The friend Teacher Lin held in such high regard immediately made Du Heming think of Qin Fengru. “Is the friend Teacher Lin mentioned the one I know?”
She had chatted with Qin Fengru before and knew she was unmarried but had a boyfriend—from last year or the year before.
“Yes.”
“Then congratulations to Qin Jie!” Du Heming said as she shot Lou Yixuan a meaningful glance. “Teacher Lin, don’t forget to pass on ‘a hundred years of harmony, forever united in heart and mind’ to Qin Jie for me.”
“Thanks. I will.”
Du Heming had no intention of letting Lin Huayan off that easily. Inspiration struck. “Teacher Lin, you’re heading out Friday evening—are you going to be a bridesmaid?”
Bridesmaids had grueling duties: greeting guests, entertaining, blocking toasts—you name it.
What a golden opportunity. It suited someone’s wishes perfectly. A private car ride, such prime alone time.
“No.”
Lin Huayan denied it. “I’m no good at socializing or sweet-talking. I can’t help her much.”
Du Heming shrugged. She’d given the hint; whether Lou Yixuan picked up on it or had other plans, there was nothing more she could do.
The situation was unclear, and to avoid prying into privacy, she couldn’t play her hand openly.
“What about you, Lou Lou? What are you up to?”
“Me? Heading out of town for a very important art exhibition—Thursday and Friday next week. It doesn’t clash with my weekend classes.”
Tsk tsk.
Listen to these two excuses—both “very important.”
But the key info from Lou Yixuan was those last two sentences.
Du Heming wanted to laugh.
And she did.
Her sudden laugh left the other three utterly baffled.
Lou Yixuan was full of question marks. “What’s Teacher Du laughing at? Sharing is caring—let us in on the fun too?”
Fun?
She wasn’t amused. Laughter didn’t mean joy.
“Nothing. My lips just twitched out of nowhere. Couldn’t control it.”
Lou Yixuan: “……”
Lin Huayan: “……”
He Huan reached across the trays and picked up Du Heming’s seaweed egg drop soup. “Have some hot soup.”
At that moment, Du Heming’s lips truly twitched.
Shock. Gratitude.
She knew it was nonsense, yet only He Huan was willing to play along, true or not.
“Thanks.” She took the bowl, the sour ache in her heart unspeakable as she drained it.
Du Heming sipped slowly. No one spoke during that time.
Once she set down the empty bowl, she resumed her usual expression and asked Lou Yixuan, “That art exhibition you mentioned must be super fancy, right? Are you going as a guest or an exhibitor? Will your paintings be on display?”
Lou Yixuan smiled. “Fancy is an understatement. This one’s a joint exhibition by Bona Art Museum Australia and the Jinghua Art Museum here in China, with a charity auction too.”
The Jinghua Art Museum was in the capital, Jingping.
It focused on works by renowned domestic artists and Jinghua Art Academy faculty and students, spanning painting, sculpture, design, and more.
Free admission, it often hosted top-tier domestic and international art shows and academic events.
“My paintings fetch a little pocket change in Australia, but not here, so I’m not qualified for the auction. That said, one of my pieces is among the Australian side’s exhibits. This trip… I’m going as an exhibiting guest, I suppose.”
After hearing that, Du Heming set down her chopsticks and clasped her hands together.
She gazed at Lou Yixuan like a superstar. “My Lou Lou, time to worship you like a goddess again.”
She’d never heard of Bona Art Museum, but who hadn’t heard of the world-famous Jinghua Art Museum—the pinnacle of prestige in China’s art scene?
“Don’t, Teacher Du.”
Lou Yixuan set down her chopsticks too and poked Du Heming’s hand. “Keep this up, and I won’t share stuff like this with you anymore.”
“No way.”
Du Heming seized the chance to grab Lou Yixuan’s hand. “I’ve got my eye on you. I want you—as my little lucky star.”
She paused dramatically on “I want you,” nearly making Lou Yixuan think she’d demand a painting.
Given their friendly rapport, if inspiration struck or a special occasion arose, gifting a painting wouldn’t be hard.
But if it was demanded, the vibe and motivation changed entirely.
Of course, there were exceptions.
Lin Huayan… was the one and only.
Lin Huayan could ask for anything, and she’d offer it with fervent enthusiasm.
Lou Yixuan exhaled in relief and withdrew her hand.
She’d just said “Teacher Du” when an uninvited guest interrupted from the side: “Fancy meeting you here, Teacher Lou, Teacher Du.”
