“Don’t move. Let me kiss a little longer.”
“Kiss where?”
Seeing the wicked smile curl at Lou Yixuan’s lips, Lin Huayan’s heart raced in panic, her body trembling uncontrollably in several places.
Sure enough, as soon as Lou Yixuan finished speaking, warmth surged over her, and fireworks exploded.
The blush-inducing sizzle echoed like the red fireworks she lit back home during Spring Festival—one after another rising into the night sky, vanishing into the darkness, only to bloom again.
Those colors were dazzling, breathtaking.
Lin Huayan half-closed her eyes. In the midst of the chaos, one hand cradled the back of Lou Yixuan’s head while the other pulled the blanket up to cover her completely. It kept Lou Yixuan’s back from getting cold… and kept her from seeing what she shouldn’t.
In her solitary days, when her heart had nowhere to settle, she could go eight years without desire, eight years without knowing the taste of love.
But once her heart found its home, once her beloved pried open the valve of her desire, her mind and body both surrendered in tandem.
Dominated by desire, dominated by Lou Yixuan—she welcomed it eagerly.
Even greedily craving more.
Feeling Lin Huayan’s body respond and yield, Lou Yixuan paused amid her fervor, lifting her head slightly.
She gazed up at the woman biting her lower lip, head turned aside in desperate restraint. Her words came muffled: “Strawberries bud and bloom in spring, ripen in summer, and now they’re lining supermarket shelves everywhere. Their scent hits you, stops you in your tracks.”
She held one in her mouth, twirled another in her fingers.
“I haven’t had any this year yet, but these two from Teacher Lin? I love them. So sweet—they chase away bitterness, soothe pain, fill you up.”
Hearing Lou Yixuan’s strawberry metaphors, Lin Huayan flushed crimson. She chided softly, “Stop talking,” but her hand pressed down harder.
Her intent was just to silence that nonsense-spouting mouth, but even as the air grew thin under the covers, Lou Yixuan’s delighted laughter still bubbled through.
From last autumn’s wild thicket to today’s barren stubble, last night’s fire had scorched it all, not a blade left standing.
The ashes became fertile soil, nourishing the strawberries’ growth—each one plump, juicy, bursting with fragrance.
This year’s harvest outdid the last.
The intoxicating sweetness lingered at her nose. Only after savoring her fill did Lou Yixuan venture downward through the lush meadows alive with birdsong, seeking hidden mountain springs where even sweeter fruits waited in secluded spots for the right hands to pluck them.
The pampered kitten, grown wild from roaming free—climbing peaks, braving trials—slipped from Lin Huayan’s grasp as she frolicked in paradise.
Control shifted back to Lou Yixuan.
What she was most willing to lavish, most ruthless in pursuing, was making Lin Huayan endure one or two more rounds of exertion.
Lin Huayan barely made a sound. Even if she did, Lou Yixuan—lost in focus—might not hear, and if she did, she wouldn’t stop. Lin Huayan’s hands and legs held her there, after all.
Her waist, too.
She was an artist, not just with her hands—with her lips, too. But Lin Huayan was the only one in the world who witnessed her lip-painted masterpieces.
If she set her mind to it, no canvas eluded her brush.
And Lin Huayan’s portrait? She’d spend a lifetime on it, pouring in every ounce of devotion.
Happy times always flew by. Lin Huayan felt it deeply once more.
By the time she finally coaxed Lou Yixuan out of bed to fetch warm water from the kitchen, a glance at her phone showed it was well past ten—truly the sun high in the sky.
Lou Yixuan returned with the steaming cup. Lin Huayan had gotten up, rummaged in the closet for fresh loungewear, and slipped it on. She checked the collar—no suspicious marks peeking out.
“Teacher Lin, you’ve worked hard. Drink some water.” Lou Yixuan reverted to her obedient kitten mode.
Before blow-drying her hair last night, Lin Huayan had given her the house tour—every room, every appliance, explained in detail.
Lin Huayan hadn’t said “Treat this like your own home,” but that’s what she meant.
They were beyond intimate now—what was there to be coy about?
Besides, Lin Huayan had whispered plenty of sweet nothings, rating a solid nine out of ten. The missing point? Her refusal to say “feels good” outright.
Lin Huayan’s body was honest enough, but Lou Yixuan wanted to hear it from her lips, just once.
“You go shower and freshen up. I’ll make breakfast.” Unaware of Lou Yixuan’s thoughts, Lin Huayan took the cup and sipped slowly.
