How could she possibly have never thought of giving up?
Countless silent nights in a foreign land, Lou Yixuan had tried to convince herself: It’s time to let go. Time to forget.
This relationship felt like a distant marathon with no finish line in sight. She ran with reckless abandon, exhausted to her core, yet she could never bring herself to stop.
But with every step, the pain in her soles reminded her that the distance between her and Lin Huayan only grew wider.
She told herself, It hurts too much. No turning back. Give up.
It was just a brief journey, after all, and everyone’s path in life led to different destinations.
Lin Huayan’s road and hers had intersected for only those three years.
She analyzed with reason, argued with logic, but time proved an merciless sculptor, etching those beautiful memories into indelible artwork, vivid and lifelike.
Every laugh, every shared glance, carved deep into her heart, becoming an inseparable part of her very flesh and blood.
No matter where she went, those images followed like shadows.
They surged up in her most vulnerable moments, her most confused moments, her loneliest moments, overwhelming her.
No escaping them.
No numbing the pain.
No matter how far she fled or how many new people she met, she remained hopelessly in love with Lin Huayan, her heart forever gripped by an inexpressible longing and yearning.
She had failed.
No saving her.
She couldn’t forget, couldn’t give up.
The word “love” brought her pain, but also growth.
It taught her what love was, how to love. It taught her how to wait, how to cherish.
Maybe giving up wasn’t the only path. Maybe there was a new way.
To reconnect.
“I’ve thought about it and even tried to give up. But I failed.”
Lou Yixuan wasn’t good at lying—at least not to anyone but Lin Huayan.
Her feigned strength, her forced composure, were all a performance for that one specific person.
Her sole audience—Lin Huayan.
The dinner venue was a lavish Chinese restaurant, its entrance grandly decorated.
Lou Yixuan parked in the restaurant’s open lot and got out with Du Heming, just in time to run into Lin Huayan and the other two stepping out from a roadside taxi.
“Whoa, what a coincidence?” Du Heming exclaimed in surprise.
The taxi should have been much faster than Lou Yixuan’s car, yet they arrived at the same time.
Lin Huayan said nothing.
He Huan approached them with a gentle smile. “Did Teacher Lou just get her license?”
“…” Lou Yixuan blinked, unsure, then answered honestly. “I’ve had it for years, but I got it in Australia. I bought a car after returning home a little over a month ago, so I’m not fully adjusted yet.”
Australia drove on the left with right-hand steering, while China was left-hand drive on the right—completely opposite.
She had an international license, sure, but with only a month back, she wasn’t proficient and drove cautiously slow.
“That explains why you were driving so slowly.”
Du Heming crossed her arms, tilting her chin in mock accusation. “You asked why I wasn’t talking? I was too scared to open my mouth—my life was on the line!”
“…” Lou Yixuan froze. He Huan, seeing through it all, stifled a laugh.
“Just kidding.”
Du Heming patted Lou Yixuan’s shoulder, her smile blooming with words laced with hidden meaning. “Lou Lou, you’re just too pure sometimes. You should be a little ‘naughty’ now and then.”
“Let’s head in.”
At Director Lin’s command, Du Heming shrugged.
She put some distance between herself and Lou Yixuan, then leaned toward He Huan and muttered, “Teacher Lin’s definitely thinking I’m a bad influence on the kid.”
“Don’t be silly. You’re great, Teacher Lou’s great. People with their own unique charms, staying true to themselves—that’s not such a bad thing.”
“Teacher He, you’re so eloquent. No wonder—a literature teacher, brimming with the grace of poetry and books.”
It had been ages since anyone praised her so directly; He Huan flushed unexpectedly, her ears warming. “Teacher Du, your shoelace is untied.”
“Huh?”
Du Heming looked down. Her laces were fine—untied where?
“Teacher He!”
She hurried after her, teased multiple times now, tempted to grab He Huan and tickle her sides.
But their relationship wasn’t that close yet. She thought better of it and held back.
Wouldn’t want it mistaken for harassment.
Once in the private room, Du Heming pulled Lou Yixuan to their table. “Lou Lou, sit here next to Teacher Lin. If they try to make you drink, at least they’ll have to watch her face.”
“I…” Lou Yixuan swallowed the words I don’t drink.
New to the group, all from the same grade level, it’d look odd if she refused every drop.
They’d be working together for three years.
The large rotating table seated the thirty-plus teachers at two tables, plenty of space.
Lou Yixuan wasn’t worried about accidental contact with Lin Huayan, so she followed Du Heming’s lead and sat down without protest.
Each place setting had two glasses: a small wonton cup and a larger stemmed one.
The first round started with servers pouring white or red wine for everyone.
Some opted for white water or juice—like Wang Li at their table.
