Chapter 59

The sky hung low under thick, oppressive clouds, shrouding the entire campus in gloom.

Fine, needle-like rain drifted down like cow hair, sprinkling every corner of the grounds, yet it failed to stir the usual bustle.

The Teaching Building stood especially desolate amid the curtain of rain. Classrooms that were normally alive with chatter now had their doors and windows tightly shut, with slender streaks of water tracing down the glass panes—like what? Like lines from a painter’s brush… or like the art from Lou Yixuan’s hand.

On the first rainy day of the holiday break, Lin Huayan held her dark blue ten-ribbed umbrella and wandered aimlessly through the nearly deserted campus.

Occasional gusts of cold wind rustled the leaves and rain curtains, whispering of the campus’s loneliness.

The cafeteria stood empty.

Gone were the lines of students queuing for meals, the clatter of dishes—no more lively scenes. The windows that displayed all sorts of delicacies on school days now reflected only the bleak rainy vista outside, cold and forlorn.

Raindrops dripped from the eaves, a constant drip-drip-drip that shattered the oppressive silence.

The Dormitory Building had lost its vitality too. The hallways were eerily quiet, enough to make one’s heart race. Only the voice-activated lights flickered on sporadically in the rain before quickly extinguishing, like lonely souls wavering between darkness and light.

Now and then, figures of security guards holding umbrellas hurried through the downpour, dutifully patrolling to check that doors and windows in every building were secured and facilities intact.

“Teacher Lin hasn’t gone home yet?” Old Man Zhang strode up to the corridor outside the Art Classroom in a few big steps.

His umbrella wasn’t as large as the one Lin Huayan held, and one of its ribs was broken—worn and tattered, barely keeping the rain off.

The ragged umbrella was soaked, and Old Man Zhang didn’t bother folding it; doing so would just mean fiddling with it again to reopen, too much hassle.

“Heading back in a couple days.” Lin Huayan offered a pack of tissues from her bag. “Your hands are all wet—wipe them off.”

“Nah, I’ll just get wet again anyway. No big deal.”

Old Man Zhang waved it off, refusing to take them. “Oh, right—my son just dropped off some cured pork and sausages today. Home-smoked by my daughter-in-law’s family the old-fashioned way. Real authentic flavor. I’ll grab some of each for you later—take it home and enjoy.”

With their rotating day and night shifts, plenty of folks from Security and Logistics lived long-term in the Staff Dormitory, which had its own kitchen for cooking.

With Chinese New Year approaching, families naturally sent over festive goods.

Lin Huayan started to say “No need,” but Old Man Zhang cut her off: “Don’t you dare say no. What kind of friends just take gifts without giving back? Unless you and Miss Qin don’t count me as one.”

That day after returning from the Hot Spring Resort, Lin Huayan had stopped by the Security Room to pick something up and gifted Old Man Zhang some New Year’s goods too—said she’d bought too much.

This wasn’t the first time he’d offered the cured meats.

She’d turned him down twice before, but today he was insistent. Refusing again would seem heartless, so she nodded. “Thanks, then.”

“What thanks? It’s not like I have anything fancy to give.”

Old Man Zhang shook the rainwater from his umbrella. “Won’t chat more now—pick up my call later, you hear?”

“Got it.”

To their generation, nothing beat the taste of home.

But her hometown—Pingxin Town—all the experiences she’d had there, everything she remembered… none of it was good.

If she had the choice, she’d erase it all from her memory.

She wouldn’t even want to have been born.

Qin Fengru arrived at school right after Lin Huayan got the cured pork and sausages from Old Man Zhang—perfect timing for Lin Huayan to tease her: “What, you got a dog’s nose or something? Sniffed your way here?”

“Dog’s nose? Please, I’m here to bring some warmth to certain stay-at-home spinsters, okay?” Qin Fengru caught the smoky scent, her eyes darting to the bag as her hand snuck toward the genuine “New Year’s goods.”

