“Five minutes have passed since the bell rang, and I didn’t say a word during those five minutes just to see how long it would take you to quiet down—and to what extent.”
In the classroom of High School Year 1 Class 9 at Tianmu Middle School, Lin Huayan stood leaning against the lectern with her arms crossed. She only spoke once the clamor had mostly died down.
As her words fell, the room fell silent as if muted—but it lasted less than ten seconds before whispers started up again.
With all 49 students in the class buzzing away, it was more irritating than the cicadas droning on the big trees outside.
But Lin Huayan was long immune to it.
—Teacher Lin, the heavy responsibility of leading Tianmu’s first Art Experimental Class falls to you. This class isn’t special or anything; it’s just the start of the semester. Teaching comes second—discipline is the top priority. Do it your way, at your pace. The school fully supports you.
Empower the students’ all-around growth. Send top art talent to universities.
The school shouted lofty slogans about playing the “specialty card,” but the real headaches, the real pressure, fell on the frontline teachers.
As the principal had put it, she was the only one who could shoulder this burden across the whole school—the unanimous choice of the school board for Art Class homeroom teacher.
Lin Huayan didn’t care for the flattery.
The reason she’d calmly accepted this daunting task that had other teachers running scared was simple: the partner was Haifan.
She lowered her gaze and slowly rolled up her shirt sleeves with deliberate care, then turned and stepped onto the podium.
Her right hand braced against the desk as her left pointed to the clock on the wall by the door.
“It’s the first afternoon class of the new semester’s first day. If you can’t quiet down, I can give you all the time you need—right up until the end of fourth period. After dinner, there are three more periods of evening self-study where you can keep sitting. I’m your homeroom teacher and the grade director for Year 1. I can reschedule or take over any of your classes, and the subject teachers won’t object. Don’t believe me? Try it.
She excelled at letting students feel a “suffocating” oppression through prolonged neglect or silence, rather than fueling teenage rebellion with outbursts of anger.
As homeroom teacher, principles and rules had to be established from day one.
Sure enough, the whole class turned in unison to the clock, then snapped their mouths shut, not daring to breathe.
They’d rather sit through three regular academic periods plus an activity session than spend three and a half hours butt-in-seat staring down their stone-faced homeroom teacher.
The other subject teachers had to be less rigid—more human, at least.
In the pin-drop silence, a figure appeared belatedly at the front door.
A soft, gentle smile accompanied the words, “Let me see whose little darlings are sitting so perfectly straight,” stirring up a fierce, turbulent wave in the lazy afternoon.
Long wavy hair, little white dress, dimples.
This youthful, radiant, ethereal “little fairy” seemed straight out of a comic book, effortlessly captivating everyone’s gaze.
One “whoa” after another spilled from the mouths of the not-so-straight-backed “darlings.”
Their excitement bubbled over.
Only the rigidly upright homeroom teacher on the podium froze solid upon recognizing the visitor—her heartbeat thrown into chaos, nails digging into the lectern.
Eight years without seeing her, yet not a single day had she left my heart.
In the instant their eyes met, past and present overlapped, time and space twisted.
The surrounding clamor faded into the cracks of spacetime, leaving only massive waves of panic or calm in each other’s eyes.
“Sorry, Teacher Lin. I’m late.”
Lou Yixuan stood at the door, posture humbly apologetic toward Lin Huayan. “Teacher Liu… our professional class homeroom teacher was suddenly called away on a business trip. Before leaving, he asked me to come in his place for our class’s first meeting.”
Before Lin Huayan could react, the students nearest the door couldn’t hold back. “Sis, are you our professional class teacher?”
Lou Yixuan didn’t answer directly. She placed her right index finger to her lips in a “shh” gesture.
“Be good now. Listen to Teacher Lin first. I’ll introduce myself later.”
Another wave of muffled squeals erupted.
Who could resist this?!
The horde of fanboys and fangirls below lit up with gleeful, lovestruck faces at the sight of their goddess.
The students’ minds swirled in a frenzy; Lin Huayan’s brain… was emergency rebooting.
“Teacher Lin? Can I come in?”
Snapped back again, Lin Huayan pressed her lips together and nodded. “It’s fine. Please come in.”
Four curt words masked her turbulent emotions.
She wasn’t the one late. This was her turf. Yet she felt like the guilty one, unable to meet the woman’s eyes again.
“Thanks.”
…
“You’d better remember every word I say in this class meeting. My temper’s steady, and my patience is good—but it depends on the time and place. Some things I’ll repeat endlessly, second time, third time. Others? Just this once.”
With that, Lin Huayan glanced at the clock ticking away on the wall.
“Alright, class dismissed.”
Forty minutes on the dot, she strode out right on the bell, not lingering a second.
Utterly ignoring the “professional class teacher” still seated attentively in the back row.
Lou Yixuan said goodbye to the students and hurried out the back door, intercepting Lin Huayan’s retreating steps. “Teacher Lin.”
Lin Huayan halted, rooted to the spot. “Something wrong?”
Students poured out of nearby classrooms, bustling and noisy.
Afraid the din would drown her out, Lin Huayan didn’t catch it clearly.
Lou Yixuan took a small half-step closer. “This might be forward, but… do you have time to show me around the school?”
Heaven and earth can witness it—I’m not using work as an excuse to find a private spot for “catching up.”
But Lin Huayan didn’t see it that way.
