Chapter 97

When the door was knocked, He Huan sat on the edge of the bed, lost in thought as she gazed at the painting propped atop the bookshelf.

Ripples danced across the lake surface, and within those rippling waves lurked indistinct shadows of black and white, impossible to separate.

Hearing the sound, she rose to open the door.

She hadn’t expected the person outside to be Du Heming, nor had she anticipated that Du Heming would slip inside and pull her into a tight embrace: “Teacher He.”

The open door was kicked shut by Du Heming’s foot.

He Huan’s body stiffened for only a moment before softening. Her right hand clutched at Du Heming’s clothes as she asked muffledly, “Why’d you come so suddenly?”

“Because I missed you.”

Du Heming nuzzled against her cheek. “Sorry, I forgot to tell you—I’m really happy.”

“You asked me to watch a movie, and it made me so happy. I wanted to say that to your face, so I came to find you. And it’s been days since I hugged you. I wonder if you’ve missed me.”

He Huan didn’t voice the words I missed you too, but the way her other hand lifted to tightly return the embrace spoke for her.

This was the uniquely warm and soft embrace of a woman.

It was also the embrace she craved, yearned for, and depended on.

Even amid thick fog, even with an unclear path ahead, in this embrace, she felt no confusion.

She knew which direction to go, knew what she was moving forward for.

“Do you feel it?”

“What?”

“My passion.”

Du Heming deliberately brushed her nose against He Huan’s earlobe. “And my breath, my heartbeat, my body heat.”

Love had countless ways to be expressed.

Every one Du Heming named was hers.

The tingling itch in her ear and the sweet, cloying whispers by her side went straight to He Huan’s heart. Unable to bear it, she turned her face away slightly, only to offer even more flushed skin to Du Heming’s lips.

“He Huan,” her lips brushed against He Huan’s neck, “I want a kiss from you. Is that okay?”

The one being asked trembled involuntarily, her breath falling into disarray.

Their few kisses had all happened at night, in moments of emotional turmoil.

To be asked so bluntly and eagerly in broad daylight—Can we kiss?—left her truly at a loss.

Not because of day or night, but…

Last weekend, her father’s hospitalization was real, but so was him using his illness to make her meet the blind date she’d postponed during Spring Festival at the hospital.

So that Saturday night, despite her father still under observation, she waited until late when he fell asleep and returned to school to see Du Heming—instead of staying by his bedside or going home.

She felt deeply unhappy, full of grievances, but she couldn’t bring herself to argue with her father.

She’d said everything she could during Spring Festival.

But clearly, her father couldn’t understand why, having divorced so early with her best years ahead, she would declare at over thirty that she would never marry again.

Out of respect for her father’s dignity, she chatted amiably with the blind date about routine work topics.

He was her father’s friend’s nephew, an entrepreneur with his own company, divorced with a son who lived with the mother.

Before parting, he spoke to her privately: after divorce, he’d grown used to freedom, couldn’t handle coming home every day or reporting everything to a wife.

This time, he’d relented to his mother’s nagging and the elders’ face, agreeing to meet. Since neither wanted to remarry, they’d just put on a show to appease everyone.

It wasn’t the era of arranged marriages anymore. Meeting out of consideration for the elders’ good intentions—both being decent people—wouldn’t spark rumors of who looked down on whom or who wasn’t good enough.

They agreed on the line “incompatible interests, differing family values,” gave their elders an explanation, and that was the end of it.

Her father was angry at her perfunctory attitude and refused her calls for days.

He even said—Since you like living alone, then live alone. No need to come home every week to placate me. I know my body; I won’t die anytime soon. When the time comes for you to see me off, your brother and sister-in-law will notify you.

These past days, she’d felt crushed under mountains, exhausted and oppressed.

She didn’t know how to balance love and family. She feared that if her feelings for women were exposed, her father couldn’t handle the shock and his condition would worsen. She also feared that if she had to hide her love for women from her father for the rest of his life, Du Heming wouldn’t endure it.

Aside from marriage, her father had never overly controlled or restricted her choices or life.

There was no deep-seated hatred between her and her family—on the contrary, during her growth and her marriage’s collapse, they’d given her ample familial warmth and care.

When she proposed divorce, Jiang Bin refused outright and went to her family to ask her father and brother to mediate and reconcile, demanding an explanation.

When her father asked the reason, she could only say they were incompatible in personality and values, constantly arguing, leaving her sleepless night after night, every day under the same roof agonizing, even physiologically repulsed.

