Chapter 87

Lou Yixuan’s lower lip was slightly thicker than her upper one, glistening with a shiny sheen of moisture.

It was like jelly. Unfortunately, the lighting was too dim, and unfortunately Lin Huayan’s eyesight wasn’t great, but touch alone was enough to leave her mind in a daze.

Embarrassing sweet nothings bloomed by her ear, and Lin Huayan’s last shred of reason drifted away. She had suppressed herself for so long in this half-dreaming, half-awake state, her throat dry and hoarse. Even if she wanted to respond, she couldn’t form a complete sentence.

So she could only wrap her arms around Lou Yixuan’s neck, stroke her hair, and guide her upward. She tilted her head back, surrendering herself completely.

Her body, her heart—everything she gave to Lou Yixuan.

It was her answer.

She surrendered so readily because she remembered that night when Lou Yixuan had kissed her just as tenderly, so comfortably that it made her forget all the trivial worries of the world.

Lou Yixuan’s lips were the softest, sweetest heart of a watermelon. Every time she held her breath and drew near, all the words that never made it out melted into honey, trickling down her throat into her chest, fermenting into thicker nectar between her ribs, dissolving into a clear, uplifting echo.

When they brushed over fine textures, it felt like dragonflies skimming low, the breeze from their wings quickening her heartbeat.

Warm tides rose and fell, flooding over her teeth. Coral reefs grew slowly in the undercurrents, while seaweed wrapped endlessly around the anchor chain of a sunken ship.

Syllables plunged into the molten lava deep underground, breaths turning to white smoke rising languidly.

The shadow of her lover’s eyelashes fell upon Lin Huayan’s skin, time curling into a cocoon in the folds at their juncture, seeping faint light to guide the northbound migratory bird.

The bird’s wings beat high, and the stardust they scattered now rearranged in the lines of their pressed palms, forming an endless galaxy.

They kissed and embraced in that galaxy.

They loved each other.

She loved Lou Yixuan’s lips, loved her kisses—in every sense of the word.

She loved how Lou Yixuan pressed against her like this now, even if they did nothing else. Just pressing close was comfortable enough, reassuring enough.

How could one person love another this much?

Loving to the point of casting aside pride, shame, morals, reason—loving to let the other take complete control of her body, to be molded however she pleased, heart soaring like it had fallen into the clouds.

Lin Huayan was overjoyed. Tonight was the happiest night of her life.

More than that.

More than the first half of her life. She thought this night would be the happiest of her entire life.

The joy of lost and found, the joy of hearts aligned—nothing would ever make her happier than this.

Unless…

Unless at the end of this life together, her deeply loved girl had gone gray too.

Then neither of them would have to be lonely for long.

Lou Yixuan climbed up and pressed her lips lightly to Lin Huayan’s, parting and closing them as she murmured, “My Teacher Lin… not as salty as my tears.”

Lin Huayan jerked her head away sharply upon hearing it.

Aside from those few times she’d chased after Lou Yixuan to declare her resolve, when had her skin ever been this thick?

She loved Lou Yixuan, but tasting the flavor her lover described—not as salty as tears—made her shame explode, too embarrassed to face it head-on.

Lou Yixuan chuckled muffledly a few times, then mischievously rubbed against Lin Huayan’s shoulder.

Her pajamas were still on anyway, and they’d come off soon enough—everything needed washing tomorrow regardless.

“There’s tissues in the drawer.”

“No need.” Lou Yixuan rubbed like she was tickling her, then returned to claim the corner of Lin Huayan’s lips, enunciating each word: “Not for now.”

With that, she claimed the fountain of life for herself: “Teacher Lin cried too.”

She kissed upward to a tear at the corner of Lin Huayan’s eye, cherishing it especially as her tongue tip curled it away bit by bit.

This time her verdict was: “As salty as mine, with a hint of bitterness. Teacher Lin, let’s never cry again. And let’s never make each other cry. Okay?”

“I’m not crying,” Lin Huayan insisted stubbornly. “I’m… too happy.”

Hearing the usually reserved Lin Huayan openly admit she was happy—too happy—made Lou Yixuan dizzy with her own “too happy.”

