Chapter 56

——I’m a lesbian, but you’re not.

It took He Huan a moment to process Du Heming’s words, but her mind was a whirlwind, and with Du Heming’s face on the verge of tears, she couldn’t think straight.

“I’m not, but I’ve never rejected or disparaged you people either.”

She stood and walked over to Du Heming, striving to keep her tone calm. “Teacher Du, we’ve known each other for nearly half a year now. In your heart, am I really that rigid, stuck-in-the-mud type who clings to outdated views on marriage and relationships?”

If Du Heming truly saw her that way, then why had she acted so casually with her for those first few months? Why care about whether she was happy or not?

“It’s different.” Du Heming hesitated for a long time before squeezing out those three words.

“What’s different?”

The more Du Heming’s gaze darted away, the more He Huan pressed her to spell it out. “Du Heming, look me in the eye when you speak.”

Because she truly wanted to cherish this rare friend and didn’t want a misunderstanding to drive them apart.

“The silver-tongued Teacher Du has nothing to say for once?” He Huan pressed closer, raising her right hand to grab Du Heming’s arm.

But the person who was grabbed only felt more aggrieved and achy.

Du Heming turned her frustration inward and dumped the things she was holding onto the bed in one go.

Her rough motion tugged He Huan along with it, making He Huan’s body tilt and stumble.

Luckily, Du Heming was quick-eyed and quick-handed, reaching out to catch He Huan around the waist.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you.” As soon as He Huan steadied herself, Du Heming apologized and stepped back a full pace.

But He Huan’s face suddenly flushed hot as if scorched by fire. The spot on her lower back where Du Heming’s palm had touched burned fiercely, as did the area on her chest where they’d pressed together.

Du Heming had linked arms with her before, and that afternoon in the hot spring pool, in their swimsuits, their limbs had brushed a few times too.

But only this time did it make her feel uncomfortable.

Her heartbeat was even thrown into chaos.

It must be because it’s been so long since anyone touched those sensitive spots, she thought, especially since she wasn’t wearing a bra under her pajamas.

Afraid Du Heming would see her flushed face, He Huan ducked her head. When that didn’t feel like enough, she simply turned her back.

They’re all women, she thought. I never imagined I’d be so uptight about this. It was just an accidental bump in front of a friend, and here I am, completely flustered.

A bitter laugh came from behind her. “See? You know exactly what I mean. It’s not the same.”

Living with an ordinary lesbian colleague was one thing. Living with a lesbian colleague who liked her was something else entirely.

You might have that all-embracing tolerance, kindly treating straight and gay people the same.

But could you really stay completely at ease with a lesbian whose orientation differed from yours—and who harbored improper thoughts about you?

Even someone as kind as Lou had told Zhang Jue it made her “feel uncomfortable inside.”

And you? Didn’t you feel even the slightest bit “uncomfortable”?

You must. Otherwise…

“What exactly do I know?” He Huan whipped around at her words, a surge of inexplicable anger rising from being accused. “Teacher Du, it’s late, my head’s all foggy—can you stop speaking in riddles?”

Hearing the dissatisfaction in her voice, Du Heming grew anxious too. “Riddles? Haven’t you sensed it all along? Haven’t you already warned me in secret not to get too close to you?”

“Warned you? When did I ever warn you?” He Huan was baffled.

“Late November last year, when you messaged me to come upstairs for the oranges and cherries. You said my future held better fortunes, that we weren’t like-minded people, that I needed to face reality, pull back early, make more friends outside, and not get trapped in a web of self-inflicted heartache.”

He Huan racked her brain, remembering bits and pieces.

She wondered if her memory was failing her. She wanted to check their chat history on her phone but felt it wasn’t right. “Did I say that?”

“That’s how I took it anyway.”

“I…” He Huan chose her words carefully. “I saw how down you were that period, how unhappy. I just wanted to comfort you.”

“…”

“Anyone with eyes could see you really liked Teacher Lou. But you saw it with your own eyes—Teacher Lou has someone else in her heart: Teacher Lin. They share a deep history, far beyond just being teachers from different schools assigned to Class 9.”

As Class 9’s Chinese teacher, she’d naturally added a few Class 9 students on WeChat.

It was around November last year that she’d seen, in her student class rep’s Moments, a photo from their Haifan Hall of Fame visit: a poster of Lou Yixuan as top scholar.

The poster listed Lou Yixuan’s graduation school and year.

Combined with Lin Huayan’s not-so-secret resume, it added up—right before Lou Yixuan graduated from No. 1 Middle School in Huai’an, Lin Huayan had still been teaching there. That only strengthened her belief in a story between Lou and Lin.

She wasn’t prying into their privacy.

It was just… too many coincidences, too many telltale signs.

She’d seen not just Lou Yixuan’s poster in her students’ Moments, but Ming You’s too.

And her “discovery” that Du Heming liked Lou Yixuan dated back even earlier, to those military training days in September last year.

In lesbian circles—or any circles, really—girls like Lou Yixuan, with both looks and talent, were always the center of attention.

