Lin Huayan rummaged out a larger non-woven shopping bag for clothes. She kept her back turned to Lou Yixuan the whole time. Once she found the bag, she didn’t hand it over but headed straight to the bathroom instead.
Treating them like brand-new garments, she carefully folded Lou Yixuan’s changed-out wet clothes and skirt before packing them into the bag.
Catching sight of those boots in the corner out of the corner of her eye, she doubled back into the room and grabbed a plastic bag.
Seeing her return empty-handed from the balcony, Lou Yixuan sniffled and walked over. “Give me the bag. I’ll pack it myself.”
“I’ve already packed it. Don’t dirty your hands again.”
Lin Huayan dodged her outstretched hand, choking back the bitterness rising in her throat.
She didn’t even dare lift her eyes to look at Lou Yixuan again. Turning away, she went back to the bathroom, wrapped up the shoes, and tucked them into the bottom of the shopping bag.
Even weight distribution. Easier to carry.
Lou Yixuan’s gaze was as indifferent as an ancient icy pool untouched by sunlight for millennia.
Yet her hair gleamed red, her cheeks and eyes flushed with red, her clothes a tender pinkish purple. Clearly, she should have been such a vibrant, radiant phoenix among people, brimming with youthful brilliance…
But because of her own twists and turns, her battered spirit could no longer muster a smile.
“Here.”
Lin Huayan handed over the shopping bag containing the clothes and shoes. “I’ll grab you some tissues too, for backup.”
“Okay, thanks.”
Lin Huayan fetched two packs each of dry and wet wipes. “Put them in your bag, or in the clothes pocket—either works.”
This tracksuit had indeed been bought before last year’s sports meet, but not for herself, nor specifically for Lou Yixuan.
It was just a stroke of fate. While shopping with Qin Fengru, she’d spotted this pink-purple set hanging in a store window, and Lou Yixuan had immediately flashed into her mind—along with the image of her wearing it.
Lou Yixuan was colorful.
She could pull off any vivid hue, dazzling and multifaceted.
Unlike her, who lived day after day in a dull black-and-white world.
After bidding Qin Fengru goodbye in the garage, she’d circled back to the mall alone and bought the tracksuit.
She’d imagined that maybe one day, if Lou Yixuan dirtied her clothes during class, she’d have something to lend her.
Just a passing thought.
Lou Yixuan drove to work and kept a change of clothes in her car. Where was the chance for her?
Fate had its surprises, after all.
In the end, the outfit had found its way onto Lou Yixuan’s body.
Just as beautiful as she’d envisioned.
“Thanks.”
With one final thank you, Lou Yixuan grabbed her things and headed for the door.
The door to Room 1109 next door had been left open. Du Heming sat on a chair near it, scrolling her phone.
Hearing the door to Room 1107 open, she jumped up like a thief caught in the act, peeking cautiously around the doorframe—only to be spotted by Lin Huayan, who was heading her way.
“L-Lin, Teacher Lin… Lou-Lou’s leaving?” She blurted out the obvious.
She could still glimpse Lou Yixuan’s retreating figure not far off.
“Mm,” Lin Huayan replied. She held out the large ten-rib umbrella. “Teacher Du, why don’t you go with Teacher Lou to the cafeteria for some food? Then take her to the Infirmary. The back of her right hand got bumped—it’s bruised. Check if there are other injuries elsewhere and ask her.”
“Bumped? She… she was just on the bus… Uh, okay, got it. I’ll go, I’ll take her.”
No more dawdling from Du Heming. She took the umbrella, shut the door, and hurried toward the elevator.
“Lou-Lou! Lou-Lou, wait for me!”
Only after Du Heming’s figure vanished around the corner did Lin Huayan return to her room.
But just minutes later, a WeChat message from Du Heming popped up: [Teacher Lin, Lou-Lou says she has no appetite. Can’t eat anything. Skipping the cafeteria.]
[Du Heming: Won’t go to the Infirmary either. Says it’s just a minor bump, no need for a doctor. And that her hands—she treasures them more than anyone. Won’t let anything happen to them.]
[Lin Huayan: Got it. Thanks for the trouble.]
[Du Heming: No trouble at all. Lou-Lou’s my friend too. I love her a lot.]
Love?
Yes, so many people loved Lou Yixuan. So many could declare their “love” for her openly. Only her—the one who loved Lou Yixuan more than any of them—couldn’t even say “I like you.”
Glancing at the time, Lin Huayan scrolled to Old Man Zhang’s number in her contacts. After a brief hesitation, she dialed.
“Hello, Teacher Lin? What’s up?”
“I’d like to borrow your little kitchen. Just to cook something quick.”
“Oh, sure thing. Go right ahead—I’ll tell them and get the door unlocked for you.”
“Thanks.”
“No big deal. Don’t mention it.”
…
Du Heming couldn’t persuade Lou Yixuan, so she played the dutiful flower protector, escorting her back to the Art Office and lingering to chat for a bit.