She kissed every inch of Lin Huayan’s cheeks densely: “Okay, then from now on, we only shed tears of joy, tears of happiness.”

As she kissed, she hooked Lin Huayan’s calf lightly with her toes.

“Hold me tight.”

She nuzzled the sweaty skin under Lin Huayan’s ear, closely monitoring her reactions. “If it feels uncomfortable, just pinch my ear.”

She worried her skills had grown rusty from disuse, and Lin Huayan was too shy to speak up, enduring any discomfort in silence.

The woman beneath her trembled nonstop, so she cooed softly: “Last time, years ago that night—you were really drunk. Your eyes were hazy, cheeks flushed red, your breath sweet. You held me and smiled. You know, you were so tempting like that, so bullyable. Sorry, I bullied you. Do you blame me? Have you ever blamed me?”

As soon as Lou Yixuan finished speaking, she heard her own acceptance from Lin Huayan’s lips.

It was a low whimper laced with a sob.

“No, never blamed you.” Light and fragile, like wind over wheat waves.

That night, though alcohol had left her dizzy, her mind was still clear. She knew it was Lou Yixuan picking her up, so she let her guard down completely and went home with her.

She knew it was Lou Yixuan kissing her, so after a brief struggle, she surrendered.

In her subconscious, Lou Yixuan was someone she trusted. Wherever Lou Yixuan was, she felt safe—no need for vigilance.

That’s why she hadn’t even noted whose door she entered, and was immediately enveloped in a frontal hug upon stepping inside.

Before that, only her mother and Qin Fengru had hugged her so intimately.

And both times, they had initiated.

Her mother aside, truthfully, she had a physical aversion to Qin Fengru’s hugs.

But Qin Fengru was her closest friend since high school; she could tolerate it, even welcome it occasionally when comfort was needed.

Yet that night, when Lou Yixuan held and embraced her, she felt no aversion—only an indescribable craving.

So in the car, she’d hugged Lou Yixuan’s waist under the influence, leaned on her shoulder, filling a void in her heart like never before.

—Teacher Lin, does your head hurt?

—A little.

—Then lean on me. I’ll rub it for you.

—Mm.

—Why’d you drink so much tonight?

—The school wants to transfer me to vice director of the Moral Education Office. I refused. Drinking was to save face for the leadership.

—Vice director—that’s a promotion, right? Isn’t Moral Education good?

—I don’t like it.

—Okay, then don’t do what you don’t like.

That car ride was the first time she’d talked to Lou Yixuan like “normal friends” about work frustrations.

Lou Yixuan was better than Qin Fengru in that Qin would pry endlessly, analyze pros and cons, then support her decision.

But Lou Yixuan didn’t probe the reasons—just said, Don’t do what you don’t like.

Back then, fresh out of high school at just 18, Lou Yixuan had a maturity far beyond her years.

She’d occasionally throw little tantrums, but they were more cute than childish or reckless.

Years had passed in a blink, and that graceful 18-year-old girl had grown into a captivating mature woman.

Changed, yet unchanged.

Because the scene from that year, that day, that night was still vivid—as if right before her eyes.

“Yixuan… Yixuan…”

Lin Huayan shuddered violently once, then melted into Lou Yixuan’s tide of love.

Bobbing up and down, wanting to reach shore yet reluctant.

“Lou Yixuan.”

“I’m here. Don’t tense up. I won’t be reckless again.” Lou Yixuan massaged her, kissing her neck soothingly. “I won’t leave you anymore. Never.”

Lin Huayan weakly rolled onto her left side to face her, left arm under Lou Yixuan’s neck, right hand sliding from her shoulder blade to cheek, tongue tip lifting sweat-dampened strands of hair to tuck behind her ear.

Eyes reddened by passion smiled at her: “Skipped proper classes in high school to learn this?”

Understanding what Lin Huayan meant, Lou Yixuan flushed and buried her face again, retaliating with a hard suck—harder than any before.

Lin Huayan hurt enough to want to pinch her ear—hand even reached up—but couldn’t bear to.