It was the male colleague who’d added Lou Yixuan on WeChat during the sports meet.
He stood at Lou Yixuan’s right, greeted her and Du Heming, then called out to the two farther away: “Teacher Lin, Teacher He—what are you chatting about? Mind if I sit here?”
Du Heming wanted to say “Yes.”
But reason and manners wouldn’t allow it.
Seeing Lin Huayan and He Huan unbothered, she spoke for the group: “Public space—help yourself.”
This guy shared the Art Office with Du Heming, but they never clicked, and she had her doubts about his character.
“Teacher He, that student in your class, Ji Mingxin—she’s something else. Bottom-of-term placement test, monthly exam, midterms—she’s topped the grade every time. I checked her scores: all top marks across the board. That first place is well-earned, no fluke.”
He prattled on nonstop after sitting. “But I heard she’s turned 17? She should be in senior year—why only freshman? Did she repeat two years?”
A grown man gossiping endlessly—first teachers, now students.
It soured Du Heming’s appetite. She poked at her food irritably, then slammed her chopsticks down with a clack.
“No.”
He Huan’s left hand patted Du Heming’s leg lightly under the table, signaling her to calm down.
She set down her chopsticks with her right and replied, “She started school two years later than most her age—must’ve had hardships or setbacks. I don’t know the details.”
“Teacher Lin, I’m done.”
Lou Yixuan followed suit, setting down her chopsticks right after. She pulled tissues from her pocket and handed them one by one to Lin Huayan, Du Heming, and He Huan.
“Mm. Let’s go, then.”
Lin Huayan was last to set down her chopsticks, though she’d finished first—chewing slowly to wait for them.
The man’s face fell. He’d just sat, said a few words, and now they were all rising with trays in unison. Wasn’t it obvious they were annoyed and didn’t want him around?
But Lin Huayan was the grade director—no matter how awkward, he couldn’t push it, not even joke.
After Du Heming and Lou Yixuan said “Enjoy the rest of your meal,” he forced a smile: “See you, beautiful teachers.”
Du Heming dry-heaved and rolled her eyes.
Undeterred, the guy called after Lou Yixuan: “Teacher Lou, let me treat you to dinner tonight—out somewhere nice, as thanks for analyzing those kids’ drawings for me. Such a coincidence today—give me the honor?”
Honor my ass.
Flirting with one, then the other, now circling back to Lou Lou.
Du Heming grumbled inwardly, tempted to dump a tray on his head.
“Not happening—I’ve got dinner plans with Teacher Lou.” Faster than Du Heming or Lou Yixuan could respond was Lin Huayan.
Seated by the aisle, Lin Huayan now walked diagonally ahead of Lou Yixuan.
Lou Yixuan had turned back at the man’s call; hearing Lin Huayan back her up filled her with delight.
She twisted around, dimples popping charmingly. “Yeah, Teacher Lin and I have plans.”
Just made in this instant.
…
Leaving the cafeteria, Lin Huayan and Lou Yixuan peeled off together. “I’m heading to the Art Office with Teacher Lou to check students’ midterm artwork. Won’t head back to the dorm yet.”
“Mm. Then Du Teacher and I will go first.” He Huan turned to Du Heming beside her. “Back to the dorm, Teacher Du?”
“…Yeah.”
After lunch, she always napped in the dorm, rain or shine.
But this “yeah” came out strained—He Huan caught it.
Nearing the Dormitory Building, they ran into Lian Si emerging from the elevator, in a rush with a bag slung over her shoulder.
“Teacher He, Teacher Du—what a coincidence.”
“Just finished lunch.” Du Heming replied offhand. “Heading out, Teacher Lian?”
“Got something urgent. Talk later.”
He Huan’s focus was on Lian Si’s hands. She stayed silent.
Only once Lian Si hurried off, in the elevator alone with Du Heming, did she venture: “Is she married?”
Du Heming blinked. “Who?”
“Lian Si.”
“No idea.”
“I figured you’d have chatted about it.”
“Not that close—no deep personal stuff. You teamed up with her for a year; you should know more than me.”
“Age gap’s too big between us—never really clicked. Just overheard colleagues say she’s a playful type, cycles through girlfriends pretty fast.”
Lian Si wore a ring on her left index finger—a habit, it seemed.
Sometimes the middle finger too.
He Huan had never worn rings besides a wedding band, nor paid much mind to finger symbolism. She just noticed Lian Si’s rings changed often.
