In the supermarket, Lin Huayan stared at the dazzling array of sweets on the shelves, utterly at a loss.
It wasn’t that she had decision paralysis; she simply rarely ate these things and couldn’t tell one brand from another or distinguish flavors.
Picking the wrong one would just backfire and make things worse.
Her phone screen suddenly popped up with a video call from [Teacher Lou], startling her so much that her breathing hitched.
Rejecting or hanging up felt too childish. With no other choice, she covered the front camera, accepted the call, and immediately switched to the rear one.
She aimed it at the shelves: “Can you see like this?”
“Teacher Lin.”
Lou Yixuan called out, unable to hold back as she shifted her face aside to stifle a laugh.
The supermarket was crowded with weekend shoppers, making Lin Huayan feel incredibly awkward holding up her phone to film the shelves.
She lowered her voice: “Lou Yixuan, I’m talking serious business here.”
“Yeah, serious business.”
The barely concealed amusement in that voice only made Lin Huayan more flustered and annoyed. She set down her phone and covered the rear camera: “If you don’t pick one…”
Lou Yixuan quickly replied: “I’ll pick! Of course I’ll pick.”
She never imagined that the usually icy and stern Lin Huayan could be this fun to tease.
Her bold gambit had paid off handsomely.
“Teacher Lin, move your hand away. Let me take a closer look.”
Lou Yixuan’s face appeared on screen, her left hand propping her cheek in her usual pose, half her face covered, with her mouth and eyes curved upward in a smile.
In the background stood a row of aluminum alloy bookshelves and a red banner—it looked like she was at her office desk.
With people bustling around, Lin Huayan didn’t want to linger.
She raised her phone again: “Tell me when you’ve picked one.”
Lou Yixuan tried her best to look serious, staring unblinkingly.
In reality, she had other plans, coaxing gently: “This supermarket seems huge. Is this the only shelf with chocolates?”
Lin Huayan glanced left and right: “These two rows have them. A lot are in English; I’m not sure.”
She panned the camera swiftly from right to left, showing off shelf after shelf from top to bottom: “That’s pretty much it. See anything you like?”
“Yeah, I see it.”
“Which one? Tell me, and I’ll grab it.”
“Hold on for a quarter of an hour, Teacher Lin.” With that, Lou Yixuan stood and headed out.
“Lou Yixuan?”
“I know which supermarket you’re at—I’ve shopped there before. Wait for me to get there, and we’ll shop together. Twenty minutes max.”
“…Okay.”
She had been careless. This globally renowned chain had only two locations in all of Huai’an City.
She figured an international chain would surely stock Lou Yixuan’s favorites.
But she overlooked how close this store was to Lou Yixuan’s current neighborhood—and underestimated her insight and decisiveness.
The old Lou Yixuan had been laid-back and carefree, serene and content. The current one was unpredictable, impossible to read.
She brought joy, but also worry.
Lou Yixuan ended the video call, then sent a message: [There’s a dessert shop at the supermarket entrance. Go wait inside. Order me a taro ball purple rice sweet tofu pudding. Thanks.]
[Lin Huayan: Okay.]
Lou Yixuan still loved sweet and spicy—no change there.
She found the dessert shop Lou Yixuan mentioned; there were seats available. Lin Huayan ordered a plain tofu pudding for herself first, eating it over the next ten-plus minutes before ordering Lou Yixuan’s.
The server had just brought it when Lou Yixuan arrived.
Her long wavy hair cascaded over her shoulders.
She’d rushed over, her cheeks slightly flushed. Her coffee-colored wool-blend suit jacket hung open.
Beneath was a white blouse with a wool vest; below, light caramel wool shorts and brown knee-high boots.
No bag—just clutching her phone as she hurried in.
Compared to Lou Yixuan’s polished commute outfit, Lin Huayan’s attire was far more casual.
The usual black turtleneck base layer, the usual dark gray open coat cinched at the waist—somehow, she made it look high-end.
“What are you staring at? Your pudding—sit and eat.”
Lin Huayan wore no makeup; she’d only lightly reapplied lipstick while waiting.
She didn’t get pimples much, but up close, faint spots were visible around her eyes.
That was why, a few years back when her vision declined, she’d grown too lazy to remove her glasses once she started wearing them—too lazy to do makeup and cover the blemishes.
“It’s been a while since I’ve seen you in glasses,” Lou Yixuan said, inwardly delighted. “New frames?”
“Yeah.” A trendier style, more stylish—not so stuffy-looking.
“Looks better than the old ones. Honest truth.”
“…”
“Mainly ’cause you look good. Anything you wear or put on looks great.”
“Just eat already.”
Lin Huayan’s heart fluttered a bit from the compliments.
Her own bowl was nearly gone. Lou Yixuan sat, scooped a small spoonful.
Before eating, she teased: “While waiting for me, did Teacher Lin ever think of running away?”
“…” Not before. Now I am.
She never expected Lou Yixuan’s mouth to grow more like Du Heming’s by the day.
Birds of a feather really do flock together.
Lou Yixuan stopped teasing when Lin Huayan fell silent—better not push her too far, or she might actually bolt. That would be a loss not worth the gain.
Time was tight. After wolfing down the rest of her pudding in big spoonfuls, she followed Lin Huayan into the supermarket.
“Does Teacher Lin need anything else?” Lou Yixuan eyed the empty shopping cart. “I can be your porter, load it up for you.”
“No.” Lin Huayan grabbed a cart. “Let’s go.”
Lou Yixuan had no intention of holding hands. An empty cart was light and easy.
Better let the uncomfortable Teacher Lin push it herself.