“You do it, but I can’t say it?”

The teasing laughter provoked Lou Yixuan into a wet smack from her mouth, tongue licking her lips as she looked up: “You can only start fires; no lighting lamps for you.”

Lin Huayan finally teased her ear: “Teacher Lou is so domineering.”

“Only domineering with you.” Lou Yixuan leaned in to deeply inhale her neck. “Teacher Lin, you’re not tired yet? Then next, you’ll have to… put in some effort.”

“I—mm, wait…”

“I can’t wait anymore, Teacher Lin.”

…

Mottled night colors condensed into shards of light flowing across the glass, like a colorful rain that would never fall.

He Huan stood barefoot on the wool carpet’s plush, her soulless body sinking into the sofa. Whiskey seeped from the cup’s rim onto her lips, trailing a golden river.

The glass emptied and refilled, refilled and emptied. She mechanically twirled the crystal base, amber liquid rippling in the glow.

Until her knuckles whitened, then Du Heming reached from the other sofa to press her hand down: “No more drinking.”

—I don’t want to go home or back to school. Let’s go to a hotel. Du Heming, hotel. I want to drink—hard liquor. Join me, okay?

After taking a cab to the hotel, He Huan ordered what she considered hard liquor at the front desk—whiskey—and had it sent to their room.

She’d said Du Heming should join her, but she’d nearly finished the whole bottle alone.

Du Heming knew she was hurting and didn’t press.

When Du Heming felt down, she’d drown sorrows too—like last time when Lou Yixuan took her to Clear Bar.

The dim pendant lamp cast their shadows on the floor-to-ceiling window; one flickered, rising high then low, merging into He Huan’s.

Her unbound hair clung messily to her flushed face and neck, strands soaked sticky by liquor, half-obscuring her face. The visible eye was vacant, godless—like a withered poppy.

“Take a shower and sleep, okay?”

Like at the hot spring hotel, Du Heming knelt before her, coaxing softly. “Sleep early, so your head won’t hurt tomorrow.”

But He Huan sat like a puppet, unresponsive.

Her back to the AC vent, cold gusts blew, chilling Du Heming to a shiver. She couldn’t tell if it was the cool air or a tremor from her heart.

That shiver finally rippled He Huan’s eyes. Her hand flipped to grasp Du Heming’s, leaning in as if confirming her identity, drawing closer.

She stopped when their breaths mingled. Du Heming’s breathing steadied unevenly as she forced a smile.

“Seeing double? Am I blurry?”

She wiped the dried whiskey from He Huan’s chin, tone indulgent. “You call me and Lou Lou kids, but you’re the one spilling like a child, clothes all wet. You shower first. I’ll have the clothes washed and dried…”

The “dry” stuck in her teeth as He Huan cupped her nape and kissed her down.

Followed by: “Let’s sleep together.”

Du Heming’s pupils shrank.

From He Huan’s brazen line, and from how forcefully she kissed—like sucking the flesh from her lips—teeth biting down too.

In their two previous makeouts, He Huan had been clumsy at technique, always led by Du Heming.

Those sessions, totaling over thirty minutes of kissing lessons, had built seven or eight parts harmony—from compliance to reciprocation.

But tonight, no trace of their usual rapport. Du Heming couldn’t even be sure if the one He Huan wanted to kiss, to “do,” was her—or Hengyuan TV’s viral star host, Ming You.

She could be a convenient stand-in, but not a substitute.

Yet as she moved to push He Huan away, she felt a handful of tears, soon tasting their salt in her mouth.

He Huan was crying.

Who was He Huan crying for?

Du Heming’s hands hovered tentatively at the sides of He Huan’s face. She couldn’t wipe away her tears, nor could she muster another word of concern or comfort.

As if sensing her distraction, He Huan sucked on her tongue even more fiercely, with the suction of an octopus tentacle. The dull clack of their teeth colliding vanished into the remorseful moans deep in her throat.

What had once been a tender exploration turned into brutal conquest. He Huan’s tongue tip traced erratic parabolas across Du Heming’s upper palate, seizing her retreating tongue root with even greater force.