She smacked her lips at the sight of the meat, drooling. “That cured pork and sausage smell way more authentic than the supermarket stuff—just from the aroma. Where’d it come from?”

Don’t tell me it’s from that Teacher Lou?

Otherwise, why would Lin Huayan stash it in her dorm?

“Old Man Zhang gave it. There’s some for you too—take what you want.” Lin Huayan didn’t tease; Old Man Zhang had said if Miss Qin showed up in time, share some with her.

Not hearing the name she hoped for, Qin Fengru sighed in disappointment. “Well, I won’t stand on ceremony then. Looks like even amounts—we’ll split it half-half.”

That meant two sausage links and a big hunk of pork each.

She’d deliberately come on a rainy day to check on her friend, worried Lin Huayan might go hungry. She’d packed a hearty dinner from the restaurant.

But when she drove in through the South Gate to the Garage, it wasn’t Old Man Zhang on duty.

Lin Huayan tidied her desk on her own, stacking the computer and files neatly to make room for the takeout boxes.

Qin Fengru, meanwhile, poked around like a detective. She noticed the Wooden Puzzle Flowers were gone from the bookshelf—and that a bunch of snacks had appeared.

None of it was stuff Lin Huayan would buy for herself.

Or for Qin Fengru, either.

To avoid bothering Lin Huayan and let her focus on romance, she’d stayed away from school for a while, not “pestering” her.

As for Lin Huayan’s home, she had the passcode but had only been there a handful of times—Lin Huayan rarely went back herself, so it was pointless.

She’d half-wanted to probe about the Wooden Puzzle Flowers, but then thought better of it. **—wait, no, she’d seen similar camellias on Lou Yixuan’s Moments.

No need to ask; they were surely from the same source as Old Lin’s flowers—probably love tokens between the two.

Since Lin Huayan said to wait, she’d patiently do so.

A swan at your lips won’t fly away, right?

A little past six, they sat down to eat. Despite the insulated bags, in this winter chill, the food had cooled quickly.

“I keep telling you to at least get a microwave for the dorm. But nooo, you won’t have this or that.”

“…” The dorm was tiny—where would she put all the stuff Qin Fengru wanted to cram in?

If she gave an inch, Qin Fengru would haul in a full appliance set.

Qin Fengru sipped the now-lukewarm winter melon and pork rib soup, a flicker of annoyance in her heart. She nudged Lin Huayan with her elbow.

“Has the home fires started burning? Don’t stay at school—head back. Way more convenient at home.”

Lin Huayan’s response was her usual flat denial: “No.”

Qin Fengru fumed at her lack of drive.

Shopping, cooking, eating—a perfect assembly line for building romance!

With hands like Lin Huayan’s—fit for the hall or the kitchen—why didn’t she leverage her strengths, avoid her weaknesses, and hook the girl through her stomach?

After shoveling a mouthful of fragrant Wuchang rice, Qin Fengru pressed on: “Chinese New Year’s Eve is two days after Valentine’s this year. Want me to generously sponsor some… holiday strategy tips?”

She’d almost said “date strategies,” but feared it might sound too pushy and shut down the talk.

She had confidence in her “status” with Lin Huayan. If Old Lin started dating, she’d be the first to know.

No mention meant it hadn’t happened yet.

“Eat more, talk less.” Lin Huayan didn’t bite—not even engaging.

“…” Blockhead like you, what girlfriend?

Qin Fengru stewed in self-inflicted frustration, burying herself in her food and ignoring Lin Huayan.

After finishing, she slammed down her chopsticks and stormed off, leaving everything.

Three dishes and a soup—Lin Huayan hated waste and ate as much as she could, but still left about a third.

“Can’t finish? Then don’t. Not much left anyway. What, trying to stuff yourself to death?”

Qin Fengru got mad seeing her “self-inflicted” misery, stomped back, and snatched the chopsticks. “You’ve even kissed—why not make it official? Who’s the scumbag, you or her? One of you two has gotta be!”