Just days after burying her mother, Jiang Bin, ignoring her grief, satisfied his physical desires by forcing her multiple times.

How could she develop feelings for a man with blood but no humanity?

Beneath his polished exterior lurked a beastly devil whose dark side—everyone has one—was hidden until living together revealed it.

In the early months of marriage, she tried, she worked at it, but Jiang Bin repeatedly crossed her boundaries, disregarding her will, making her feel she’d fallen into hell.

With his military background, Jiang Bin was strong and fit; she had no power to resist.

Fleeing home to seek solace from her friend Yan Ningxi, she stumbled upon her friend in the most intimate embrace with the girl she’d once admired.

This must be karma, she thought.

Karma for hurting Ming You, for deceiving her mother.

Unhappy and miserable, yet pretending bliss to fool her mother and Ming You.

How could she not face retribution?

A woman as vile as her deserved to taste every bitterness, to live in eternal solitude.

Believing her deception was the original sin—rushing into marriage without foundation, unable to endure a man and fulfill wifely duties—she swallowed the violence Jiang Bin inflicted while drunk.

Her divorce agreement demanded not a cent from him; she only wanted her freedom back, to return to being “He Huan” with her own earnings, not Jiang’s wife or Jiang Bin’s lady.

All the misery in that marriage was her own fault; she resented no one.

From start to finish, she only blamed and hated herself.

Watching her waste away, her brother and sister-in-law took turns urging Jiang Bin to agree to divorce, but he wouldn’t budge. Finally, after her father rebuked her with “You’re treating marriage like a game,” he intervened with Jiang Bin’s family.

Her father, then in a high position, called in a favor.

Soon after, Jiang Bin dropped his formerly doting facade, cursed her for ingratitude, and signed. She finalized the divorce as quickly as possible, cutting ties cleanly with the Jiang family.

That year, she felt boundless relief at reclaiming her freedom and new life. But two years later, when same-sex marriage was legalized, she only felt profound sorrow.

It was then she realized that divorce didn’t mean true freedom or rebirth.

Her heart had died the day she entered marriage, her will to live long gone.

Over a decade passed; it was Du Heming who revived her heart’s beat, who let her experience “love,” who made her no longer want to age alone, who showed her respect could surpass desire.

—I’m dying of bitterness here; sprinkle some sugar to sweeten me up.

—Save me, He Huan.

Who was saving whom? It was Du Heming saving her.

So she turned her head back, her feverish lips grazing Du Heming’s cheek to meet the other pair.

But before they could deepen into a tangle, her feet left the ground as Du Heming scooped her up princess-style.

“Du Heming!” He Huan gasped softly.

Her hands gripped Du Heming’s shoulders tightly, cheeks flushed like sunset clouds—this felt too embarrassing.

Du Heming gazed at her with a smile. “I’m not doing anything, just testing if I can carry you. You always worry you’re fat. See? Light as a swallow.”

“…” She wasn’t fat, but light as a swallow? Hardly.

Du Heming carried her to the bed and sat, positioning He Huan sideways across her lap. “I didn’t want you craning your neck—that’s tiring. Let me handle the hard part.”

They had a four-to-five-centimeter height difference.

Standing to kiss meant He Huan looked up, but in this lap-sitting pose, it was Du Heming’s turn.

“Teacher He, you don’t think I’m too greasy, do you?”

“What if I said… a little?”

“Ah, then what? Sweetened bitter melon doesn’t taste great to begin with; add oil, and it’s worse.”

He Huan let out a soft laugh.

Her arms around Du Heming’s neck stroked ambiguously, fingers threading up into her hair. “Not bad,” she said, before pressing her lips to hers again.

Du Heming’s lips were delicious.

…

After two evening study hall sessions, Lou Yixuan headed home first and retrieved three packages from the complex’s delivery lockers.

Under the pitch-black night with howling wind, she glanced left and right, afraid of being spotted.

The moment she entered, she tore into the packages.

Her panic and urgency? Because these were all things for bedroom use.

The first box contained: condoms, lube, love fluid, waterproof pads…

The second held a certain sucking toy.

Some items came from “consulting” Lu Lingxuan, others “learned” from Zhang Xiao’s fanfiction.

She had no hobby for web novels herself—only read some extremely explicit ones back then to study lovemaking theory.

Her age then matched Zhang Xiao’s now, so she wasn’t surprised at Zhang Xiao’s expertise in such intimate play. If you seek, the internet has it all.

As independent beings, one should embrace and enjoy an independent life, bravely acknowledge our innate desires—including sexual ones.

