In the moment Lou Yixuan pressed close to her, Lin Huayan felt her breathing and heartbeat abruptly stop. She instinctively squeezed her eyes shut but didn’t pull away.
Her mind went blank. Both hands clenched unconsciously, her right hand’s knuckles aching from the pressure of the phone digging into them.
At such close range, Lou Yixuan desperately wanted to know if Lin Huayan’s mouth carried the same sweet watermelon scent as her own.
The urge to press in had been impulsive, born not from desire, but from a need to probe.
But seeing Lin Huayan’s body tense, eyes tightly shut, lashes trembling lightly—yet with no instinct to dodge—Lou Yixuan really, really wanted to kiss her without regard for the consequences.
They were too close.
One more second, and she wouldn’t be able to hold herself back.
So she leaned in gently, deeply inhaling Lin Huayan’s scent.
They’d just come from the hot pot restaurant and had eaten throat lozenges, so their scents were a jumble.
But it wasn’t hard to pick out Lin Huayan’s natural fragrance—if you loved someone enough.
It was like a lost dog, wandering the streets after separation from its beloved owner. Even if the owner had changed into unfamiliar new clothes after all these years, the scent beneath the skin never changed, no matter the passage of time.
No matter the anxiety, the fear, the hostility—as soon as it caught the owner’s scent, it calmed. It turned back into that tail-wagging house pet.
Sheathing its claws, it lay obediently at its master’s side.
Lou Yixuan retreated to her own seat, even stuffing the hand that had grabbed the passenger side into her pocket before bending down to pick up the phone that had slipped from her leg.
“Teacher Lin didn’t see wrong.”
She unlocked her phone and opened WeChat.
Her thumb scrolled casually upward, stopping near the bottom.
“That weekend after my first Art Class lesson, Lin Jianlu added me as a WeChat friend.”
The Art Class had its own dedicated WeChat group.
By the weekend, students needed electronic devices for classes or personal use.
Teachers’ contact info was public to class students, but WeChat wasn’t something every student added.
Even if they did add you, there were strict repeated warnings: no private messaging outside weekends or holidays.
Before classes officially started, the professional homeroom teacher had led the two Art Class teachers in background checks on the kids. Lin Jianlu’s academic scores were upper-mid in Class 9, but her professional foundation was zero.
A slight imperfection—they’d all reviewed her professional assessment. She had talent.
So Lin Jianlu was a key cultivation target for the Art Class.
She hadn’t gotten double A’s in the entrance exam—no tuition waiver, but boarding fees weren’t covered either.
Haifan had made a promise to students like her—talented but foundationless and poor: if her end-of-term Art Class project next semester hit A+ level, the Haifan Dream Fund would cover that year’s boarding. The promise held for sophomore and junior years too.
The scene at the Military Training Base with the Teachers’ Day gifts had left Lou Yixuan with a good impression of Lin Jianlu. So when the friend request came, she approved it without hesitation.
Lin Jianlu never sent her any ambiguously flirtatious messages on WeChat.
But every Wednesday, the way Lin Jianlu’s gaze followed her, the frequent “gestures of goodwill”—they set off alarm bells, heightening her vigilance.
Those little thoughts hidden in small actions were too much like her own past self, like the her who’d once chased after Lin Huayan.
“One big downside of the internet age is that it opens teenagers’ hearts to romance way too early. And no one can say for sure if they understand love better than we do, or if they’re more perceptive—or if it’s us.”
“The times are progressing too fast. People adapt accordingly; each generation has its own rhythm of life, its favored ways of romance. Lovers come one after another, age and gender no longer barriers—but marriage and birth rates keep dropping year by year.”
“Why is that?”
Lou Yixuan spoke at length before turning her face slowly to gaze at Lin Huayan again.
“Because more and more people savor the moment, cherish what’s in front of them, dare to love and hate boldly. Because love’s end isn’t marriage, let alone children.”
It’s… growing old together.
She didn’t voice that most crucial line.
If after all that, Lin Huayan still didn’t grasp the deeper meaning she wanted to convey, then she’d rather Lin Huayan never understood.
Better if those romantic feelings stayed closed off to her—and to everyone else.
Let the passionless Lin Huayan treat everyone equally, keep that “special one” from ever appearing in her life.
That way, maybe she could feel a little better.
She wasn’t this despicable by nature. It was the Lin Huayan after their reunion who drove her mad.
Who tormented her so.
The instant Lou Yixuan pulled back, Lin Huayan opened her eyes.
Realizing Lou Yixuan had no intention of doing anything “improper,” a flicker of disappointment passed through her heart.
She lowered her gaze to mask the emotion in her eyes, listening intently to Lou Yixuan’s words while her mind wandered.
“Does Teacher Lin want to check my WeChat chat history with her?”