It was as if—as if He Huan wanted to pour her entire being into Du Heming’s body.

Such intense possessiveness. Such domineering possessiveness.

But who was it for?

Du Heming opened her mouth wide, wanting to shout, “He Huan, stop!” or “He Huan, do you even know who I am?” But all that escaped were muffled grunts.

Finally, when the phone’s ringtone shattered the moment and aggrieved tears began streaming down her face in big drops, the battle of lips and tongues came to an abrupt halt.

Du Heming shoved He Huan away. Her body jerked backward, her bluish carotid artery bulging beneath her skin.

And that deafening ringtone—each peal struck He Huan’s nerves like an alarm bell, making her temples throb and her head ache as if it might split open.

The restless winds of May, both cold and hot, stirred up humiliating memories she didn’t want to revisit. Sorrow mingled with mockery, lingering on that page she could never turn.

Her tumultuous thoughts soared to the clouds, drifted across a thousand miles with nowhere to land, then plummeted back to the dust.

Time faded the names and faces of some passersby in its irreversible march, while others were etched forever into the annals of her life.

Time waited for no one.

All those secret promises, all that unspoken love—once their expiration date passed, even if the story could continue, it would only recount the past.

The future Ming You had once promised her was eternally sealed away in that bygone era by the hands of time.

She only had the present.

And in her present, there was a Du Heming who liked her so very much—who liked her so, so much.

She wanted to love her properly, to have a real relationship with her. But what had she just done?

Gazing at Du Heming, who had struggled against her kiss, now slumped on the floor shedding aggrieved tears, He Huan felt shame, guilt, and regret crash over her. She stumbled into the bathroom.

Du Heming watched her go inside and felt a slight relief—at least she hadn’t fled the room.

She leaned against the bed’s edge, one leg stretched straight, the other bent. She stared at the whiskey bottle on the coffee table, more than half of which He Huan had drunk alone, while He Huan’s phone rang again and again.

She wasn’t sure how much time passed. No sound came from the glass door behind her, and the shower ran without stopping.

It went on so long that her butt went numb from sitting, and the numbness in her lips and tongue had eased. Du Heming rubbed her neck, patted her chest, and exhaled several pent-up breaths.

Propping herself up on the bed, she stood and glanced sidelong at the bathroom. The frosted glass was covered in steam; she couldn’t see a thing.

Realizing something was wrong, her heart lurched. She hurried over.

She knocked on the door. “Teacher He? Teacher He, are you still showering?”

No response from inside. But since He Huan had entered, she hadn’t heard any unusual thuds of a heavy fall, so she wasn’t worried about a slip.

“Teacher He, He Huan—He Huan, please answer me, okay?”

“I’m really worried about you. Are you alright?”

“If you don’t say something, I’m coming in.”

Du Heming anxiously called out many words at the door, knocking countless times, but she heard only the rush of water, no human voice.

With no choice, she pulled the door open without permission—and saw He Huan curled up with her knees hugged to her chest under the showerhead, huddled in the corner between the bathtub and the glass wall.

Her head buried, not a single piece of clothing removed.

In that instant, Du Heming felt her heart gripped by a giant hand, the pain stealing her breath.

“He Huan!”

She strode into the shower, shut off the water, and half-knelt to pull He Huan into her arms. “What are you doing? Why? Why torture yourself like this?”

The person in her embrace struggled briefly but failed to break free. Instead, she clutched at Du Heming’s clothes and burst into wrenching sobs.

“He Huan, He Huan,” Du Heming repeated her name over and over, kissing her forehead and soothing her through tears. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Just now, your kiss hurt a little, so I pushed you too hard. Did I hurt you…?”

The woman in her arms looked up at her, face drenched. Du Heming brushed the wet hair from her face with her hand, but He Huan seized both her wrists.

“I’ve been married to a man before. I’ve had an abortion once. A woman like me—she’s not clean, is she?”

“Du Heming, you think I’m dirty too, don’t you?”

“But I didn’t want that. I didn’t want any of it, not one bit…”

“Du Heming, are you going to leave me too?”

“It’s okay. I understand, really. You can say it. You can tell me…”