Lin Huayan stood frozen by the glass door, computer bag in hand. Her heart ached faintly; she couldn’t utter a single “yes” or “no.”
“I’m just kidding,” Lou Yixuan said. She couldn’t bear to see even a hint of distress on Lin Huayan’s face.
She raised a hand and wiped the falling water droplets from her face with the back of it, making up an excuse: “We four came together, so of course we’ll go back together. Good friends stick together through thick and thin.”
Good friends.
Lin Huayan, did you hear that?
Nine years ago, you said we’d be friends after I graduated. Now’s the perfect time to make good on that promise.
“Teacher Lin, hurry to the meeting room. See you at the restaurant for lunch.”
With that, Lou Yixuan turned back to the bathroom, and Lin Huayan opened the door and left. Before going, she said to her, “Lou Yixuan, don’t joke with me.”
How could she not understand Lin Huayan’s words from last night—”Just liking someone isn’t enough”?
She understood too well, which was why she couldn’t bear to push Lin Huayan.
Just like she wouldn’t tell Lin Huayan about the car accident that happened the day she moved out of Hongding Court, or how her mother had unilaterally severed their “mother-daughter relationship” before she returned to the country.
The pain she’d endured was her own doing—it had nothing to do with Lin Huayan.
So she wouldn’t use every trick in the book to force those “things that mere liking couldn’t carry” out of Lin Huayan’s mouth either.
If the price of being with her was alienation from everyone, being carved open with bloody wounds by her own loved ones, then…
What meaning was there in an love forged from mutual devastation?
Back off.
From now on, no more charging forward alone. No more hoping she’ll take that crucial step.
Hurting all your closest kin for the sake of loving one person—that’s not brave. That’s selfish.
Though sometimes, people should be a little selfish, a little kinder to themselves. But after the impulse fades, after the passion cools, regret for that hot-blooded bravery is inevitable.
Maybe for a lifetime.
She was sure Lin Huayan had weighed the pros and cons in her heart many times over.
So, that’s it.
Lin Huayan, let’s leave it like this.
This time, for real.
…
At noon, the four of them ate together in the restaurant.
It was the quietest, most utterly tasteless meal they’d shared as “meal buddies.”
Even their usual fixed seats had changed—Lou Yixuan was no longer beside Lin Huayan, and Du Heming was no longer beside He Huan.
—”Teacher Du, mind if I sit next to you?”
Lou Yixuan was the first to make a change, breaking the awkwardness among the four.
They didn’t linger long at the resort. After lunch, they rested for just half an hour before setting off on the return trip.
Once in the car, Lou Yixuan claimed she was sleepy, popped in her earphones to listen to music, and dozed off.
Du Heming followed suit, pulling her knit cap down over her eyes, hands in pockets, slouching in the corner for her daily nap.
Lin Huayan drove slower on the way back than on the way there. Lou Yixuan dozed off for real.
But when she’d queued up her music, she’d also set an alarm. About ten minutes from school, the vibration in her pocket jolted her awake.
She silenced it and turned her stiff neck.
Glancing back at Du Heming, still seemingly asleep—she couldn’t tell if it was real or fake.
During the meeting that morning, Du Heming had snuck her a message: 【Bad news! Confession failed last night. I’m getting the cold shoulder.】
Lou Yixuan replied: 【Same bad news. I confessed and failed too.】
Du Heming: 【You said before you had someone you’ve liked for years, someone you can’t live without. That was Teacher Lin, right?】
Lou Yixuan: 【Yeah.】
No point saying more. They tacitly skipped the venting or comforting—each sweeps the snow from their own doorstep.
Almost at school, He Huan patted Du Heming’s arm to wake her. “Teacher Du, we’re almost there. Let’s get off at the school gate.”
When they left the hotel, Lin Huayan had said, “We’ll head to school first since it’s closer, then drop off Teacher Lou.”
Lou Yixuan hadn’t objected at the time, so Lin Huayan assumed she’d agreed.