Lou Yixuan held the lit-up screen in front of Lin Huayan, single-mindedly continuing their discussion of the “serious matter.”
Habits weren’t hard to form—short as a month or two, long as three to five months. Given time, you’d adapt.
Habituate to treating Lin Huayan as just a colleague.
Habituate to burying their past, pretending they’d never met.
“I’m a newbie teacher. It’s only natural for Teacher Lin to suspect me.”
“We’re both her teachers, guardians to every student in Class 9, with a duty to care for each one. If Teacher Lin wants to see, go ahead. As a role model, I’m open and aboveboard, with a clear conscience. I wouldn’t even see it as invading my privacy.”
Her words were logical, sincere, her expression earnest.
Yet they struck Lin Huayan like a drumbeat in her heart.
First meeting Lou Yixuan’s eyes, then forcing herself to look away calmly, she shook her head.
Who could hear that deep-hidden drum in her heart, pounded resounding by each word like a mallet?
Right now, what she most wanted was to apologize again for calling Lou Yixuan’s scolding a “childish trick.”
Lou Yixuan was no child anymore.
In sudden student situations, whether this seasoned homeroom teacher was present or not, Lou Yixuan could adapt on the fly, handle it perfectly.
Or more precisely, because she’d known Lou Yixuan when she was young and especially deferential to her, Lin Huayan had been blindered by old memories, stubbornly defining her based on outdated views.
Lou Yixuan was far more mature, steady, capable, and…
Trustworthy than she’d imagined.
“Not looking?”
Lou Yixuan’s tone lifted playfully. “Then let me finish what I was saying.”
She slotted the phone into its holder, paused, then leaned slightly right. Her pocketed right hand emerged, smiling like a younger person asking an elder for candy.
“Could I have two more throat lozenges, Teacher Lin?”
She’d eaten some outside the shop; Lin Huayan had casually pocketed the bottle in her coat’s right side.
And that bottle of Grapefruit-flavored lozenges was right there in Lou Yixuan’s cup holder, easy to reach.
Yet she asked her for them, going the long way around. Why?
“I tried the Grapefruit flavor that day—still think watermelon suits me better.” Lou Yixuan followed Lin Huayan’s downward gaze and picked up the Grapefruit lozenges from the cup holder.
She shook the bottle with a laugh. “Teacher Lin, I’ll trade you the Grapefruit ones—no loss for you.”
Lin Huayan pursed her lips, stuffed her phone into her bag, fished out the lozenges from her pocket, and handed them over. “No trade. No need to return them.”
Not to mention she’d never felt Lou Yixuan had taken advantage of her. Even if she had—so what?
Material things she had plenty of. If Lou Yixuan wanted them, she could give generously.
Lou Yixuan paused, then took them. “Thanks.”
But her heart sank.
Fine then.
She’d yielded to Lin Huayan for so many years; time Lin Huayan experienced not getting her way.
Lest she always think Lou Yixuan had ulterior motives.
Though… she did have impure intentions.
Self-justifying as she went, Lou Yixuan unscrewed the watermelon lozenges and even asked first: “Want a few more, Teacher Lin?”
Miss this village, and there’d be no next inn.
“No need.”
“…” Fine, no need then. She wasn’t forcing her. What was with the poker face?
Lou Yixuan huffed inwardly.
She poured out a handful—five and tossed them all in, crunching loudly.
Lin Huayan turned at the noise; she forced a smile faker than fake. “Hand shook. Poured too many.”
These tiny lozenges were a chore to chew five at once.
Lou Yixuan chewed harder, like proving her teeth were strong. If she checked a mirror, she’d probably mutter, “What a ferocious face.”
No mind for expressions or image anyway. Even at her prettiest, Lin Huayan had grown bored without falling for her.
Proof that good looks didn’t guarantee success in wife-chasing.
Especially since Lin Huayan had never once called her pretty—maybe she wasn’t even her type.
Did Lin Huayan even get aesthetics?
A woman in all black every day—what did she know about beauty!
Amused by Lou Yixuan’s childish antics, Lin Huayan turned away, lips curving silently.
Maybe it was the memories, but the whole car seemed filled with watermelon scent. Every breath was sweetly watermelon.
In her thirty-eight years, she’d only kissed Lou Yixuan—and only shared one night of intimacy with her.
Time had stolen most sensations from that night, physical and emotional. But what remained, she’d never forget: Lou Yixuan’s soft, sweet…
Watermelon-flavored… kiss.
“Alright.”
Once the candy was chewed, she cut straight to it, back to business.
“In relationships, whether man or woman, not taking initiative, not refusing, not taking responsibility—that’s ‘scumbag’ behavior. Indecision’s a big no-no too. Cut cleanly when you must; the more you sidestep and suppress indirectly, the stronger the rebound. That’s human nature’s Pandora effect—not forbidden but craved more when forbidden.”
