Chapter 25

Lin Huayan clenched both hands tucked inside her pockets.

She understood what Lou Yixuan was asking, but she couldn’t give her the answer she wanted.

Right now, her pockets were empty.

She did buy watermelon-flavored throat lozenges—her daily essential, popped morning and night—but she didn’t make a habit of carrying them on her.

Over the past eight years, she could allow herself to indulge in the dorm like a drug addict in withdrawal, inhaling the scent of “Lou Yixuan” over and over. But she wouldn’t permit herself even a second of openly missing Lou Yixuan in public.

“Nope.”

“There’s a convenience store up ahead. I’ll go grab some.”

Lou Yixuan bolted ahead, trampling her own delusions of unrequited love all the way to the store.

That brand of throat lozenges sat right on the shelf by the door, packaging upgraded, flavors expanded.

A testament to its popularity.

Eight years abroad, eight years she’d quit cold turkey. Today, the candy was the same as back then, and so was the person. But they weren’t the same anymore.

Without much thought, Lou Yixuan grabbed a bottle of grapefruit flavor off the shelf.

Watermelon was spring and summer; grapefruit would be fall and winter.

Four seasons in a year, cycles turning. Why cling to one season, one person, trapping yourself alive?

You’ve got to live—and live long enough—to see the things that stay blurry in the moment.

But at the register, as the barcode scanned, she changed her mind and doubled back for a bottle of watermelon too. “Scan this one.”

“You want to swap it?”

“Both.”

“Got it.” The cashier rang up the watermelon one.

Lou Yixuan stepped out of the store to find Lin Huayan already waiting by the door.

Just then, two girls walked between them arm-in-arm, giggling. The shorter one tilted her head, pressing tight against the taller girl’s shoulder.

Lou Yixuan and Lin Huayan stood like they were on opposite shores of love and indifference—their worlds divided sharp as a river.

Lou Yixuan stood backlit.

So Lin Huayan still couldn’t make out the flickers in her eyes, igniting and dying over and over.

She only saw her extend a hand and heard her say, “Teacher Lin, pick one.”

Lou Yixuan’s lips curved faintly.

Barely there.

Not even a shadow of a dimple.

The light was dim, labels hard to read, but the packaging colors made it obvious: one watermelon, one grapefruit.

Lin Huayan knew them inside out.

“Thanks.”

She took the watermelon—the one she loved most.

She was loyal to her favorites, nostalgic too. No need to try new.

But maybe Lou Yixuan needs to.

Lozenges in hand, Lin Huayan pocketed hers without opening it, her hand staying tucked away.

Lou Yixuan twisted open her grapefruit bottle and poured out two lozenges, popping them in.

No comment on the new flavor’s taste. No chat with Lin Huayan. Just like the walk there—total silence as they headed back.

Walking side by side on a night like this felt too much like all those countless evenings they’d walked home before.

Back then, they didn’t talk much either.

But the silence hadn’t felt awkward—it was comfortable. Tonight was worlds apart.

Lou Yixuan just wanted to speed through this road, part ways with Lin Huayan quick, so she could hide and lick her wounds before sinking deeper into heartbreak.

Lin Huayan had words she’d meant to say before dinner, but that transparent umbrella had blocked them all. Now they sank to the bottom of her heart.

They’d just swiped in at the South Gate when a Class 9 student came running up.

Lou Yixuan smiled at her class rep. “Sweetie, thanks for the umbrella. You ran all the way to the school gate to meet me? What’s got you so urgent?”

Zhang Xiao was panting, hands on hips, bent over like an old pro.

“Xuan-jie, how can you laugh? Go handle that big dummy Lin Jianlu. She’s burning up, about to pass out from fever. She took the fever meds but refuses to go back to the dorm and rest.”

“Checked her temperature? How high?” Lou Yixuan handed off the umbrella and hurried toward the Art Classroom, two steps at a time.

“Yeah, 38.7. Borrowed a thermometer from the dorm teacher.”

“Fall’s prime time for colds. Below 39.5 is just moderate fever. Meds, hot water, sweat it out—it’ll ease up.”

Lin Huayan’s experience dwarfed Lou Yixuan’s—no panic on her face.

Lou Yixuan’s worry stemmed from Zhang Xiao’s line about passing out—if it happened in her class, it’d be negligence on her part.

Hearing Lin Huayan, she steadied herself.

Ordinary cold and fever? No big deal usually.

They entered the classroom to find Lin Jianlu at a corner desk, working on her art assignment, surgical mask on.

No cough yet—just fever.

“Lin Jianlu.” Lou Yixuan called. “Zhang Xiao says your fever’s got you dizzy. Why not head to the dorm?”

“Just a regular cold. I took meds.”

Lin Jianlu set down her palette and brush. “Teacher Lin, Teacher Lou, don’t mind Zhang Xiao. She’s overblowing it. I’m fine.”

“Overblowing? You’ve been feverish since yesterday!” Zhang Xiao shared a dorm with her.