Not treat sex like a taboo.

Ideas were one thing; privacy still mattered.

The third package wasn’t a box but a plastic bag with two lace camisole dresses—one white, one pink—nightgowns.

When ordering days ago, she’d worried they’d just gather dust for her solo wear. But after napping in Lin Huayan’s dorm at noon, that worry vanished.

No worry left—she decided to buy more colors: black, red…

If Lin Huayan wanted to sleep in clothes, she’d wear the nightgowns Lou Yixuan bought.

She quickly placed another order from the same shop, then packed everything into a bag, hid it in the guest room closet.

Destroyed the labels, tossed them in the hallway trash.

When Lin Huayan got home, Lou Yixuan was showering in the master bath; nothing seemed amiss.

The pure white gardenias on the coffee table and roses on the dining table still bloomed vibrantly. She took them to the kitchen, changed the water, added nutrient solution—then heard Lou Yixuan emerge.

“Teacher Lin, you’re back.”

Lou Yixuan, towel-drying her hair, moved to hug her but was stopped by Lin Huayan’s hand. “Blow-dry your hair first. Hugs after I shower.”

“Oh,” she said, heading to the guest bath for the hairdryer.

Then poked her head out: “I’ve talked it over with Teacher Du. From now on, we’re barely-cooked friends—no unnecessary physical contact. What does Director Lin think of this solution?”

Before evening study hall, Du Heming had messaged back: [Lou Lou, for my love and yours, I’ll smile less at you, goof around less.]

—[Lou Yixuan: That little bitter melon finally gets it.]

—[Du Heming: Added sugar and even oil—I’m not bitter anymore.]

—[Lou Yixuan: A new dish developed by Teacher He?]

—[Du Heming: Yeah, what’s the big deal? You get to cook and deliver meals to Teacher Lin, but I can’t tinker around with Teacher He?]

—[Lou Yixuan: Fine, fine, go right ahead. I’ll back off.]

Lin Huayan walked to the door, her lips curving into a smile as she poked Lou Yixuan’s forehead and nudged her back into the bathroom. “Medium-rare is fine.”

“You’re so generous.”

Lou Yixuan, still facing the door, grinned foolishly at Lin Huayan. “But these days, I’m a woman with a home and a family. I have to watch my words and actions outside, exercise some self-restraint, so my girlfriend doesn’t feel insecure—and so I don’t stir up trouble in my friends’ relationships. Besides…”

She paused to think before adding, “I get the feeling Teacher Du and Teacher He have switched places. Teacher He’s acting a little insecure these days, while Teacher Du seems perfectly at ease—able to advance or retreat at will.”

Lin Huayan listened to this whole analysis, pondered for a moment, then said earnestly, “Yixuan, from now on, in front of Teacher Du and Teacher He, don’t bring up your senior sister anymore—that is, ‘Ming You.'”

“Ming You?” Lou Yixuan’s eyes suddenly widened in shock and confusion. “She…”

“She was a student Teacher He once taught. They—them from many years ago—went through something similar to us, back in the day.”

Lou Yixuan stood there stunned for a moment before murmuring, “Okay, I get it.”

That explains everything.

After blow-drying her hair and returning to the bedroom, Lou Yixuan lay on the bed scrolling through Ming You’s Weibo.

Her mind kept drifting back to Teacher Du’s birthday that night: Teacher He’s pale face when she returned from the bathroom, and the sight of Teacher Du, Teacher He, and Lin Huayan drowning their sorrows in drink.

By the time Lin Huayan finished her shower and tidied up, the woman on the bed appeared to have drifted off, half-propped on her stomach.

She picked up Lou Yixuan’s phone, set it on the nightstand, flicked on the bedside lamp, and switched off the overhead light.

Lifting one corner of the blanket revealed a sleek, naked little kitten inside.

Lin Huayan harbored no illusions about this. She stripped down of her own accord and slipped under the covers, leaving only her panties on—just like the kitten—to avoid any “punishment” from the little cat in the middle of the night. She’d had enough of that before.

She had barely settled in, pressing against the kitten’s back, when the kitten seized her hand and murmured, “Teacher Lin.”

“Not asleep yet?”

Lou Yixuan’s left ear was buried deep in the pillow; she could barely make out Lin Huayan’s voice, but she sensed the response.

Mustering her energy, she rolled over with effort.

She buried her face in Lin Huayan’s shoulder hollow. “Do you think I’ve finished eating all the bitterness of this love?”