“Getting along with people boils down to communication and sincerity. Better to be direct and honest than evasive and hypocritical.”
“So that Wednesday night, I told her straight: I have someone I like. I came back to the country for my girlfriend.”
Lou Yixuan raised her left hand, palm facing away from Lin Huayan. The platinum ring on her slender ring finger gleamed.
“This is the proof.”
> —Teacher Lou, can I ask you a personal question? Just one.
>
> —Ask first. Whether I answer’s another matter.
>
> —Do you like girls or boys?
>
> —Easy one—I can answer. I like girls, and I have someone I like. I came back to the country for her.
>
> —Huh? Are you together? Is she your girlfriend?
>
> —Lin, that’s your second and third question. No take-backs.
>
> —Fine. Then I wish Teacher Lou and your girlf—er, the one you like—happiness together.
>
> —Thanks. You too.
She hadn’t fed Lin Jianlu any of that kids-hate drivel like “You’re too young, focus on studies—romance after adulthood.”
The stirrings of youth, young affections—they were purest untainted.
Why block someone in their prime from their heart’s desire for “studies,” bombarded by well-meaning lectures?
It’s up to people—nothing’s truly “impossible.”
Teens need reasoned guidance, not high-handed “it’s for your own good.”
Least of all, head-on “insults.”
“Teacher Lin.”
Lou Yixuan waved her left hand in front of the dazed Lin Huayan. “You’ve stared at it plenty tonight. I’ve explained—any more questions?”
She’d played a little trick, swapping “someone I like” for “girlfriend” to mislead Lin Huayan.
If Lin Huayan asked: Do you have a girlfriend?
She’d answer truthfully: Not yet, but “back for a girlfriend” was basically “back for my girlfriend,” right? She didn’t like foreigners—only women of the same skin, hair, language, nationality.
No need for that answer. Lin Huayan wouldn’t ask.
“No… no questions.”
“No suspicions. No distrust.”
Lin Huayan unnaturally smoothed the handbag on her lap and sighed softly. “You did the right thing. You’ll make a great teacher.”
The better Lou Yixuan performed, the more Lin Huayan felt their reunion was like a dream.
Too unreal.
The Lou Yixuan in the dream wasn’t real, and neither was the version of herself.
She was so afraid that young people’s thoughts and steps evolved by leaps and bounds, afraid Lou Yixuan would stride too far ahead, afraid she herself was stuffy and outdated, aging and frail, unable to keep up—afraid she’d be left trailing hopelessly behind, not even able to glimpse her back.
Afraid that in eight years, the one within sight but out of reach… would be her, toward Lou Yixuan.
“Thank you for the kind words. I’ll love my job and respect my post. A professionally matching position isn’t easy to find—I truly cherish the platform Haifan and Tianmu have given me. I’m working hard to improve myself.”
Lou Yixuan’s expression relaxed, like chatting with an old friend. She searched for Tianmu Middle School on the center console screen.
She cut off the topic. “So, are we done talking, Teacher Lin? Can we head out now?”
“Mm.” Lin Huayan’s response was barely audible.
The navigation plotted the route. Lou Yixuan buckled her seatbelt and, seeing Lin Huayan facing the window, turned on the music as well.
That piano piece from last time—the one Lin Huayan had asked her to change—had already been removed from her phone playlist.
As for why Lin Huayan had wanted her to change it, she’d analyzed it later and reached a conclusion.
Of course, it was purely her own speculation.
Coincidentally or not, that piece was one she’d played for Teacher Du at the Military Training Base. And after coming down the mountain, when she’d gone to return Teacher Du’s pants, she’d heard it playing from outside her dorm door.
So the conclusion was obvious.
Lin Huayan minds it.
She minds my closeness with Teacher Du—and it’s not just this one detail proving it.
She’d already cataloged the other details in her mind, one by one.
That’s why, last time, when the “Cello War Song” started after the switch, Lou Yixuan’s mood had lifted again.
No way was she sharing this piece with Teacher Du.
This one was only for Lin Huayan.
There was no need for sappy romance between her and Lin Huayan anyway—the bold, rousing style was perfect.
It stirred the blood.
Driving steadily, Lou Yixuan pulled up to Tianmu Middle School’s South Gate—the same spot where she’d picked up Lin Huayan that afternoon.
“Business over dinner, no time wasted. All in all, tonight was pretty pleasant. I hope Teacher Lin feels the same. Thanks so much.”
“You’re welcome. Thank you too, Teacher Lou, for the ride.”
Teacher Lin.
Teacher Lou.
The two teachers exchanged thanks, slipping back into ordinary colleague mode.
But in the midst of it, Lou Yixuan had already retrieved a small square brocade box from the armrest compartment. Before Lin Huayan could push open the car door, she handed it over.
“Happy birthday, Lin Huayan.”