But as soon as the car pulled over—not even fully stopped—Lou Yixuan unbuckled her seatbelt. “No need to trouble Teacher Lin with the detour. We’ll go back the same way we came. I can easily grab a cab.”
Without waiting for Lin Huayan or He Huan to speak, she pushed open the door and got out.
Leaning in with a smile to the three inside: “Teacher Lin, Teacher He, Teacher Du—Happy New Year. See you after the holiday.”
Du Heming responded first: “Lou Lou, if you’re bored over Spring Festival, hit me up. I’m a total slacker—call and I’ll come running.”
“Sure.”
Lou Yixuan circled to the back of the car, grabbed her backpack from the trunk, and stood on the sidewalk, looking carefree as she feigned nonchalance: “Alright, Teacher Lin, you head in.”
She and I once shared a fleeting sunset and nightfall right here. Today, in another unreachable dusk and night, I’ll swap the unfinished ellipsis for a simple period.
Just an interlude.
The invisible wind and visible clouds were both in motion. Time couldn’t be paused; it pushed forward ceaselessly.
And those “frozen” moments of blooming branches, no matter how vibrant, would eventually wither, desolate, yellow.
An inescapable fate.
Struggles in vain.
To Lin Huayan, Lou Yixuan’s tone sounded as flat as a cup of cooled boiled water.
Even flatter than that casual “thanks” Lou Yixuan had tossed her months ago on the rainy day they ate Sanxian Meatball Rice Noodles off-campus—when she’d handed her a napkin to wipe her hands. Lin Huayan couldn’t read any emotion in it.
In the rearview mirror, she watched Lou Yixuan turn and walk away, backpack slung over one shoulder, not once looking back.
She could’ve hailed a cab right there, but she wouldn’t spare even a second more in sight of her or her car.
For a moment, it felt like her heart and soul had been carried off by the receding figure. A body without a heart couldn’t live; a shell without a soul was as good as dead.
She desperately wanted to chase after her, to kiss her recklessly like last night, to hold her and say while kissing: Maybe it’s enough. Maybe it can work.
But on this one thing—eight years ago, eight years later—she lacked the confidence, daring only to say: Maybe.
Suddenly, a horn blared from the left. The window rolled down—it was a colleague.
The woman shouted with nosy curiosity: “Teacher Lin, didn’t you all leave super early? How are you only just getting back?”
In the old days, Du Heming would’ve jumped in to answer for her.
But right now, she was in a foul mood.
Couldn’t be bothered.
Should’ve sat on the right side. Then I could’ve gotten off first, kept Lou Lou company in the cold wind a bit longer. Wake those two airheads up.
Hot-headed? They could heat up together. Looks like these two sisters-in-misery are stuck for life.
Lin Huayan said nothing, just nodded at the colleague, rolled up the window, and drove toward the garage.
“Teacher Du, Teacher He, you two head upstairs first. I need to grab something from security,” Lin Huayan said after parking. It wasn’t a lie—she’d ordered some of Lou Yixuan’s favorite chocolates, throat lozenges, dried fruits, and such from the supermarket that morning and had them stored at the Security Room.
Her plan had been to pick them up when dropping Du Heming and He Huan off at the garage on the way out, then give them to Lou Yixuan to take home. She’d have snacks for Spring Festival.
But Lou Yixuan wouldn’t take them. Just like that scarf—nothing she gave would be accepted now.
Du Heming and He Huan walked back to the Dormitory Building half a step apart. In the elevator, just the two of them, Du Heming silently punched the floor number.
On the sixth floor, she hesitantly called out, “Teacher He.”
He Huan stood a bit behind her: “What?”
“After the holiday, I’ll still see you, right? You won’t… because of last night, just…”
Quit and run away.
If someone’s gotta go, it should be me, the one who started this mess.
He Huan got her meaning: “No.”
Du Heming relaxed a fraction, but worried it was a delaying tactic—once out of school, she’d be powerless.
She turned, staring intently: “Swear it. Don’t lie to me.”