Fuming, she vented to the teachers. “I dragged her to the school doc after classes yesterday for fever meds. She was normal this morning, skipped the follow-up. Then afternoon, boom—fever again, and she hid it.”

She reached to yank Lin Jianlu’s mask. “You didn’t see her face, Teachers—red as a baboon’s butt…”

“Zhang Xiao!” Lin Jianlu dodged, annoyed and embarrassed. “Who looks like a baboon’s butt? Can’t you pick a better comparison?”

“I figured you were shameless—what’s wrong with it?”

“You!”

“Alright, alright, my two little darlings.”

Lou Yixuan pulled Zhang Xiao over, patting her shoulder. “You’re worrying too much. How can you use such crude words for a cute girl? Even I’m offended for Lin Jianlu. Look what you’ve done to your roommate, your friend?”

Zhang Xiao huffed. “Teacher Lou, she wrecked her health first, then got unreasonable.”

“True, she’s at fault too.”

Lou Yixuan took no sides. “So both of you—one apology each. Say it now.”

They’d just bickered in front of teachers and classmates—now apologize in front of everyone? The embarrassment hit late.

Lin Jianlu had her mask; Zhang Xiao’s face was bare.

Red as that “baboon butt.”

“Zhang Xiao,” Lin Jianlu cracked first, standing. “Wanna see how red your face is?”

“Don’t say it!”

“What’s wrong with ‘red as a watermelon’?”

“Huh? Not apple?”

“You go green then red when mad—that’s you.”

“…”

“Watermelon’s great—rind, flesh, all good for cooling fire.”

“…Lin Jianlu… is that a compliment?”

The girls traded barbs, fire fizzling into friendly banter.

Apologies weren’t just “sorry”—a little spat between pals hurt no one.

Lou Yixuan loved it, letting them play it out to natural peace.

But Lin Huayan cut in. “Enough. Lin Jianlu, skip tonight’s class. Back to the dorm. If no better by morning, I’m taking you to the doc for a shot. Got it?”

The homeroom teacher’s firm tone, pure command—Lin Jianlu felt her fever break.

Chill wrapped her tight.

Not just her—Zhang Xiao hugged her arms, rubbing goosebumps.

Glaring fierce at Lin Jianlu. “Talking to you—hear that?”

She wanted out of this frozen tundra too, about to say she’d escort, but Lin Jianlu beat her.

“Got it, Teacher Lin.”

Lin Jianlu’s big watery eyes fixed on Lou Yixuan. “Teacher Lou, walk me back?”

Zhang Xiao: “…” Slutty with the looks, heartless too!

“Of course.” Lin Jianlu was complying—Lou Yixuan nodded with a smile.

Eyeing her scattered supplies—the gouache on the palette would crust overnight: “These…”

Patient first. Zhang Xiao volunteered. “I’ll pack her stuff.”

“Good, you’re in charge here.”

Lou Yixuan tossed in casual English now and then, usually praise for students. “Alright, Lin, let’s go?”

Before leaving, Lin Jianlu thanked and sorry-ed Zhang Xiao.

A glance at Lin Huayan for the go-ahead, then Lou Yixuan slung an arm around Lin Jianlu’s shoulder toward the door. “Don’t judge a book by its cover—you’ve got a sharp tongue too.”

“…Teacher Lou, don’t tease.”

“Art homework isn’t due in class. Weekend’s plenty for creating…”

“But Teacher Lou’s classes—I won’t miss a second,” Lin Jianlu jumped in.

“That drive, that love of learning—perfect.”

“Teacher Lou…”

“Lin Jianlu, treat culture classes and art the same: equal drive, equal respect. Same for people, things, everything.”

She dropped her arm, stepping half a pace away. “Push hard, but face results with equanimity—that’s wisdom. Hold reverence always, and you’ll guard your boundaries, not lose yourself.”

The last bit was for Lin Jianlu—and herself.

Compared to Lin Huayan’s obliviousness, she was far more attuned to feelings.

Especially since she’d burned so hot in high school, crushing on an older someone. No one knew better that heavy love, chasing an elder.

All-in desperation or moth-to-flame doom.

She’d been the moth—couldn’t become the flame.

Luck’s random.

Divine favor? Fairy tale nonsense.

Not every moth survives unscathed. Even if you do, some pains linger for life. Tasted awful.

“The self-absorbed, the obsessed—they ignore others, chase their heart blindly. Scoff at ‘unfair’ rules, lose their way, act rash, do extreme things that hurt everyone.”

Lou Yixuan spoke, hand lifting to rest light on Lin Jianlu’s back. “Scary types, right?”

Crystal-clear advice—could Lin Jianlu miss it?

Head down in guilt.

For the improper thoughts, blurting her “feelings.”

“Yeah, scary.”

She wouldn’t be that “scary person.”

Lou Yixuan dropped her hand. “We can’t pick our start, but we choose who we become.”

