Of course it moved her.

But it fell just short of that pounding “heart-flutter.”

And that missing piece? Evening basketball Du Heming had filled it.

In that moment, she’d seen Du Heming’s shining other side—utterly different from her usual playful teasing.

She’d felt it.

True heart-flutter, though it stayed just there.

—Dad, I get your good intentions, but no more setups. No matter how great she is, I don’t want to meet her. I said I won’t remarry—it’s not spite or despair. I really, really don’t want to.

—You’re still so young! Why not? Plenty remarry midway. Good personality, good family—no one’s perfect. One out of two is decent, better than alone and adrift. If you don’t marry, when I’m gone, how do I face your mom?

—Face what? Back then, to give Mom—you all—an explanation, I rushed into marriage with Jiang Bin. And? Not one happy day. Every day regret.

—He Huan, you chose him. Did we force you? Unhappy? Regret? Our fault?

—You’re right. You didn’t force me. My choice, my self-made trap, my just desserts. But Dad, since you say you never forced me before, please don’t now or ever. No need to explain to Mom. If she knows, she wouldn’t want me trapped in another unhappy marriage.

—Marriage not even started, and you talk happy or not?

—Dad, I loved Mom so much—I didn’t want her leaving with regrets. But if she knew any marriage to a man would make me unhappy, knew I’d force it just to ease your minds, would her regrets vanish?

—What are you saying?

—Nothing. I’m not as fragile as you think. I can rely on myself, build my own haven. Don’t worry so far ahead. Relax, worry less about us, take care—and enjoy your retirement peacefully.

…

On Thursday, Lou Yixuan arrived early, at eleven.

After getting her call, Du Heming phoned He Huan too, and they headed together to the Garage to help with Lou Yixuan’s too-heavy “gifts.”

Du Heming didn’t go to the office to find He Huan. The two had agreed to meet in front of the Teaching Building.

She walked quickly and arrived a few minutes earlier than He Huan.

While waiting for He Huan to come down, she hadn’t even spotted her figure yet when her own face flushed red over and over.

Her heartbeat thundered like the da-da-da of galloping hooves racing through the mountains and wilds, nearly cracking her ribcage open.

Last night, she’d waited behind the door for a bit, but He Huan never came in. So she quietly poked her head out to check if she was still there—only for He Huan to step forward at that exact second.

Not a fraction of a moment off, they collided face-to-face.

Du Heming had been a little taller than He Huan to begin with, but she’d been tilting her head at the time, which objectively erased that height difference. So it ended up almost mouth-to-mouth…

She’d “kissed” He Huan.

Both of them froze solid.

Du Heming snapped out of it first. She yanked He Huan into the room, then pressed her own back against the door, so panicked her heart nearly leaped out of her chest.

After that, He Huan didn’t say a word the whole time—but her face stayed bright red throughout.

The shower had soaked the gauze bandage earlier, so Du Heming had peeled it off, planning to ask Teacher Lin to rewrap it neatly after class.

But He Huan had shown up, so Du Heming very obediently laid out the gauze, scissors, and tape on the table. She barely dared speak to He Huan the entire time, let alone meet her eyes.

The moment the bandage was done, He Huan left.

Left alone in the dorm, Du Heming lost it completely, clawing at her hair and muttering frantically to herself, What do I do, what do I do?!

One careless slip, and she’d stumbled straight into a Mary Sue idol drama scene—except she didn’t have the idol drama heroine’s luck.

Half an hour later, she finally sent a WeChat message: [Woof woof woof.]

He Huan never replied.

Luckily—luckily—Lou Yixuan had shown up today. It gave her a perfectly legitimate excuse to call He Huan again.

Lou Lou really is my little lucky star!

“Teacher He.” Du Heming twisted her fingers together, calling out in a mix of stiffness and fluster.

“Mm.”

He Huan lifted her gaze casually, as if by accident, fixing Du Heming with a clear, watery stare as calm as still water. “An unintentional mishap, Teacher Du. No need to take it so seriously.”

Unintentional?

It was unintentional… but it was my heart’s deepest wish, too!

Du Heming ached to tell her: “‘Kissing you by accident’ was a mishap, but ‘kissing you’ has always been what I wanted most.

“Teacher Lou only invited the two of us, not Teacher Lin, right?”

“Mm.”

Du Heming caught the melancholy undertone in He Huan’s voice and blinked in confusion. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. How’s your arm feeling?”

“Much better. No more of that burning sting from last night.”

“Keep it away from water.”

“Oh.”

“Lay off the spicy food.”

“Mm.”

They traded small talk in fits and starts. Before long, they reached the school Garage, where Lou Yixuan leaned against the car’s rear, tapping away at her phone.