About ten minutes later, her phone buzzed on the desk. She glanced and snatched it up in a panic.
The message to Director Lin had been sent on the sly. If Lou-Lou found out, she’d think she was “betraying a friend for glory,” right?
Anyone with eyes could see how much Lou-Lou had been avoiding Director Lin this semester.
Karma was a wheel, after all. What goes around comes around.
[Lin Huayan: You still at the Art Office? Can you come to the Staff Dormitory if it’s convenient?]
What for at the Staff Dormitory? To listen to stories or something?
Du Heming was baffled.
But she had to help Director Lin out.
“Um, Lou-Lou, I…”
“Teacher Du, go take your lunch break. I’m fine now—won’t cry anymore.”
“…” This isn’t about the crying.
“I’ll grab something from the supermarket if I’m hungry this afternoon.”
“Alright, you said it. I’ll check on you later. If I hear your stomach growling, don’t blame me for stuffing bread in your mouth.”
Lou Yixuan finally cracked a smile. “Teacher Du, you’re so crude. You’ll scare people off like that.”
“…” Feels like she’s hinting at something. “Stay put and rest. Look outside—the rain’s clearing up.”
The weather was unpredictable, just like life’s fortunes.
That post-rain sky only made Lou Yixuan sadder.
Better to have toughed it out at home longer, waited till afternoon to head out—no morning “disaster” then.
Blame the inaccurate forecast. Blame her lack of procrastination.
Life was teaching her a lesson.
Another one for this not-so-great office worker.
After Du Heming left, Lou Yixuan slumped listlessly over her desk. No phone, no thoughts—just blanking out.
Her fingers idly traced the cuffs. This fabric feels so good.
Am I taking advantage of Lin Huayan again?
Even blanking out led back to Lin Huayan.
She tucked both hands into her sleeves, rested her chin on them, and closed her eyes for a nap.
But Du Heming, who’d only just left, came back in.
“Lou-Lou, look what I brought you?” Du Heming set a heat-retaining insulated box in front of her and popped the lid.
A bowl of steaming white glutinous rice balls jumped into Lou Yixuan’s view.
Her head still drooped, but her mind drifted far away.
—Teacher Lin, how many bags of these sesame-filled ones did you stock?
—Huh? Not me—Mom bought too many and insisted I take some. What’s wrong? Don’t like them? Then no more late-night eats next time.
—It’s not that I don’t like them. I prefer peanut filling, just a bit. But I can eat sesame. I’ll help you out.
—Good, thanks then. For helping me eat them.
—I’ll grab osmanthus honey next weekend. A spoonful in the fermented rice—sweeter and more fragrant.
—Eating that sweet? Afraid of gaining weight?
—Gain it and lose it again. Eating tangyuan with Teacher Lin matters more.
That pre-gaokao winter, they’d gone through several bags of sesame tangyuan.
That winter, she’d gained several pounds.
“Peanut-filled tangyuan with osmanthus-fermented rice base—you love that, right? Don’t deny it. You treated us to osmanthus fermented rice lattes once—no taking it back. That’d hurt.”
Du Heming’s silver tongue went to work. “Only made five—borrowed Old Man Zhang’s little kitchen. Tiny ones. You can handle five, yeah? Come on, Lou-Lou, eat up. Trust me—something sweet will lift your mood.”
Lou Yixuan stared blankly as she took the spoon from Du Heming. She wanted to say “thanks,” but her mouth wouldn’t open.
In this school, besides Lin Huayan, who else would know she liked peanut filling in tangyuan and a spoonful of osmanthus honey in the fermented rice base?
Lin Huayan, why bother…
…
After that downpour, gentler breezes carried new life and hope to the world.
April’s warm sun lavished golden rays, draping all things under heaven in a dreamy veil.
Lou Yixuan, stripped of her dopamine, serotonin, and endorphins, picked up her brush, slung on her art bag, and raced through the nation’s mountains and lakes under starlit skies.
In this dreamlike season, she chased the wind, the clouds, the stars—restlessly seeking the scenery hidden in every nook.
Amid the peaks, she danced with morning mists, capturing the mountains’ ethereal grace veiled in gossamer; by the water’s edge, she bent to caress babbling streams, listening to fish frolic, fixing the ripples’ lively dance on canvas.
Mountains, rivers, villages, towns—their souls intertwined, weaving a grand, intricate scroll of landscapes.
In such days, she felt no loneliness.
She’d simply reclaimed the companion of those eight years: herself, through night and day.
Chase a gust of wind, cross a bridge, paint at dawn or dusk. No need to question why wildflowers bloomed, or climb a mountain just to see one person.
She’d visited many countries, painted countless scenes—how could she miss her own majestic motherland?
Back home once, she had to take something away. If not joy, then scenery.
This day brought her to Ancient Huizhou. Villages of pink walls and black tiles nestled amid verdant hills and waters, like an ink scroll slowly unfurling.