Sending her off meant time to change the sheets—and wash her own sleepwear from last night.
As for what Lou Yixuan wore? No need.
She’d stripped quickly last night and dressed late this morning; the clothes tossed on the bed were clean, unscathed.
“Oh.” Lou Yixuan glanced guiltily at the bed, tugging Lin Huayan’s hem. “You okay? Anywhere sore?”
Five times between last night and this morning—she wanted to slap her own mouth and hands.
Last night, before starting, she’d promised, “I’ll be gentle, nothing like our first time—won’t go overboard.” But she’d broken her word.
Their first time was three rounds at night. This time? Two more in the morning. Way overboard.
Cough, cough…
Lin Huayan choked on her water, shooting her a sideways glare. “I’m fine. No need to say more. Go wash up—you’re sweaty. Don’t wear yesterday’s clothes. Guest room closet has new sets; pick what you like before heading out.”
“New ones? You bought me new clothes?” Lou Yixuan’s attention snapped to that, delight sending her rushing over.
She flung open the guest room closet: bright colors, perfectly her style—spring and summer pieces.
Lin Huayan followed. “See if you like them, if they fit.”
As Lou Yixuan turned with touched eyes, she added, “Not for you to sleep in the guest room. I don’t buy much clothes; didn’t plan a walk-in during reno. Guest closet’s big enough for your stuff—make it yours.”
She’d held off mentioning it last night for this surprise reveal today.
Lou Yixuan would love it.
She wanted the Lou Yixuan by her side happy every day.
That would make her happy, too. Both of them.
“Lin Huayan.” Lou Yixuan blinked her dewy doe eyes, throwing herself into an embrace with a whine. “Are you inviting me to move in? Are you?”
“Yes. Will you?”
“I will! Yes!” She sniffled. “No more worrying about getting soaked commuting in the rain—you’ll take me, right? Hold an umbrella for me?”
“Mm. No more letting you get wet.”
Lin Huayan spoke earnestly, already planning to ice Lou Yixuan’s eyes later to reduce the swelling.
But Lou Yixuan’s tears stopped in a second, turning naughty: “But you got me soaked this morning…”
“Lou Yixuan! You—!” Lin Huayan couldn’t finish, pinching her nape in light reprimand.
Left hand still clutching the cup, right using just five percent strength—she couldn’t bear to hurt her: “Not hungry? Dumplings or tangyuan? Those are quick; we’ll eat light now, more dishes at lunch.”
“Dumplings. Auntie’s are the best.”
“Craving them again today?”
“…Sorry. I didn’t know you were there to chase me that day.”
Lin Huayan blushed, yanking her collar to pull her away: “All sticky. Wash extra thorough.”
“…Oh.”
In the shower, Lou Yixuan pondered when to “move in.” Her apartment lease ran till late August—three months left.
She’d haul the easel back to her place; Lin Huayan could visit sometimes to warm the bed.
She believed time would help her parents accept her and Lin Huayan, like they had Ling Xuan and Ya Ning-jie. They loved her deeply.
And she loved them, so she yearned for their blessing.
…
At 10:15 a.m., He Huan and Du Heming left their room, heading downstairs to check out.
Hungover, phone dead since midnight, He Huan slept till nearly ten—waking in Du Heming’s arms.
Naked, both of them.
He Huan had blacked out hard but remembered everything: demanding kisses, the bath in Du Heming’s arms, pulling her back to bed.
So she woke calm. Du Heming was calm, too.
Adults knew if lines had been crossed—the body told all.
In last night’s chaos, if Du Heming’s restraint had faltered even slightly, if she’d been more reckless or selfish, things might’ve happened.
But Du Heming held the final boundary—for both of them. And spared He Huan’s fragile pride.
Her clothes from yesterday? Cleaned, dried, returned before she woke. Phone? Charged that morning at Du Heming’s request.
Booted up, WeChat showed unread messages from her brother—the three missed calls last night were his, too.
Dad’s cerebral thrombosis had flared again, hospital-bound. No time to unpack the night; she’d rushed to dress, wash up, call back, check out.
Outside the hotel, silence hung between them.
Du Heming overheard snippets as He Huan called her brother.
Father’s health weighed on her, worry rising, so she said nothing extraneous.
She hailed a cab at the curb. “Go to the hospital first.”
He Huan “mm”ed.
Mom had died in one; the siblings dreaded hospitals for Dad, but duty called.