Lou Yixuan chose red wine.
From the moment she entered the room, she no longer represented just herself, but Class 9’s subject teacher.
She wanted Lin Huayan to see she was a true adult now, a colleague who could clink glasses at dinners—not the girl from eight years ago, questioned for confusing affection with dependence.
Most of the hot dishes were served when Lin Huayan stood confidently, glass in hand.
She gave a brief toast: “Teachers, you’ve worked hard.” “Keep pushing this new semester.” “Happy Teachers’ Day.” The crowd raised their glasses in response.
Rituals observed, they could finally dig in.
Lin Huayan sipped just a little from her red wine glass.
Lou Yixuan glanced subtly her way and took only a small sip too.
In the elegantly decorated private room, soft dim lights created a simple yet warm ambiance.
At the table, teachers clustered in groups of three or four, chatting animatedly, the mood lively.
To her left sat the elder teacher, her low ponytail swaying smoothly down her back, framed like a portrait.
A simple, fitted lotus-root silk blouse, top two buttons undone.
Gold-rimmed glasses, silver watch, black slacks, light heels—posture upright, exuding intellect, inner discipline, and restraint.
She didn’t join the surrounding clamor much, only offering polite smiles, nods, in response to others’ overtures.
When undisturbed, she isolated herself in silence.
Like a mysterious, serene painting amid chaos, drawing eyes inexorably.
No words needed; that aura of solitude and ascetic beauty silently told her story.
Would there be a place for me in Lin Huayan’s story?
Lou Yixuan swirled her red wine glass gently; half a glass left, just a sip clinging to the sides.
As the new face, bright-eyed and fair-skinned, she inevitably caught the eye of the more social types.
Luckily, Du Heming had her back, blocking most of the toasts.
“Lou Lou, can you handle your liquor?” Du Heming eyed Lou Yixuan’s nearly empty glass.
“Probably… not much.”
“Probably?”
“I haven’t drunk much before. Don’t like it.”
“Then don’t drink anymore.” Du Heming had scooted her chair closer from the start; they sat very near. “Your face is flushed. You okay?”
Lou Yixuan shook her head, blinking hard. “I’m fine. Head’s clear. Just… face feels hot.”
Lots of people flushed from alcohol, but did their bodies heat up too?
Suspicious, Du Heming stood, knelt by Lou Yixuan’s chair. “Turn around, let me see.”
Lou Yixuan pressed her hot palms to her cheeks, turning toward Du Heming with squinted eyes and a smile. “Teacher Du, don’t worry. I just need to cool off.”
Cool off?
Du Heming half-believed it, but on closer look, Lou Yixuan’s neck and arms were blotched red.
“This isn’t just flushing! It’s an allergy, right? Didn’t you know?”
Lou Yixuan put her right hand to her lips in a “shh” gesture, gripping Du Heming’s wrist with her left. “Teacher Du, come with me to the restroom? Thanks.”
Priority: fix Lou Yixuan’s alcohol allergy. Du Heming obliged, and they slipped out quietly with their phones.
In the restroom, Lou Yixuan rinsed the itchy red patches and hives with cold water.
“I know I’m allergic to alcohol. Wasn’t hiding it on purpose. Usually, half a glass is fine. I’ve tested beer, red wine, baijiu—not every time at this amount.”
Facing Du Heming in the mirror, Lou Yixuan said, “Sorry for worrying you, Teacher Du. But trust me, I’m really okay.”
Du Heming was annoyed at her knowingly risking it but couldn’t scold her.
“Rinse more here. I’ll ask the server for antihistamines.”
“Thanks. If none, it’s fine—this’ll fade in half an hour. Watch me; I won’t touch another drop.”
Even though I haven’t toasted Lin Huayan yet.
Of the thirty-plus people, she owed her first toast to Lin Huayan.
After Du Heming left, Lou Yixuan braced her hands on the sink, tilting her head back to let cold water stream from chin to neck.
Her loose side hair got soaked too.
Damp strands clung to her face and neck; dripping water wantonly stained her milk-tea-colored fitted T-shirt, leaving suggestive trails.
As she closed her eyes to steady her breath, approaching high heels clicked closer.
She pretended not to hear, scooped more water to splash her face. Then, a hair tie extended from beside her.
“Tie your hair up.”
Lou Yixuan didn’t take Lin Huayan’s hair tie. Her reaction mirrored the afternoon in the dorm hallway—she stepped back. “No need. I’ll just wipe with paper.”
She turned, yanked several absorbent sheets from the wall dispenser, patting her face and hair.
“You should tie your hair back.”
Don’t let anyone…
“You knew you were allergic and still drank? Lou Yixuan, is this what you call ‘knowing your limits’?”