Lin Huayan froze.

Scumbag…?

In love, whether man or woman—not taking initiative, not refusing, not taking responsibility—that’s “scum.”

So the “scum” Lou Yixuan mentioned… was her.

She was scum. She’d scumm-ed Lou Yixuan.

“What?” Qin Fengru caught the shift, waving a hand in front of her face. “That fragile? Fine, now I know—one of you two is the scumbag… you?”

She’d trust Lin Huayan blindly on anything else, but romance? She couldn’t fully side with her there.

That day in the wedding banquet lounge, Lou Yixuan’s loving gaze as she crouched by the sofa watching Lin Huayan—she’d seen it crystal clear.

Lou Yixuan was head over heels for Lin Huayan.

Her friend, on the other hand? Didn’t seem that into the young girl.

But if not, what about that birthday—abandoning her then hugging and bawling?

“Old Lin, you…”

You scumbag, what’s the deal?

Qin Fengru wanted to press further, but Lin Huayan stood and headed to the balcony.

The rain pattered on, but whether good weather or bad, sun or rain—it couldn’t brighten Lin Huayan’s world or wash away the stains in her life.

After quickly packing the leftovers, tying the trash bag, and setting it by the door, Qin Fengru followed to the balcony.

The teachers’ dorms matched the students’ layout: balcony with laundry sink, washbasin, storage shelf. Even a compact washer barely fit.

Qin Fengru hadn’t understood Lin Huayan for just a day or two.

She didn’t get why she’d sunk all her savings into a new house for her parents—or why, after buying her own place with a loan, she let the nice big house sit empty and crammed into this under-20-square-meter room for eight years straight.

Eight years—like not a work contract, but a “life sentence.”

“What’re you looking at? No window out there—freezing. Come inside.” You’ll catch cold, then all hell breaks loose.

“Qin Fengru.”

Lin Huayan tucked windblown hair behind her ear, then plucked a strand to examine. “How old do you think we’ll live to be?”

Closing in on forty, with so much gray hair already, missing a kidney—how many decades did she have left?

The hair dyed last September was almost five months outgrown, new roots shot through with stark white strands.

The doctor said her graying was mostly congenital, but the sharp increase lately pointed to premature aging from organ dysfunction.

She had both factors—who knew which dominated?

Qin Fengru panicked at this sudden melancholy.

More than sad—it was like tempting fate.

“Don’t scare me like that, Old Lin.” She grabbed Lin Huayan’s arm urgently. “Did… did something go wrong health-wise? Last checkup was all clear, right?”

Lin Huayan patted her hand reassuringly. “I’m fine. No health issues for now.”

But no issues now doesn’t mean none after forty.

As organs sped up their decline, would her single-kidney body fail faster than those with two?

Would she be fully gray before fifty, reliant on meds for daily care?

Meanwhile, Lou Yixuan would be in her thirties, with a bright future, a full life ahead.

“Um, lemme guess—you’re scared your body’s not up to it? Scared she’ll be heartbroken, you’ll drag her down, hold her back? So even though you like her, you haven’t got the guts to accept her?”

“It’s not just the body… there are many reasons…”

“Lin Huayan, tell me—do you know how long a millennium is? No calculating!”

If Lin Huayan gave a number, accurate or not, she’d explode.

“…No idea.”

Even if she figured the days and hours, it wouldn’t capture the “long” in Qin Fengru’s question.

“Okay, simpler one: Does time fly when you’re happy, or when you’re sad?”

“…When happy.” Like every meal with Lou Yixuan—gone in a flash.

“Brain’s still working, huh.”

Qin Fengru mockingly straightened Lin Huayan’s clothes, patting her shoulders left and right. “Patting out the bad luck first. Now, a golden nugget of wisdom—commit this to memory: A moment of joy outweighs a millennium of sorrow; a moment of pain, no millennia can match.“

“…” Lin Huayan stood stunned, Qin Fengru’s words replaying in her mind over and over.