She wasn’t ready to be alone with Lou Yixuan unprepared, had no idea where to even start without others around.
She couldn’t say yes; the refusal stuck in her throat.
Just then, Du Heming, homeroom teacher of neighboring High School Year 1 Class 8, emerged from her classroom. Spotting the eye-catching little fairy, her eyes lit up.
She quickened her pace, tone eager and delighted as she asked Lin Huayan, “Teacher Lin, who’s this?”
Not wanting to put Lin Huayan in a tough spot, Lou Yixuan jumped in. “Hello. I’m one of the professional class teachers for Class 9—Lou Yixuan.”
She probably couldn’t even say my name right now.
“No wonder you’re in art—even your name’s so elegant, and your vibe… You’re gorgeous.” Du Heming sighed sincerely, unable to look away.
Used to compliments from strangers on her looks, Lou Yixuan neither minded nor preened. “Thank you.”
Du Heming extended her right hand. “Du Heming, homeroom teacher for Class 8. I teach chemistry.”
Lou Yixuan smiled faintly and shook it gracefully. “Nice to meet you, Teacher Du.”
“Don’t ‘you’ me like that—it sounds so stiff.”
Du Heming let go but leaned in familiarly, grinning. “Truth be told, I just hit thirty-something. We’re probably not far apart in age.”
A few years?
The overlooked Lin-surnamed math teacher subtly shifted her gaze from Lou Yixuan’s hand—the one Du Heming had just held—and silently did the math in her head.
One was 33, the other turning 26 soon.
A seven-and-a-half-year gap—not far apart? Not even rounding worked that way.
“Teacher Du has such a great personality.”
Lou Yixuan felt herself relax a bit under Du Heming’s warmth. “I’ll be teaching every Wednesday. Please advise me.”
“Each to their expertise—no need for ‘advising.’ Let’s be friends.”
Mid-chat, Du Heming seemed to realize something.
She glanced at the pure and lovely Lou Yixuan, then at the stern Lin Huayan, and awkwardly stepped back.
“Teacher Lin, do you two have important business?”
If not, she was ready to swoop in.
Catching sight of the silent Lin Huayan from the corner of her eye, Lou Yixuan shook her head.
“No, it was presumptuous of me. I just asked Teacher Lin to show me around the school’s facilities. First time here today.”
“Show you the school? I—”
Before Du Heming could volunteer, Lin Huayan beat her to it. “No need to trouble Teacher Du. I’ll take her.”
She shot Lou Yixuan a look. “Teacher Lou, follow me.”
Lin Huayan held the grade director title and didn’t share an office with Du Heming—they were on different paths.
“See you later, Teacher Du.”
Lou Yixuan hurried after Lin Huayan, trailing half a step behind in obedient silence, just like old times.
Lin Huayan was already a few centimeters taller, and with her not-insubstantial heels, she towered half a head over her.
If not for the head of honey-brown wavy hair, Lou Yixuan—with her lime-green chain-strap bag and simple chunky white sneakers—might pass for a high schooler.
Nothing about her look edged toward Lin Huayan’s rigorous, no-nonsense, utterly ascetic “veteran teacher” vibe.
She didn’t want to become another “Lin Huayan” in the world.
She only wanted to turn Lin Huayan into another Lin Huayan.
Of course, that was her thinking eight years ago.
Not anymore.
Year 1 classrooms were on the first floor; teachers’ offices on the second.
Lin Huayan was the exception.
She shared a small office with the math department head: 306.
At 306, door shut, she unlocked it with her fingerprint. “This is my office. Come find me anytime for teaching matters.”
“Got it.”
So outside of teaching, nothing to talk about?
Lou Yixuan waited in the hall; Lin Huayan didn’t invite her in. She just dropped her things and came right back out.
“Let’s go.”
“I’d like to check the Art Classroom and our office first.”
“Other building.” Lin Huayan avoided Lou Yixuan’s eyes. “This floor has a teachers-only restroom. Need it?”
“Not for now. If you do, I’ll wait here.”
Going to the bathroom was deeply private; it didn’t feel like a genuine invite.
Either she’d say yes and Lin Huayan would wait outside, or no and Lin Huayan might go anyway.
In awkward scenes like this, bathroom break = tactical retreat.
Just as expected.
“I’ll wash my hands. Wait a sec.”
Watching Lin Huayan’s back recede, Lou Yixuan slumped against the wall, a bitter smile spreading.
She closed her eyes, steadying her breath—one inhale, one exhale.
The bell rang for class.
In the restroom, Lin Huayan washed her hands over and over, head down, trying to calm herself.
But glancing up at her reflection—so much duller than the vibrant Lou Yixuan—how could she stay calm?
To project authority before the students, she’d skipped foundation today, tied her hair in a low ponytail, donned old-style gold-rimmed glasses, a gray-blue button-up, black slacks, black heels.
Drab and dowdy, severe and sharp—nowhere near gentle, pretty, elegant, poised.
Judging purely by clothes and looks, she could pass for a forty-something menopausal woman.
Too awful.
Not the timing or place of the reunion.
Her.
She* was too awful.
Every inch of her, top to bottom, a disaster.
She grabbed a paper towel to dry off, glanced around—no one else in the restroom. From her left pants pocket, she pulled a small cylindrical item.
One she’d deliberately grabbed from her bag minutes ago back in the office—lipstick.
…
…
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