At the end of February, when school resumed, Class 9 gained a “new student”—Chen Qingli.
This was the decision of the school leadership. Even as the grade leader and homeroom teacher for Class 9, Lin Huayan had no right to say “no.”
“Teacher Lin, her parents said it doesn’t matter if her academic scores are good or not, or if she has any talent for painting. As long as she’s safe and sound at school, doesn’t stir up trouble or cause disasters, that’s fine.”
“Besides, Chen Qingli requested the transfer to Class 9 herself. She says she wants to study art and prepare for the art college entrance exam—looks like she’s finally buckled down to study seriously. And that’s thanks to you, Teacher Lin. Last semester, you helped resolve the family conflict between her and her father. She respects you now, and you should revise your opinion of her too.”
“We’re educators—’teaching and nurturing’ is our duty as teachers, right? Plus, it works out perfectly. The Art Class was short one student at 49; now it’s a nice round 50.”
The sudden insertion of a notorious troublemaker, infamous across the entire grade, sparked strong dissatisfaction among most of the original Class 9 students.
But what use was their “dissatisfaction”?
Whether the school had dumped Chen Qingli on Lin Huayan to keep the grade peaceful or because her father had donated more money again, Chen Qingli’s addition to Class 9 was a done deal. No one could change it.
On the first day of formal classes, which happened to be a Monday, Lin Huayan had a full half-hour talk with Chen Qingli.
She deliberately chose a time when Director Li wasn’t in the office, but left the door half-open.
True to her promise over the phone to Lin Huayan, Chen Qingli arrived at school bare-faced and had dyed her highlighted hair back to black.
Dressed in the school uniform with her hair in a ponytail, she stood straight during the conversation, hands clasped behind her back. Whatever Lin Huayan asked, she answered—one “yes,” “mm,” “got it,” “I will” after another.
But just when Lin Huayan thought Chen Qingli was truly turning over a new leaf, truly prioritizing her studies, the girl’s “rudeness” hit her like a slap in the face.
“Teacher Lin, I’ve noted everything you said. Before I head back to the classroom, can I ask you one question?”
“Go ahead.”
“I guess Teacher Lin definitely isn’t straight, right?”
Deeply offended, Lin Huayan ignored the student’s impertinent question. She merely fixed Chen Qingli with an icy glare: “Now that you’re in my class, you follow my rules. As everyone knows, I never treat students as friends, and I don’t like those who are overly familiar or lack boundaries.”
She lowered her head indifferently, flipping through the lesson plans on her desk, and continued: “Chen Qingli, Class 9 isn’t your playground. Don’t try to test my limits, or there won’t be a place for you here. I say it because I can—and will—make it happen.”
Chen Qingli sighed with a chuckle: “The rumors are true—Teacher Lin really is cold and heartless.”
The eyes behind her glasses flashed coldly again, like razor-sharp blades slicing through the air: “Also, my patience and kindness are reserved for diligent, eager students with ambition. An 800-word self-criticism—hand it in before the end of the afternoon.”
“I’m innocent here! It was just a question—how did I even err? Is Teacher Lin always this arbitrary? I don’t accept it.”
“If you can’t figure out your mistake and can’t write the self-criticism, you won’t need to attend my math classes anymore. Chen Qingli, your father made it clear to the school when arranging your transfer: it’s not about boosting your academics, but about reining in your behavior. Don’t get cocky, and don’t play mind games. I don’t bend to soft or hard tactics.”
Chen Qingli wasn’t important. She wouldn’t waste emotions on unimportant people or matters.
There was one Lou Yixuan. That’s enough.
“…” Chen Qingli opened her mouth, swallowed her anger, clenched her fists behind her back. “Yes, I know I was wrong. I’ll go write it now. Do I have to read it aloud to the whole class when it’s done?”
Last semester, after accidentally injuring the life counselor, she’d been publicly criticized by the school and given a warning.
She’d also written a 1,000-word apology and read it aloud to the life counselor in person, then posted it on the dormitory building bulletin board for a month.
