[Lu Lingxuan: Big baby, I’ve thought it over and over, and I’m still worried. We’re all worried. The solution is—I’ll fly over to find you tomorrow morning!]
[Lou Yixuan: I’ve done my homework ahead of time. Checked the travel agency’s credentials, the guide’s qualifications, everything that needed checking. Even asked netizens who’ve done this route—it’s very safe.]
[Lou Yixuan: Ling Xuan, I want to hike these paths on my own. I can do it alone.]
[Lu Lingxuan: Fine, then send me the guide’s and travel agency’s phone numbers too. Send me voice messages morning and night—voice or video only! No text!]
[Lou Yixuan: Got it. I will.]
Lu Lingxuan’s birthday was in mid-April. Lou Yixuan had given her a painting—one she’d started after returning from Spring Festival and spent a full month completing.
Based on Lu Lingxuan and Xu Yaning’s wedding photo, it was a secondary creation: a full four-foot double portrait in oils.
Lu Lingxuan had loved the gift so much she’d hugged her and planted several kisses on her, then hung the painting in the entryway where it was the first thing you saw upon opening the door.
“Lou Lou!” Du Heming waved to her. “We’re here.”
“Teacher Du, Teacher He.” Lou Yixuan pocketed her phone and greeted them with a beaming smile.
“What are you giving us? So mysteriously.”
“Not mysterious at all.”
Lou Yixuan opened the trunk. Inside were three paintings, each packaged in stiff cardboard, all the same 4K size.
The cardboard was labeled in black marker—
[TO: Teacher Du]
[TO: Teacher He]
[TO: Teacher Lin]
Just seeing the dimensions made Du Heming’s eyes light up. “Is this… a painting?”
“Yeah, a little token from me.”
“Lou Lou, why? Why all of a sudden…”
Du Heming trailed off as her eyes reddened. Why? Because she’s leaving, going back to Australia. These are farewell gifts.
The thought that in just two months they’d part ways, that she’d never see Lou Yixuan again—tears spilled down her cheeks in an instant.
She stepped forward and hugged Lou Yixuan tight. “You’re so annoying. Why give the gift so early? Couldn’t you wait? Wait until my birthday next month and give it then?”
That way, she could fool herself into thinking it was just a birthday present.
“Oh? So Teacher Du’s birthday is next month?” Lou Yixuan hugged her back, eyes crinkling with amusement. “Then you have to treat us to a big meal, right?”
But the more she heard that cheerful voice, the sadder Du Heming felt.
What had started as a few stray tears now wouldn’t stop.
“I’ll treat you to whatever you want—it’s not like I can only do it on my birthday. Are you scared you’ll eat me out of house and home? You’ve only got one mouth and one stomach—you won’t bankrupt me. I’ve got savings, you know, hundreds of thousands. I can treat you every week, every month, every year.”
“Yes, yes, Teacher Du’s so generous and straightforward. Being friends with you is totally worth it.”
By the time Du Heming pulled away, wiping her eyes, He Huan already had tissues ready and handed them over.
Her earlier guess was now confirmed.
Lou Yixuan’s recent behavior really was her way of “saying goodbye” to them, to this land.
“Thanks.”
Du Heming took the tissues and turned away to wipe her eyes and face.
He Huan felt a pang of sorrow, but since Lou Yixuan hadn’t said it, Du Heming hadn’t, and Lin Huayan hadn’t, she’d keep pretending she didn’t know.
Topics of parting and separation always made people want to hide, yet they could never truly escape them.
“The frames are a bit heavy—I can’t carry them alone.” Lou Yixuan redirected their attention to the paintings, pulling out the one for He Huan first.
“Teacher He, I’m so glad to have met you, glad we could become friends. Thank you… and I wish you… happiness.”
After racking her brain, “happiness” felt the most grounded, the most sincere.
“Thank you. Meeting you, becoming friends with you all—I’m happy, honored, and glad too.”
He Huan took the painting with both hands and cradled it. It was indeed a bit heavy.
Lou Yixuan reached for the one for Du Heming. “Don’t open it until you’re back in your dorm. Like a book, everyone sees the same content, but interpretations differ. Once it’s yours, it’s private. I don’t want to impose my own meaning or overexplain my creative intent. But one thing I must stress: my feelings for you are genuine. Every painting is my sincerest blessing.”
“Huh?”
Du Heming’s head throbbed at Lou Yixuan’s words. “Lou Lou, you can’t do this to me—I’m a science major. What if I don’t get it?”
Lou Yixuan chuckled, glancing at the also-smiling He Huan. “Teacher Du, trust me—you’ll understand.”
Du Heming: “…”
The three of them each carried a painting back to the dorm.
Lou Yixuan rode the elevator with Du Heming to the 11th floor. “Teacher He, see you at the usual time—11:40 downstairs. We’ll head to the cafeteria together.”