Just like the girl she’d once adored.

Standing there was enough to make people fall at first sight, queuing up to chase her.

Du Heming liked women, so of course she’d fall for Lou Yixuan. It was only natural.

From her observer’s vantage, Lou Yixuan and Lin Huayan were bound by countless emotional threads, and Du Heming had clearly acknowledged that too.

The blow had hit her hard, leaving her mood in the dumps.

He Huan remembered that night Du Heming mentioned, when she’d asked her upstairs for oranges and cherries.

It had been a Sunday.

After seeing Du Heming’s comment exchange with Lou Yixuan in Moments about “this tastes so good today” and “who’s it for today,” she’d sent those roundabout WeChat messages out of goodwill, trying to nudge her to move on.

Who knew that well-intentioned advice would be read as a “warning”—to stay away from her?

They weren’t the same thing at all.

How could it be so misunderstood?

No wonder Du Heming had distanced herself afterward, rarely chatting or eating with her. It had been a misunderstanding lingering for two whole months.

“I like Lou?” Du Heming froze up after hearing He Huan’s explanation.

So she and He Huan… had never been on the same wavelength?

He Huan had thought her brooding back then was from unrequited love for Lou, so she’d comforted her not to fixate on a one-way crush.

But she’d interpreted it as He Huan seeing through her improper feelings for her, telling her to drop it and cut losses early.

What a huge mix-up.

Huge enough that she didn’t know whether to feel secretly thrilled or heartbroken.

Thrilled that He Huan was oblivious to her feelings, so they could stay friends—but heartbroken that the person she liked not only felt nothing for her but assumed she was hung up on someone else.

Clearly, clearly, Lou is the only one in my eyes? No—He Huan is. My heart only races for He Huan. How did it become that I like Lou Yixuan?

He Huan could read Lou Yixuan’s feelings so clearly—why couldn’t she see hers?

Was Lou’s love just brighter, bolder, more intense than mine?

“Isn’t it?”

He Huan saw her dazed look, like she was locked in some fierce internal struggle, and wondered if she’d gotten it wrong.

The dim yellow spotlights from the entryway ceiling cast downward, leaving Du Heming—backlit from head to toe—shrouded in shadow, cloaked in an inescapable veil of melancholy.

Should she answer?

“No,” or “yes”?

She slumped onto the edge of the bed, more mentally exhausted than ever. Her past two relationships had been mutual attractions that flowed naturally into being together, with the other confessing first both times.

Afterward, she’d focused on reporting everything, responding to everything.

Making sure her partner felt her unwavering commitment.

But even when she’d poured in every effort to provide security, they’d both eventually left—succumbing to real-world pressures, to the lure of novelty.

Who didn’t crave a steady, enduring love? Who didn’t dream of a partner to grow old with hand in hand?

She did.

She dreamed of it every night.

And He Huan was the embodiment of that “dream,” matching every ideal she had for a perfect partner.

Even that “ideal” had only formed after falling for He Huan.

But maybe her “devil-may-care” mask had been on too long. Or maybe her initial fangirling over the little fairy had prejudiced He Huan with a flawed, inaccurate impression.

Should she correct it? Could she?

If she didn’t drop the mask, if she didn’t clear up her “feelings” for Lou Yixuan, would straight-as-an-arrow He Huan ever realize she was the one being fancied?

Or maybe He Huan simply wouldn’t—couldn’t—believe a woman would like her.

In that case, did she have to bury this crush forever?

Forget jealousy.

If she got even a little cozier with Lou or other female colleagues, it would probably just label her as “unfaithful” in He Huan’s eyes. Talk about backfiring, shooting herself in the foot.

Lu Lingxuan’s advice made sense. Lots of it.

Lou’s words too.

Even those long WeChats from He Huan rang true.

But why was she only listening to them on what she should do—instead of her heart, on what it wanted?

Lou Yixuan could pursue Teacher Lin so openly everyone knew. Why couldn’t she pursue He Huan openly too?

She didn’t need everyone to know. Just one person. She desperately wanted one person to know.

She didn’t demand He Huan reciprocate her love. But she could no longer bear He Huan standing on the sidelines, watching fictional dramas of her supposed loves and heartaches with others.

“Teacher He.” Du Heming looked up at He Huan, as if having made a decision.

She didn’t stand.

She didn’t want her height to intimidate He Huan.

What she wanted to give He Huan was a comfortable space to advance or retreat, the freedom to choose.

Love meant restraint.

Many professed “love” with words; few proved it with actions.

“What’s wrong?” He Huan’s heart clenched. “Go ahead.”

To steel herself, Du Heming tentatively reached for the hem of He Huan’s clothes. If He Huan recoiled even slightly, if disgust flickered across her face, she’d swallow her words, no matter the pain.

But He Huan just gazed at her gently, her voice gentle too. She didn’t resist—instead, she softly covered Du Heming’s hand with her own.

What a refined, graceful woman. How could she not be constantly set up on blind dates?

He Huan hadn’t tasted a drop of her jealousy.