“Hand it to me when it’s done. If your reflection is thorough and well-written, I can make copies and post them in every class for everyone to study.”
“…Fine. Then, Teacher Lin, I’ll head out.”
After Chen Qingli left the office, Lin Huayan removed her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose with her knuckle.
She didn’t want to leave indents on her nose anymore; even at home during breaks, she rarely wore frames, only putting them on occasionally for work.
Her phone sat quietly on the desk. It was Monday, and Lou Yixuan was still out of contact.
—I heard from Lou Lou’s friend that over New Year’s, Lou Lou cried her heart out for days missing her mom so much, then bought a ticket and went back to Australia with her dad.
—She said Lou Lou wasn’t happy after returning to China. She’d already had a huge fight with her mom over coming back, and after half a year apart from her daughter, her mom probably came around. Lou Lou might continue developing abroad.
—She’s doing fine now, Teacher Lin. No need to worry. She’ll contact us when she returns.
Du Heming said Lou Yixuan had come around—she was returning to Australia to live with her parents and continue her art career.
Australia was indeed better suited for Lou Yixuan.
Her career foundation was there, her family too. Going back was the best choice.
But the Art Class teaching staff for color theory hadn’t changed yet, meaning Lou Yixuan would at least teach Class 9 this semester. They were still “colleagues,” still seeing each other every Monday.
Every Monday.
Every one a countdown.
Her phone buzzed continuously—WeChat notifications popped up.
For some reason, Lin Huayan’s heart clenched in tandem.
This heartache only started after Lou Yixuan returned.
She quickly slipped her glasses back on, grabbed the phone, and tapped. The new message was really from… her pinned contact.
【Lou Yixuan: Sorry, Teacher Lin, for taking so long to reply. Teacher Du already passed on the reason, so I won’t belabor it.】
【Lou Yixuan: No need for dinner. Better to keep some distance—for both our sakes.】
The heart connects to the fingertips.
The pain in her chest reached her very fingers.
Lin Huayan stared woodenly at the phone for a long time. The screen dimmed; she unlocked it again. Over and over, countless times.
In the end, she typed back one word: 【Okay.】
During that afternoon’s class meeting, the Teacher Lou everyone anticipated didn’t appear at the classroom door.
No other art teacher came either.
But the homeroom teacher broke character—not only did she skip lecturing on school rules, she had the class cadres haul in snacks and fruit, letting everyone hold a “tea party” to share the joy of reunion and holiday tales all at once.
“Oh my god, is this really our homeroom teacher? Has she been possessed by Xuan-jie?”
“Not possessed—inspired by Xuan-jie.”
“No way, no way! Is our ‘Yi Yan CP’ coming true? Am I shipping the real deal?”
“Shh! Keep it down—the homeroom teacher’s in the hallway.”
“There’s definitely something fishy. Look at this chocolate—exactly like the kind they treated us to last year. That brand’s only at the international chain supermarket. You think our homeroom teacher likes chocolate? This screams Xuan-jie taste.”
“So true.”
“Zhang Xiao, jot it down quick—you’ve got new material! I’m so hyped!”
…
This semester’s art schedule had a minor tweak: color theory moved to Thursdays, and Du Heming scheduled evening self-study that Thursday night too.
On the first Thursday, Lou Yixuan arrived at Tianmu Middle School in the morning to grade the winter break homework.
By noon, she hadn’t invited anyone to the cafeteria. Instead, she went alone to the noodle shop off-campus and ordered Sanxian Meatball Rice Noodles again.
This time, she asked the boss to add tomatoes—and ate the tomatoes with the soup.
The broth was a touch more palatable with them.
The “Indissoluble Meal Buddies” group Du Heming had created hadn’t seen new messages since winter break started.
Once pinned at the top, its chat was now buried at the bottom—right next to another formerly pinned one, sunk together.
After finishing the noodles, she posted a photo taken before eating to Moments, captioned: 【Highly recommend this noodle shop’s Sanxian Meatball Rice Noodles, babies—team up and try it! Tomatoes are the soul; ask the boss for extra.】
Tomatoes weren’t hard to eat; she could finish them. But once someone willingly ate them for her, she’d grown dependent.