“I get it, Teacher Lou.” Lin Jianlu looked up, eyes starry-bright, like finding her path in the snowy haze—and where to go next. “Thanks for waking me up.”

From a worker family, parents slaving construction sites.

Grunt work, no time for her life or studies, no cash spare for art.

Tianmu Middle School recruiter hit her small-town school for Art Class pitch: mid-tier grades like hers? Art exam path guaranteed top uni.

Double A on entrance? Free tuition/board three years; top uni admission? Extra 10-30k scholarship.

Since elementary, dream was escaping that town.

Next: root in a big city.

Let her worn-out parents retire easy.

Deep in the woods, one spots the deer.

She had to honor her parents’ sacrifices… and the aunt who’d named her, gone too soon.

Lin Huayan stepped out of the classroom after Lou Yixuan and Lin Jianlu, noticing how the two had gone from walking arm-in-arm when they left to now heading off separately.

She watched them silently for a moment, then pulled up the contact for Lin Jianlu’s parents on her smartwatch and called to inform them of her condition.

As a boarding student, the homeroom teacher had to pay extra attention to her health. Contacting the parents was mainly to check if Lin Jianlu had any history of major illnesses.

Fortunately, the parents said Lin Jianlu had never had any serious illnesses—just frequent colds in spring and autumn.

If her fever didn’t break by tomorrow, they’d come pick her up.

With the risk of chronic issues ruled out, Lin Huayan returned to the classroom, gave a few class leaders instructions to maintain discipline, and then left with her umbrella.

All the way back, what she mulled over was how to emphasize the “no early romance” rule at the next class meeting.

…

Thursday, overcast turning to partly cloudy.

All morning, Lou Yixuan itched to message Lin Huayan and ask about Lin Jianlu’s condition.

But recalling last night’s dinner—which couldn’t be called pleasant or unpleasant—and Lin Jianlu’s “not wanting to miss a single minute or second,” she held back.

With Lin Huayan and the school doctor at the school, it wasn’t her place to worry about Class 9 students. Her own duty was to teach color studies well.

Right after lunch, she got a WeChat from Du Heming.

Du Heming: Lou Lou! I’m guilty! I turned down Teacher Lin’s dinner invite! I actually turned down Teacher Lin’s dinner invite! I’ve let you all down!

Du Heming: First time ever! After all these years, it was the first time Teacher Lin invited me!

Du Heming: But I really can’t make it—Friday night, I have to go with my parents to my great-uncle’s birthday banquet. You know my grandma passed recently, and then my great-uncle got sick right after. For his 70th, all us relatives agreed beforehand to show up from oldest to youngest—no one can miss it.

Du Heming: I’m really sorry. Next month, I’ll make the plans and treat everyone.

Du Heming had every reason—familial and emotional—to attend her great-uncle’s birthday banquet.

She had no need to apologize for it.

Lou Yixuan: Teacher Du, please don’t feel guilty at all. Teacher Lin and the rest of us are all understanding people. Go enjoy the banquet with peace of mind. Wishing your great-uncle health and happiness!

Without the most talkative one of the four, the group dinner was off.

So when would Lin Huayan bring it up with her?

Would Lin Huayan feel disappointed that her initiative hadn’t panned out?

After all, tomorrow… was no ordinary day.

And from Du Heming’s wording, she clearly didn’t know tomorrow was Lin Huayan’s birthday.

If she did, she’d probably feel even more guilty, even more sinful—and she definitely wouldn’t be able to hide it; she’d blurt it out.

Lou Yixuan waited, her heart a tangled mess, and decided to test the waters. She messaged Lin Huayan first: Teacher Lin, how is Lin Jianlu doing today?

Lin Huayan: Fever’s gone down already. Nothing serious.

Lou Yixuan: That’s a relief.

After sending her reply, Lou Yixuan saw the top of the chat bubble show “The other party is typing…” nonstop.

She sat in her office chair, tipping the bottle of grapefruit-flavored throat lozenges onto the desk. She pressed down with her middle finger and spun it around with her thumb.

She waited ages before Lin Huayan’s next message came: Also, Teacher Du has plans tomorrow night already.

The implication was clear: the four of them weren’t getting together.

But Lin Huayan was too clever by half—she hadn’t shut the door completely.

No dinner tomorrow.

Why not just send those five words straight up and let her give up hope?

What’s this tight-lipped one scheming? Waiting for her to take the bait, or to jump ship?

Yeah, last night she’d already boarded the ship.

With her and Lin Huayan already as the two passengers, couldn’t it set sail?

Lou Yixuan: Allow me one more presumption—would Teacher Lin be willing to have dinner with me? Tomorrow night, just the two of us.

She clutched her phone, waiting bitterly for two minutes with no reply. Lou Yixuan closed her eyes and smiled in resignation.

Then she long-pressed the message and hit “Recall.”

She gave up all hope.

She never should have held onto any expectations in the first place.