But she was dying of it.

Sitting back passively any longer would doom it to fizzle out.

“If one day,” Du Heming began slowly, “among the blind dates they set you up with… one was a woman. Would that shock you?”

“…” He Huan’s body went rigid, her hand freezing.

The gentleness faded from her face bit by bit, her lashes fluttering lower, her eyes narrowing to slits.

This sparked a moment of retreat in Du Heming.

But only a moment. She rallied and spoke again.

“Teacher He, please answer me. This matters—a lot. A lot to me.”

What if there’s a chance?

He Huan wasn’t homophobic, wasn’t repulsed by gays. She empathized with Teacher Lin and Lou. What if, deep down, she harbored her own unawakened feelings for women?

Du Heming wanted to hold He Huan’s hand but held back, afraid to shatter the peace.

After a long silence, she heard He Huan’s ethereal voice: “I’d be surprised… but not scared.”

She’d liked a girl herself once. How could she be scared?

When He Huan answered, she’d already lifted her hand from Du Heming’s, her gaze drifting elsewhere, wandering vaguely.

Compared to the last time Du Heming had asked if she would still marry a man, this question about her thoughts on being set up on a blind date with a woman felt far less intensely embarrassing—though it was still hard to put into words.

Tiny sparks ignited in Du Heming’s eyes and heart.

They had the momentum of a spark igniting a prairie fire.

“What if I said that I want to set you up on a blind date… with a woman? And that woman is me?”

“…?!” This time, it was He Huan’s mind that froze, going completely blank.

“Teacher He.” After calling out softly, Du Heming pressed on relentlessly. Her right hand still clutched He Huan’s clothes, while her left hand reached out ever so lightly and slowly toward the hand dangling at He Huan’s side.

From fingertip upward, inch by inch, until their palms pressed together.

“Look at me.” Let’s go on that blind date.

At this point, there was no backing down—might as well go all in. No time like the present to confess everything she’d bottled up.

When He Huan finally shifted her gaze back, looking down at Du Heming in helpless bewilderment, she heard her say, “You’re right about one thing: last year, there was a time when I was in low spirits, when nothing I did or ate brought me any joy. But you’re wrong about why I was down.”

“Let me tell you why.”

“Because I like you, He Huan. I like you, not Lou Yixuan. So I didn’t know how to face you—especially after getting those messages I thought were your polite way of turning me down.”

“Of course, I won’t deny that I like Lou Lou too. But that’s just a fleeting joy at first sight when it comes to beauty—more admiration, treating her like a good friend or little sister.”

“I’ve been in love before, and I have great friends. I can tell the difference between the affection of friendship and the passion of love.”

The simplest way to distinguish them was—

She had no desire to taste Lou Yixuan’s fragrant lips. But with He Huan, she did.

And it was more than that. She harbored even more erotic desires for He Huan.

Like right now, gazing upward, she could see those sharp peaks hidden beneath the thin sleepwear.

“My feelings for you are the kind that deepen day by day—a slow-burning affection born of time. It’s thoughts by day that turn to dreams by night, the terror of nearing home after a long absence upon seeing you, pure admiration, profound cherish. I can’t pick you up, and I can’t put you down.”

“How much do I like you?”

A bitter smile flickered at the corner of Du Heming’s lips. “I like you so much that I belittle myself, thinking I have no right to like you, that I’m not worthy of you.”

“As you said, we’ve known each other for almost half a year now, and we’ve gotten along pretty harmoniously and happily, right?”

“So you should have a general sense of who I am. I’m not the type to overthink things normally. But ever since I realized I had feelings for you, I’ve thought about so, so much.”

“I’ve wondered how you see me, whether you could ever like women—or like me. I’ve thought about your family, my family, just how far apart we really are.”

“I’ve even shamelessly imagined: if you could accept me, if we could be together, how could I make you happy every day? How could I make your smiles outnumber your frowns, make you believe again that love exists in this world—that there’s love meant just for you.”

“He Huan, I don’t want you to resign to old age.”

“You always sigh about getting old, always saying ‘you young people.’ I don’t agree. So what if you’re 39? From 18 when you became an adult, you’ve only lived twenty years of independent life. You’ve got another thirty or forty years ahead where you call the shots, a whole long second half of life—why not live it freely, following your heart?”

She delivered this long monologue so fluidly because she’d rehearsed it in her mind hundreds, even thousands of times.

The power of love was truly extraordinary.

It could transform a habitual joker into a passionate, eloquent orator.

This was the first time He Huan had seen Du Heming so focused and deeply earnest.

The successive shocks were overwhelming.

He Huan’s ears rang as if deafened, unable to hear what Du Heming was saying, yet she could clearly see the shimmering light sparkling in Du Heming’s eyes.

Such a dazzling light. Such scorching affection.

The last time she’d seen anything like it had been a full ten years ago.

Her eyes and heart both burned from it.

Overwhelmed, at a complete loss, she fled. She pulled her hand free from Du Heming’s grasp and circled to the window side, sitting down in a daze.