Emerging from the noodle shop, the early spring sun warmed her skin.
She’d once thought love was verdant growth—even if the blossoms fell, spring could bloom from the aching wound.
But the loveliest spring would eventually be buried under heavy snow.
It felt like enduring the longest winter, walking the farthest road, only to return to the start.
Lou Yixuan stretched her arms, rezipped the jacket she’d loosened against the hot soup, and headed to the convenience store.
She bought two bottles of throat lozenges: lemon and peach. She didn’t like Grapefruit flavor, and watermelon didn’t appeal, so she switched it up.
Such a carefree mindset—not a second’s hesitation picking them.
By the time she walked back to school, class was over. Students were tidying easels in the Art Classroom.
“Zhang Xiao, Lin Jianlu—you two skipping lunch?”
“Teacher Lou!”
“Xuan-jie!”
Zhang Xiao launched into a flying hug, wrapping around Lou Yixuan: “Do you know how worried I was those days when I couldn’t reach you? Even though Teacher Liu told me you were on leave for personal matters, and you replied to my message later, I was still scared you wouldn’t come back to teach us.”
Lou Yixuan ruffled her hair: “I’m right here, aren’t I? You’re such a mama’s girl, big sis’s pet—I didn’t know you were a teacher’s pet too.”
“What?!” Zhang Xiao pulled back, cheeks puffed in mock outrage. “Xuan-jie, that’s not funny at all.”
“Mad now?” Lou Yixuan resisted pinching her cheek, glanced at the quiet Lin Jianlu standing aside, and pulled out both bottles of lozenges. “Here, candy for you two—one each.”
With a “hmph,” Zhang Xiao snatched them without ceremony, checked the labels, and handed one to Lin Jianlu: “Peach flavor—you like this one.”
“Thank you, Teacher Lou.” Lin Jianlu took it with thanks.
Zhang Xiao pocketed hers and pulled out another item—a brocade pouch.
She tugged the drawstring and offered it to Lou Yixuan: “Lin Jianlu and I just knocked at the office—you weren’t there, so we came to wait in the classroom. We went to the temple over break to pray for academics—and got this for your love life too. The master blessed it; super effective. It’ll make your wishes come true.”
Lou Yixuan took the lightweight yet weighty pouch, opened it, and saw a bracelet inside.
“This… Teacher Lou, actually, we picked this super ordinary camphor seed bracelet ourselves in the main hall. The monk said sincerity makes it work, so we…”
The bracelet was commonplace, worth just dozens of yuan; Lin Jianlu felt a bit shy and confessed honestly.
“Not ordinary at all—the patterns are gorgeous, a natural work of art.”
Lou Yixuan’s nose tingled. She took it out, slipped it onto her right wrist, and showed them. “I love it. Thank you, my two little darlings.”
How could the past half-year yield nothing?
Friendship. Teacher-student bonds.
Full harvest, returning laden.
Seeing her dimples flash in a smile, Lin Jianlu and Zhang Xiao beamed too.
They’d made matching bracelets for themselves, but kept them safely in their dorm lockers— not convenient to wear at school.
Zhang Xiao’s grin faded abruptly: “Xuan-jie, Teacher Lin’s outside. No idea how long she’s been there.”
The Art Classroom had see-through glass walls—visible both ways.
Lou Yixuan glanced back, checked her phone for any unread messages from Lin Huayan, then walked out: “You two, go eat lunch now. Nap after, no dozing in afternoon class.”
“Okay! See you this afternoon, Xuan-jie!”
Zhang Xiao dragged Lin Jianlu out the door farthest from the homeroom teacher.
Over break, she’d written two more “Yi Yan CP” fanfics—pushing boundaries so far they’d sparked a Lou-top Lin-top debate.
These two together? My heart races like I’ve seen a ghost.
Terrified the stars of her fics would discover them—her life wouldn’t be worth a dime.
But so thrilling.