He Huan met Du Heming’s gaze without flinching. The image of Du Heming last night, huddled on the floor swearing with her hand up, flashed in her mind. She smiled faintly and promised, “I swear. No lies.”
“Add: If you break it, dogs chase you.”
Du Heming racked her brains for that one. Without thinking, she’d nearly blurted, “Break it and turn fat.”
After changing yesterday’s swimsuit, He Huan had seemed self-conscious about her little belly. Threatening with “turning fat” might work a bit.
But it felt rude to someone not perfectly slim, so she’d swapped it out.
He Huan smiled even wider: “Mm. Break it and dogs chase me.”
Ding.
Elevator at 11th floor.
Du Heming was still lost in He Huan’s long-lost smile, oblivious to what she was even grinning about.
He Huan prompted: “Teacher Du, this is your floor.”
Also reminding herself to wipe that smile off her face.
“Oh, right.”
Du Heming stumbled out but whipped back to hold the door, looking pitiful: “Teacher He, I can keep my distance like you said, never bother you rashly. But… could you please, over the break, think more about that blind date you introduced me to last night? Wait, no—not that. I mean, consider it more?”
He Huan stayed silent, so Du Heming stubbornly stared with wide, pleading eyes—like begging.
“Mm,” He Huan agreed.
Elevator timeout wasn’t the issue; she half-expected Du Heming to start “woof-woof-woofing” next.
Without last night’s confession fiasco, Du Heming would’ve hitched a ride home with her today. But now, she could only parrot Lou Yixuan’s line: “Happy New Year. See you after.”
“See you after.”
That night, He Huan unusually posted on Moments—pure text: 【In the world of crows, even swans are guilty.】
Du Heming delayed her trip home by a day, moaning pointlessly on her dorm bed.
Spotting He Huan’s post was like a tranquilizer shot. She held her breath, mind blanking.
She wasn’t a reader; she didn’t know the source.
But a voice in her head said: Don’t doubt it. This is for you.
But what does it mean?
Getting crafty, she messaged Lou Yixuan: 【Lou Lou, check Teacher He’s Moments quick. Can you see her latest text post? The one about crows and swans.】
No waiting by the chat; she switched apps to search the phrase’s meaning.
He Huan was a well-read, erudite literature teacher who’d devoured countless books. Du Heming feared her own mindset couldn’t sync, that she’d misinterpret.
【Lou Yixuan: Yep, I can see it. Worried it’s “visible only to you,” huh?】
【Lou Yixuan: Teacher Du, just my take, but I don’t think Teacher He’s post is shading the niche group you and I are in.】
【Lou Yixuan: On the contrary, she’s telling you—or us—that crows and swans both have a right to exist. Their inherent value isn’t higher or lower, noble or base. The difference is their environments, leading to clashing views in some perceptions. But that doesn’t stop resonance, or mutual respect.】
【Lou Yixuan: Crows shouldn’t hide or feel inferior for being few and “unnatural.” They shouldn’t think being different is a sin, or beat themselves up.】
Online takes varied wildly.
Du Heming skimmed several posts, no consensus on truth.
Lou Yixuan’s message was like a shot of adrenaline, steering her toward the positive.
Not for anything else—just because Lou Yixuan and Teacher He always sounded so alike. This time too. Trusting Lou Yixuan was the safe bet.
【Du Heming: So, should I like it?】
【Du Heming: I liked every one of yours before, commented plenty, and boom—now I’m “in love” with you.】
【Lou Yixuan: My fault?】
【Du Heming: Nah, nah. You’re the expert here—gimme advice.】
【Lou Yixuan: My advice? Like it.】
【Du Heming: Done, liking her!!】
[Lou Yixuan: Teacher Du, your battle to conquer her heart has only just begun. It’s a long road ahead, so charge ahead bravely. You’ve got this!]
[Du Heming: And what about you, Lou Lou?]
[Du Heming: I remember back when we first met, I asked you once—after all these years with no results, you never thought about giving up?]
[Du Heming: Today, I want to ask you again. After this, are you still going to keep at it? Can you even keep at it? ]