She strolled leisurely down narrow bluestone alleys, fingertips tracing walls where time’s patina flowed.
Passing a half-open door to an old mansion, Lou Yixuan felt a spiritual summons. She paused, gazed in quiet reverence, and gently pushed the creaking wooden door.
Crossing the threshold, time rewound a century.
In the courtyard’s heart stood a silent ancient well, its rope scars etched on the rim.
All around, weathered wood carvings, brick reliefs, and stone sculptures lived under the artisans’ masterful hands—each detail whispering of the family’s past glory and the daily life of generations.
This place…
Suited Lin Huayan well.
Over being an aloof teacher in a concrete jungle, Lin Huayan seemed more fit as a decisive clan leader here.
If past lives existed, maybe Lin Huayan had been just that: a high official, commanding storms, wielding life-and-death power.
And her…
Weird. Why think of Lin Huayan again? Clan leader? My imagination’s running wild.
She flew everywhere in her free time, keeping busy to leave no room for thoughts of Lin Huayan.
She shouldn’t cross my mind at all.
Lou Yixuan slapped her cheeks, shooing Lin Huayan’s shadow from her head.
After circling the yard, she set up her easel under the skylight, focusing intently to capture the mansion’s ancient charm.
Now, it was more than a relic of history—a vivid footnote to China’s enduring civilization, a bridge across ancient and modern.
April wasn’t peak tourist season; the old town held few visitors, and this quiet alley even fewer.
Noon sun pierced the courtyard in warm gold, blending perfectly with the rustic tones.
The artist chose her colors with care.
She painted stroke by stroke, distilling centuries of serenity and beauty onto canvas, into her heart—archived forever.
Twilight crept in unnoticed. Lou Yixuan regarded her work with satisfaction and signed it—Xuan.
Every stroke brimmed with her heartfelt ode to the land that birthed her; every hue held her tenderest farewell to it.
She snapped photos of the painting and the mansion into her phone.
She packed up her easel and sat on the doorstep, selecting photos and editing her caption in the glow of the setting sun.
Stroke Thirteen: Huizhou Check-in √
Her previous Moments post had gone up the afternoon before last, captioned: Stroke Twelve: Huangshan Check-in √
In the cafeteria at Tianmu Middle School, He Huan ran into Lin Huayan once again. They never made plans to eat together, yet ever since the start of the month, they had crossed paths at the exact same time every evening in the same spot.
One had a habit of eating dinner early; the other had taken to joining her for those early meals.
After all, she had shared most of last semester’s meals with Du Heming. This term, she was deliberately avoiding Du Heming—but she absolutely refused to do it by simply swapping dining partners.
Except for Lin Huayan.
Because sitting across from Lin Huayan for a meal, no matter how many times, would never hurt Du Heming.
She couldn’t accept Du Heming’s feelings, but she couldn’t trample on them either.
She didn’t know if her “fondness” for Du Heming counted as love, but she knew that, just like ten years ago, she still “dared not.”
She dared not label herself a “lesbian.”
She dared not, after marrying a man and then divorcing him, shamelessly pursue marriage with a woman.
And she dared not admit to her father and siblings that the pre-marital flutter of her heart had defied all propriety.
“Little Lou has been to so many places these past two months. Youth really is a blessing—endless energy and stamina, ready for a spur-of-the-moment trip anytime. Looking at those check-in photos she posted, I realize I haven’t been to a single one. It’s kind of depressing to think about. I’ve lived nearly half a lifetime, and I’ve only ever left Huai’an a handful of times.”
He Huan had spotted Lou Yixuan’s latest Moments post before heading to the cafeteria. Liking Lou Yixuan’s posts had become her most frequent—and most tacit—point of connection with Du Heming this term.
Lin Huayan had never liked a single one of Lou Yixuan’s posts, but He Huan was certain she had viewed every last one.
“Settling into a quiet corner of the world is a choice too. Teacher He, do you find your current life unsatisfactory?”
“…”
“If you do, why not change it?”
“Yeah, why not change it?” He Huan smiled, the expression self-mocking yet probing. “Turns out there really are so many people and moments that just… abruptly have no ‘next time.'”
Like their four-person lunches. Like their four-person dinners.
Next time.
She wondered if there would even be a next time.
Their conversation ebbed and flowed—brief exchanges followed by stretches of wordless silence, their faces betraying little expression.
As they rose to return their trays at the B entrance collection area, Du Heming and Lian Si happened to enter from the B entrance.
“Teacher Du, you’re really not joining us for a self-driving trip over May Day? We’ve got two cars, seven spots filled and one left—it’s yours. That friend who’s short one companion, you’ve met her once before. She’s been asking about you all week. She’s got a timid streak, scared of the dark, doesn’t like staying alone on trips. So she said you’d room together in a standard twin—no need for you to chip in on the lodging…”