No wedding ring on that telltale ring finger yet.
“…”
Du Heming didn’t get why He Huan was gossiping about someone else’s messy private life. Warning her off flighty, disloyal types like Lian Si?
No need—after these run-ins, she’d sized her up. Fine as a friend.
As a lover? Absolutely not.
All looks, no substance—a player, same league as that male colleague.
Worse, on some level, she and Lian Si were “same type.” Zero interest or spark there.
The only one who stirred her, drew her inexorably closer, was…
“Just idle chatter—listen and let it go, Teacher Du.” He Huan’s tone was even. “Eleventh floor. Good afternoon.”
These past two weeks of Du Heming’s distance—how could she, the source, feel nothing? She worried Du Heming saw her as stirring trouble, meddling.
That barrage of messages last time? Regretted it after.
But spilled water can’t be gathered.
Words were out—no taking them back.
Elevator dinged. Du Heming didn’t step toward the door first—instead, she took a small step toward He Huan. Shortening their scant space to nothing: “And you, Teacher He?”
“Me what?” He Huan, caught off guard, instinctively retreated half a step.
That half-step carved into Du Heming’s heart.
Doors open, Du Heming stretched to hold the button, eyes on the floor. “If another suitable guy came along, would you remarry, Teacher He?”
He Huan’s mouth parted slightly, stunned by the sudden question. Seconds later: “No.”
No more suitable ones. No more desire to marry.
“Take care of yourself, Teacher Du.”
That final line was ice-cold—the coldest Du Heming had ever heard from her.
She knew He Huan was divorced, but not why.
Rumor mill chatter wasn’t reliable.
If she saw He Huan as just a colleague, sans delusions, why pick at old wounds?
Precisely because that spark inside her hadn’t fully died—she craved even a sliver of hope from He Huan.
But she was clumsy, clueless how to woo an older straight divorced woman without repulsing her—or ruining their friendship if exposed.
But it seemed… exposed already.
“Sorry…”
“No need, Teacher Du. My fault for overstepping—I offended first. Apologies.”
“No, Teacher He, it’s not—”
“Elevator timeout. Time to go, Teacher Du.”
He Huan stepped forward, nudged Du Heming’s arm off the button, then waved her hand in the sensor.
Another elevator opened nearby; hearing the alert chime, someone came over. “Teachers Du and He? Up or down? Elevator busted?”
“No.” Du Heming stepped out. “Just chatting extra with Teacher He.”
The colleague teased: “Oh, you two really hit it off—chatting nonstop without boring each other. What do you talk about? Not just students, right?”
Du Heming pushed her forward. “What’s there to chat about with students? Of course, we’re talking about the common topics among women…”
The elevator doors finally closed again.
He Huan gasped for air in huge gulps, as if she’d been drowning, only able to breathe freely once she was finally alone.
Her marriage had been unhappy—that was a fact.
Her divorce was a fact.
This wasn’t the first time colleagues had asked her similar questions over the years.
They’d ask if she had any plans to remarry, what kind of man she liked, what requirements she had for him and his family, and that they knew someone suitable they could introduce her to.
In the past, she’d always brushed it off with a casual smile: “I’m doing just fine on my own. No plans.”
But just now, when Du Heming asked if she would ever marry a man again, it had filled her with embarrassment.
She had never liked men.
She didn’t want a marriage with any man—or even a physical relationship.
But how could she say it?
How could she tell Du Heming that in her thirty-nine years of life, she had only ever liked one teenage girl?
She hadn’t even been in love. She had never truly felt what love was.
—Teacher He! It’s not about whether I’m afraid or not. It’s about you. Are you afraid? Afraid your husband will find out? Afraid your colleagues will find out? Find out how much you once doted on your female student?
—I know you’re terrified, so I’ve given up. I’ve stayed away from you. I won’t do anything to you anymore. You can relax—I have my standards too. I’ve kissed Yan Ningxi, so I won’t kiss any other woman.
In the world of love between girls, a woman like her was “dirty,” “impure,” spat upon and rejected.
Ming You had once liked her so much, her eyes full of nothing but her. But after she’d entered a marriage with a man, hadn’t Ming You come to despise her utterly? Hadn’t even a single touch made her recoil in disgust?
How could she dare… How could she ever admit it?
Back in her dorm, grief welled up inside He Huan, impossible to hold back any longer. She covered her face and burst into tears.
No one regretted it more than she did.
No one.