“Got it.” He Huan nodded and headed to the 12th floor first, painting in arms.
Once inside, Lou Yixuan propped the painting for Lin Huayan against the door.
Only after making sure it was steady did she let go. “Teacher Du, could you pass this one to Teacher Lin for me? I’ll message her, and she can pick it up at noon.”
Du Heming looked troubled, pursing her lips. “You’re really not giving it to her yourself? I mean in person—give it to her face-to-face.”
“Want me to open the painting with you?” Lou Yixuan straightened up, dusted her hands, and looked at Du Heming.
“Yes! Yes!”
Du Heming agreed eagerly, setting the painting on the table and rummaging for scissors.
She searched drawers and cabinets but came up empty, standing in the middle of the room in a daze. “Where did I put those scissors…”
“Isn’t there a little knife in that box?”
Lou Yixuan went over and pulled a fruit knife from the “Flower Moon” brocade box Du Heming had given her last Mid-Autumn Festival. “This’ll do to open it.”
“A knife? I’m scared it’ll scratch…” It’s a painting from Lou Lou. What if my clumsy hands ruin it? How could I face her?
“No worries—I’ll open it.”
The painting for Du Heming was Phoenix in Flames.
At first, Lou Yixuan had wanted to give her a field of sunflowers in springtime—because to her, Du Heming was like the sun: warm and radiant.
But sunflowers alone didn’t fully capture her wishes for Du Heming.
The sun gave only light and heat.
People’s reactions to sunlight varied.
Some found it blinding, others soothing; some chose to hide from it.
A phoenix…
It had light, heat—not just outwardly, but inwardly too.
Symbolizing rebirth after pain and trials, a nirvana not just of the body, but of the spirit.
May she give light and warmth to others, and shine for herself. May this life be free-spirited, resilient, happy, and healthy.
…
The message to Lin Huayan, Lou Yixuan had drafted in the chat box long ago and sent it right as the morning dismissal bell rang.
[Lou Yixuan: Teacher Lin, I have a gift for you—it’s with Teacher Du for now. You can pick it up anytime after returning to the dorm at noon. Your kindness is engraved in my heart; this gift is just a small token. Hope you like it.]
In the Teaching Building, the bell rang, and Lin Huayan gathered her lesson plans. “Class dismissed.”
Midday, no one usually asked questions—students rushed to eat, teachers too.
But Chen Qingli, the transfer student, was like she’d mainlined energy drinks. Every math class, she’d chase Lin Huayan with questions, no matter which period.
Lin Huayan answered patiently at first, but today she had no patience for a student who only asked without improving. “Chen Qingli, from now on, every question you ask me, you copy ten times. Before the next one, I want to see the previous one’s copies. That’s how you’ll remember, and not mess up exam questions you’ve already asked about. If you just ask without learning, memorizing, or applying—it’s all wasted effort.”
“…” Chen Qingli froze, wondering if Lin Huayan had eaten gunpowder. Or hit menopause for real.
“Either copy yesterday’s three questions ten times each and come to the office this afternoon, or take it to the math class rep at noon and humbly ask for help. Your choice.”
“…I’ll ask the class rep. Won’t hold up Teacher Lin’s lunch.” Chen Qingli clutched her workbook and slunk off dejectedly to the classroom.
Zhang Xiao, peeking from the doorway, got dragged away by Lin Jianlu. “Had enough? No show. Let’s eat.”
Squeezed next to Lin Jianlu, Zhang Xiao muttered, “What do you think Chen Qingli’s after? Trying to poach Xuan-jie’s corner? Got a thing for Teacher Lin?”
“Don’t speculate. That’s how rumors start.”
“Oh, fine, won’t say it.”
Zhang Xiao fretted again. “But semester’s half over—no sign of Xuan-jie and Teacher Lin interacting. Even Teacher He and Teacher Du seem on the outs, not eating together. They were so tight last semester. Just one winter break and things have changed, people have changed.”
“Is that how you use ‘things have changed’?”
“Uh…”
“We can’t meddle in teachers’ business. Just handle ourselves well—that’s enough to honor them and our hearts.”
“Yeah, Lin the top student’s so wise! Lesson learned! Adding a drumstick to your lunch!”
“Zhang Xiao! I said no calling me that.”
“But it’s true—you’re top three in class. Who’d argue you’re not a study god?”
“Don’t come to me for May Day.”
“Ah? Okay, okay, my bad! No more—Lin classmate, Lin Little Deer, forgive me one more time? I’ll bring you milk tea for May Day, from that super super good place…”
In the 306 office, Lin Huayan dropped her lesson plans and bolted out almost immediately.
She cut her usual eight-minute walk to five.