Lou Yixuan stopped before Lin Huayan, greeting her casually: “Long time no see, Teacher Lin.”
No unread messages on her phone, so she had no clue why the other woman was there.
“Has it been long?”
“A month. Pretty long.”
Lou Yixuan’s jacket was a pearl-white fluffy zip-up hoodie. After walking for over ten minutes, it had warmed her up again.
She unzipped it and asked with her head lowered, “Is Teacher Lin just passing by, or do you need something from me?”
No matter how much she bundled up or how bulky she looked, in Lin Huayan’s eyes, she had an innate fragility—like a flower eagerly unfurling in early spring, yet swaying precariously in the spring breeze.
“Why did you cancel the card?” Lin Huayan asked about the Teacher Card she had specially opened for Lou Yixuan.
“That wasn’t a privilege I deserved in the first place. Better not to leave any leverage.”
Lou Yixuan had gone to the IT center that morning to cancel the Teacher Card, afraid Lin Huayan would abuse her authority to top it up again without permission.
Besides…
“Teacher Liu applied for two more cards. One for each art teacher, with a 200-yuan monthly meal allowance—more than enough.”
She’d used the remaining balance on the canceled card to buy a few cases of mineral water and stockpile them. The logistics staff had helped carry them upstairs—a minor thing she hadn’t bothered reporting to Lin Huayan.
“I’ve seen Class 9’s schedule. Your morning classes today were the last two periods…”
“No appetite.”
“…” Lou Yixuan’s words of farewell caught in her throat as warm spring light flooded her troubled eyes, flickering like flames.
It melted away under Lin Huayan’s gaze.
Lin Huayan’s eyes were the most disarming pair Lou Yixuan had ever encountered.
They held a magic that rippled with starlight at dusk.
One glance inside, and the blizzard across a thousand miles halted.
Glaciers melted in an instant, the east wind blew gently, scattering the spring cherry blossoms from her lips.
But those towering mountains between her brows, those deep fireflies in her eyes—they were the tribulation she could never cross in this lifetime.
And so, that spring cherry blossom turned into a wave cresting high before crashing down, vanishing in an instant into the vast ocean.
“Teacher Lin, you staring at me like that… it’s kinda scary.”
Lou Yixuan forced a smile.
Her dimples were still there, but Lin Huayan saw no spark in her eyes ignited for her sake.
“Scary?”
“Yeah, feels like I’m about to get scolded any second.” Lou Yixuan tugged at her hood’s brim and shrank her neck. “Don’t you know how intimidating your natural authority is?”
“…” She knew, of course she did.
But when had she ever used her authority to intimidate Lou Yixuan? And when had Lou Yixuan ever feared her authority?
With Lou Yixuan, she had lost all authority long ago.
“Can I see the students’ art holiday homework? If any are half-assed, I can give them a heads-up.”
“…”
“Can’t? Or is it inconvenient?”
“You’re the homeroom teacher—what couldn’t you see? Come on, to the office.”
Lin Huayan’s excuses were getting worse and worse.
Lou Yixuan didn’t buy that she’d single out sloppy students for a scolding—that would slap the art teacher in the face, and any grudges would fall on the art teacher’s head.
She figured Lin Huayan just had more to discuss. Hopefully business, and only business.
Lou Yixuan swiped her card to open the door and gestured politely. “Teacher Lin, after you.”
Lin Huayan didn’t quibble over who entered first. She stepped inside—and her eyes immediately fell on the camellia on her desk. One flower had fallen.
The desk was piled high with drawings.
As Lou Yixuan came in, she explained, “There were too many. I accidentally knocked it over while grading this morning—it fell to the floor.”
Lin Huayan’s gaze darkened as she stared at the “lone” flower perched on the desk’s edge. As she walked over, she said, “Let me reattach it for you.”
“No need. It can’t be reattached—it broke off, didn’t just fall.”
Lou Yixuan beat her to it, sweeping the flower base and the severed head into a drawer. “It’s called a Severed Head Flower anyway. Broken is broken.”