Family came first—emotional wounds paled beside parental pain.
Du Heming opened the back door. Despite her concern, she couldn’t muster even “Call if you need anything.”
What right or standing did she have?
She watched like an outsider as He Huan boarded, the cab speeding away.
Then—a miracle.
A hundred meters out, it stopped. Not traffic; He Huan got out.
Forgot something in the room?
Du Heming’s mind raced: What’d they bring last night? Her pre-departure check—no omissions.
Looking up, He Huan strode back—fast, urgent.
Du Heming ran, too—toward her.
Feet from colliding, Du Heming slowed, but saw He Huan’s red, tear-streaked eyes.
She surged forward, enfolding her. No words, no questions—just held tight.
Fearing the worst from the hospital.
“Du Heming, sorry.”
He Huan choked out an apology. “Yesterday was your birthday. I didn’t make you happy, didn’t let you enjoy it.”
Relief washed over Du Heming.
Not bad news from the hospital.
She refuted gently: “How not? I was happy. My good friend—and the person I like—dined with me. Very happy.”
Really?
He Huan laughed through tears: “Teacher Du, liars get chased by dogs.”
“No worries. Not scared of dogs. Forgot? I bit your dog once. Woof.”
A few passersby strolled; Du Heming shielded her beloved with her height, hiding the tears.
Held long enough, He Huan steadied.
“Not sure if school’s today or tomorrow—depends on Dad. Wait for my call.”
“Okay. Don’t rush. Stay with your uncle as needed; I’ll cover Class 5.”
“Mm. Thanks.” Du Heming was the greatest sense of security these years—the one who disarmed her most.
“No problem. Managing students is my forte.”
“Doesn’t show.”
“Then what did you see? I like you—you must have figured that out by now, right? I’m not chatting idly with you at a time like this; I just want you to know that, whether it was yesterday or today, I’m still that tactful Du Heming who likes you so much. Don’t feel burdened—hand everything you can over to me.”
He Huan said “thank you” again.
But this time, accompanying those words was a kiss landing on Du Heming’s neck.
She couldn’t bear to see Du Heming upset, couldn’t bear to let her feel like she’d been “ditched” on the roadside.
Her father was important.
Du Heming was important, too.
Having lost happiness once before, she didn’t want to lose it a second time.
After seeing He Huan off in the taxi once more, the clouds of worry over Du Heming’s head seemed to vanish in an instant. Her mind cleared, her heart brightened, and her mood lifted.
How could she possibly be Ming You’s stand-in?
If He Huan really wanted a stand-in, there were plenty of women better off than her, more beautiful than her.
Why would she settle for Du Heming?
What she should be worrying about now was how to help He Huan break free from that illusion woven from beauty and regret.
Some hurdles weren’t impossible to cross because they were too high—they were just insurmountable because the person trapped inside felt lost and directionless, without a reason compelling her to leap.
Or maybe without someone strong and brave enough to give her the power and courage, to cross it alongside her.
Du Heming wanted to be that reason. She wanted to be the one to accompany He Huan out of the past.
She hailed a car back to school and messaged Lou Yixuan: [How’s it going, Lou-Lou? What happened with you and Teacher Lin last night?]
Lou Yixuan didn’t see the message until after her shower.
Seeing that the other woman still had the mind to gossip about her and Lin Huayan, she figured things must not be too bad for her.
So she didn’t bother hiding or deflecting, replying honestly: [Bad news: I’m too easy to chase. Good news: I’m moving in with Teacher Lin.]
Her phone battery was low. She glanced around the bedroom—no charger in sight—so she headed to the living room to find Lin Huayan.
Lin Huayan had taken some time to strip and wash the bedsheets and was now standing guard in the kitchen, boiling dumplings.
Lou Yixuan slipped in from behind and wrapped her arms around her waist. “Teacher Lin, my phone’s dead. Mind if I borrow your charger?”
The body pressed against her back carried the dampness and fragrance of a fresh shower, wafting from her neck into Lin Huayan’s breath. It made her heart and body itch unbearably, a restless tingling everywhere.
“It’s on the sofa—mine should be mostly charged by now. Just unplug it and use yours. The ports are the same.”
“Oh.” Lou Yixuan made a sound of acknowledgment but didn’t let go or leave. “I need to recharge too. Just two more minutes.”
“Then you watch the dumplings. I’ll go shower.” Lin Huayan savored the warm moment, reaching back to scrape a finger lightly under her nose.