Du Heming had returned to the dorm before class ended, waiting with the door open for Lin Huayan to fetch the painting.
Hearing familiar heels in the hall, she grabbed the painting and waited at the door, eager to hand it over.
The footsteps stopped.
“Teacher Lin, this is the painting from Lou Lou. Teacher He and I got ours too. Since you were teaching, Lou Lou…”
“Thanks. Appreciate it.”
Lin Huayan cut off the explanation, took the painting from Du Heming’s hands, and returned to her Room 1107.
She unpacked the cardboard with practiced ease.
Each of the 52 framed paintings in her display case had been individually packaged; she’d opened every one herself upon receipt.
The cardboard marked [TO: Teacher Lin] she carefully trimmed into a rectangle and set aside.
She stared at the painting on her desk for a long time.
[Lin Huayan: Got the gift. Saw the painting. Why this one for me?]
[Lou Yixuan: To make up for a regret.]
[Lou Yixuan: Fewer regrets mean more letting go.]
And more letting go means less lingering thoughts.
Lin Huayan read between the lines, understood the painting.
They’d missed that Xiaoniu Peak sunset eight years ago. The September sunset they’d watched together was now captured on canvas.
The sun dyed the sky red, sinking below Xiaoniu Peak, which lay shrouded in lazy, wanton colorful clouds.
Lou Yixuan had given her a sunset—one without an actual setting sun.
Acid bitterness welled in Lin Huayan’s chest; she wanted to see her once more: [Classes end early this afternoon. Dinner together?]
Tomorrow marked May’s official start. In southern Huai’an City, temperatures had noticeably climbed.
At high noon, the sun blazed—even indoors, faint heat waves rippled through the air.
Reading Lin Huayan’s new message, Lou Yixuan let out a soft sigh. She set down her phone, walked to the window, and practiced smiling at the glass.
Love really does have a lag.
Emotional conduction really has a time delay.
So often, time is too heavy, too sharp. Helpless people clutch bottomless wounds while professing love for the meager present.
She’d once thought those loves fermented by years would sprout anew some rainy night after reunion.
But the rainy season ended, and the love hadn’t budded—it’d faded into water-stained old photos.
In the old photos floated countless versions of her—the her who waited under the streetlights, cradling a scorching heart as she passed by after Lin Huayan’s shift; the her who stayed up until 3 a.m. countless times to rush-draw the first gift for Lin Huayan, Flower Face; the her who crossed the Pacific heedless of everything just for one more glimpse of Lin Huayan…
Yet these sparks hurled into the deep pool didn’t even ripple for a second.
Emotional currency had long since hyperinflated, and so many who bared their hearts and souls under the moonlight ended up as failed speculators in the emotional futures market.
Though she hated to admit it, failure was failure.
Now, she finally understood: some people could love another to the trembling of their bones and marrow yet still keep themselves whole; some could have their hearts gnawed by longing and still emerge unscathed. It was like certain collectors who locked priceless rare porcelain away in a safe, proclaiming to the world that the deepest love sometimes needed to take the form of loss to endure forever.
She had poured her whole heart into loving Lin Huayan with every gentle method she knew. If locking it away in a safe was the only way that worked, then she was willing to follow suit.
The slanting sunset gradually spilled over the windowsill, its vivid light and shadow so full and rich. Why overinterpret every season?
A flower was just a flower, not a butterfly’s cataclysm.
Snow was just snow, not a painkiller for the dejected.
Fallen leaves were just fallen leaves—not autumn’s fault, nor the wind’s sin.
Neither of them was wrong.
To let go faster, to release more quickly, the core method was to accept the ending.
No more resentment that the ending didn’t match the process, no more self-indulgent acts, no more meaningless words, no more tallying gains or losses with the other person.
Lou Yixuan had accepted the ending—from the day she returned from the Hot Spring Resort.
In truth, she had lost long ago.
Clinging stubbornly to the bitter end, she still hadn’t waited for the flower sea to bloom amid the desolation.
She was like a tree half-burned in a mountainside blaze, nailed to the frozen, diseased bones of the season.
She swallowed many mottled, decaying nights, then diligently plated herself with the sheen of vigorous growth and expectation.
Now, she didn’t head toward spring, nor summer, nor any season of spring, summer, autumn, or winter—the warm breeze would come on its own.
Whether tender green or inevitable decay, it all had its fated course.
Now, she surged on her own, became a flower, and bloomed by herself.
So she smiled as she typed back to Lin Huayan: [Sorry, I have to rush to the airport this afternoon. Next time.]
By rights, the conversation should have ended there. But to Lou Yixuan’s surprise, Lin Huayan wasn’t done.
[Lin Huayan: Okay, next time.]
[Lin Huayan: How about Thursday evening the week after the holiday break? Dinner’s on me.]