They headed straight to the chocolate section. Lou Yixuan had already zeroed in on her target en route and snatched it up lightning-fast, without explaining or justifying to Lin Huayan.
Seven boxes of chocolate, eight pieces each.
“A few extras—Teacher Lin can give them to Director Li, Teacher Du, or just all to Teacher Du. She probably likes them too.”
“Buy two more boxes for yourself to take home.”
“No need, I have some at home.” Lou Yixuan brushed off the offer. “I can gain weight too, you know, Teacher Lin.”
With nothing else to buy, they wheeled the cart to the self-checkout.
Lou Yixuan was about to scan when a boy popped out of nowhere and cut in line.
“Hiss.”
“Watch out.” Lin Huayan swiftly yanked the cart back and steadied Lou Yixuan’s waist. “Did he hit you hard?”
Her body was fine—layers of clothing—but a stinging pain shot from the back of her hand.
Lou Yixuan raised her left hand. The knuckle near her pinky had scraped against the checkout counter, tearing off a patch of skin—not too big, not too small, exposing raw red flesh beneath.
Lin Huayan’s face darkened instantly.
“Come here.” She hooked Lou Yixuan’s waist, pulling her close, her icy glare piercing the oblivious culprit.
The boy was about five feet tall, baby-faced, age unclear but likely elementary-school aged—stocky, tigerish build. After rudely bumping Lou Yixuan aside, he plunked a soda bottle on the counter.
He tapped the screen while yelling: “Mom, hurry up! I’m starving! Let’s eat after this!”
Noontime rush had eased, but all six self-checkouts had lines.
“Coming, coming—what’s the rush? Just like your dad, always in a hurry.”
A middle-aged woman shoved in with a pile of snacks, dumping them all down and grabbing an item to scan.
Lin Huayan blocked her hand: “Ma’am, you and your son cut in line.”
“Cut in line?” The woman looked dubious. Someone behind Lin Huayan and Lou Yixuan muttered, “Keep your kid in check—cutting line is rude.”
Unable to save face, she smacked the boy’s back hard: “Didn’t you line up? Answer me! Did you cut?”
The boy shot Lin Huayan and Lou Yixuan a hostile glare, silent, and tried to slip away from the checkout.
His entitled, devil-may-care attitude really pissed off both Lou Yixuan and Lin Huayan.
Lou Yixuan had let it slide since he was a kid, but now she couldn’t just let it go.
“Stop right there—what are you running for?”
She grabbed his shirt, demanding sternly: “Rude to strangers, rude to your own mom—what have you learned in all your years of school, just how to be rude?”
“Ma’am, no offense—we’re not meddling in your family matters.”
Lin Huayan lifted Lou Yixuan’s injured left hand halfway: “Cutting line is minor, but he barreled into my friend, scraped her hand bloody, shows no remorse, no apology. You think that’s nothing?”
She held her temper to explain clearly, avoiding an irrational mama-bear meltdown.
Lay out the facts, persuade with reason. Even if they denied it, they’d tried the civil approach first.
Either way, she was getting that apology for Lou Yixuan.
With her son speechless and onlookers staring, the woman got the picture.
She quickly apologized with a forced smile: “Sorry about that. This brat’s always been clumsy—didn’t mean it. I apologize on his behalf. That injury…”
“We’ll handle the injury ourselves. But,” Lin Huayan gave them an out—forgive where possible—”we don’t want your apology. We want his.”
Over a decade as a teacher wasn’t for nothing. Lin Huayan exuded natural authority, a chill radiating from her.
The kid cowered; even the mom felt a chill down her spine at Lin Huayan’s stern face. Better not escalate.
As the guilty party, the woman eventually forced her son to apologize to Lou Yixuan. They abandoned their stuff and slunk away.
Onlookers overheard her scolding: only tough at home, always stirring trouble.
Lin Huayan pulled Lou Yixuan aside: “Wait here. I’ll grab a bandage.”
Lou Yixuan caught her sleeve, shaking her head: “Supermarket’s too big—hard to find. There’s a pharmacy outside. I’ll buy one myself later.”
Lin Huayan racked her brain—yeah, no clue where bandages were.
Pharmacy was safer, no wasting time hunting.
“Then let’s go outside.”
But after a pause, she remembered: “I have some in my car.”
At checkout, Lou Yixuan played the pity card with her injured hand, blocking Lin Huayan: “Teacher Lin, if you don’t let me pay, it’ll hurt even more.”
Three parts pitiful, seven parts coquettish.
Lin Huayan couldn’t resist: “You pay first. People behind waiting.”
Lou Yixuan graciously let her handle the bag-carrying—it wasn’t heavy.
The parking lot was outdoors, to the right of the supermarket entrance. The pharmacy Lou Yixuan mentioned was to the left.
The scrape was minor—no real need for a bandage.
Even if needed, it could wait. More urgent: she had to rush back to school.
“Teacher Lin, I’ll grab a cab this way.” Lou Yixuan pointed left. “You head to the parking lot. Take the chocolates to school for me?”
“I’m off today—no rush.”
Lin Huayan caught the hint she didn’t want company to the car, so she rephrased: “Class this afternoon? What time? Eat lunch first—plenty of time to get back?”
Lou Yixuan was direct: “No time.”
Rare to hear an “invitation” from Lin Huayan, but bad timing.
Weekend classes started early afternoon, at 1 p.m.
Checkout was already 12:30—no room for lunch.
“Then I’ll drive you after the bandage.”
“No need. Cab’s fast. Teacher Lin, go eat lunch somewhere.” Lou Yixuan stepped left.
“Lou Yixuan.” Repeated rejections stung with frustration. Lin Huayan grabbed her wrist: “Is it that hard to just listen to me for once?”