“Think about it yourself—put yourself in her shoes. If you couldn’t be with the person you like, how long do you think she’d be heartbroken? If you could be with the person you like, how long do you think she’d be happy?”

“…”

“The topic’s a bit heavy, but since we’re on it, let me give you one more piece of advice—life is short, full of accidents. Seize the day.”

“…” Lin Huayan remembered that time they went to Youjian Little Tavern for dinner, when Lou Yixuan had said something similar—life is unpredictable; no one knows what twists tomorrow might bring.

She was exactly too afraid that some “twist” would happen to her, which was why nightmares haunted her.

But that night, holding Lou Yixuan as she slept, she hadn’t spared a single bit of her mind for nightmares.

She hadn’t even felt like it was their “last night.”

“Old Lin, Old Lin, I haven’t come to bug you for over a month, and you really think I’m an idiot?” Qin Fengru let out a long breath and stepped sideways to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Lin Huayan.

“…”

“Those flowers covering your walls and cabinets, that Lego Disney Castle—they’re all connected to her, right? You treat her stuff like priceless treasures, but when the real live girl comes knocking at your door, you don’t cherish her, hold her close like a baby—instead, you push her away with a cold face? Fine, push her away, but then why cry on my shoulder? I even thought some blind bastard had…”

“Qin Fengru!” Lin Huayan, who’d been indirectly teased by her friend this whole time, finally couldn’t take it when she heard her beloved girl was about to be called a “bastard.”

She scolded her in a low voice without much conviction: “Watch your mouth. Don’t say reckless things.”

“Look, look— you’re already this fiercely protective of her. So why pretend? Keep pretending, and I’ll advise you to become a nun.”

To spare myself the heartache from watching this.

Lin Huayan turned her head to dodge Qin Fengru’s probing gaze and walked back inside. But Qin Fengru wouldn’t let up, hurrying after her step-for-step, chattering nonstop like a sparrow.

Dozens of paintings, one massive Lego set.

Combined with Lou Yixuan being an art teacher, and the Wooden Puzzle Flower she’d given, it was hard not to connect those things to her.

“I’m telling you, Comrade Old Lin, you hide things deep—deeper than the Pacific Ocean. Anyway, I’m camping out here today. Spill the details: which year did you two hook up?”

“I heard she’s an overseas returnee, right? At her young age, tsk tsk, is she your student?”

“No way, did I guess right? From Tianmu or No. 1 Middle School?”

“Old Lin, you’re pretty bold!”

“How do you attract young girls like that? Where do I fall short? Why don’t pretty young girls like me?”

“You, stop overthinking all that nonsense. In love, why not learn from me? Younger boy toys are so irresistible—plenty of middle-aged women crave them but can’t get one. Since we have this blessing, why not enjoy the moment happily?”

“Besides, you two have mutual affection, yet you’ve wasted so many years of youth in vain. Isn’t that a shame? Isn’t it? I’m heartbroken for you! No, I’m even more heartbroken for that Lou… Lou-what’s-her-name…”

Lin Huayan sighed: “Lou Yixuan.”

“Oh right, Lou Yixuan. I’m heartbroken for Lou Yixuan!”

“With her superior qualities, guys chasing her must line up from the north side of the city to the south, right? But she’s wholeheartedly devoted to you, and here you are, playing tsundere.”

“Let me tell you, Lin Huayan, no one isn’t afraid of death. Death is the end for every one of us, an unchangeable fate. That’s exactly why we must cherish every day we’re alive.”

“Speaking of death, you think I haven’t been afraid? You, who stuck with me through those nights, should know better than anyone if I was scared or not.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten—the one whose husband died, the one who truly witnessed the Grim Reaper descend, the one tormented and ravaged by death day and night—that’s me, Lin Huayan.”