Wan Kun and Wu Yueming?
These two names flashed instantly through He Lizhen’s mind. She tried to glance again at the student’s back, but a teacher behind her tapped her lightly.
“What are you doing? The team is dismissed.”
“Oh… oh.”
He Lizhen forced a smile and followed the crowd back into the teaching building.
Returning to the office, she flipped open her class schedule. She had a Chinese class with Grade 3, Class 6 this afternoon. She sat down to prepare, and just as the first class ended, Hu Fei — the head teacher of Class 6 — walked in with a stormy scowl.
Peng Qian raised her head from the mirror, watching him as if waiting for a good show.
“How is it, Teacher Hu? Completely defeated?”
Hu Fei waved his hand impatiently.
“Forget it. Don’t even bring it up. I truly don’t know why that student comes to school at all.”
He Lizhen looked up.
“Teacher Hu, what happened?”
Hu Fei sat, gulping water. Before he could speak, Peng Qian answered for him:
“Wan Kun and Wu Yueming came to school. You know that, right?”
He Lizhen’s heart sank.
So it really was them.
Seeing her expression, Peng Qian teased, “Don’t worry, you’ll see soon enough.”
Hu Fei slammed his water cup onto the desk. The two female teachers jumped.
“What are you doing, Teacher Hu?” Peng Qian complained. “No need to be so dramatic.”
Hu Fei jerked his chin toward the corridor.
“You can go take a look later.”
“A look at what?”
He raised his hand again, pointing outside.
“Look at the school gate.”
The senior high office faced south; its window overlooked the playground, and the corridor window gave a direct line of sight to the gate.
“What’s wrong with the gate?”
Curiosity tugging at her, He Lizhen stood up and walked out. Hu Fei grumbled behind her:
“Why else would they come? They dragged a bunch of street trash with them. Does the school have to mobilize the whole world every time they show up!?”
Ignoring his complaints, He Lizhen stepped into the corridor and peered out the window.
There were five or six boys gathered at the school gate. The distance was too far to see their faces clearly, but their posture told enough — not very old, hair dyed in messy colors, slouched like small-time street punks. A few leaned lazily on the gate, a few squatted, clearly waiting for someone. Yangcheng No. 2 Middle School had no gatekeepers, and the occasional drifter slipped onto campus without anyone bothering to care.
She returned to the office.
“Teacher Hu… who are those people?”
Still seething, Hu Fei didn’t respond. Peng Qian explained,
“They’re probably here to pick a fight. All second-rate street kids. They’ve clashed with Wan Kun before.”
Hu Fei let out a cold, biting laugh.
“ไธ็พคๅๅพไนๅญธไธไบๅฅฝไบ，ๆฉๆ้ฌงๅบๅคงไบไพ，ๅ
จ็ตฆไปๅๆ้ฒๅป！”
He Lizhen fell silent.
Being a teacher felt more and more precarious these days. The word “responsibility” weighed like stone — no matter whether it was a good school or a bad one, every teacher dreaded being held accountable for something going wrong. No wonder Hu Fei was furious. After all, he was the homeroom teacher; if trouble broke out, he would be the first one held responsible.
“It’ll probably be fine,” Peng Qian tried to soothe him. “They’ve caused scenes before, and nothing happened.”
Hu Fei snorted. The class bell rang. He grabbed his book and left for his lesson.
Peng Qian stuck her tongue out after he left.
“His temper just keeps getting worse.”
“You can’t blame him,” He Lizhen said softly.
Peng Qian studied her for a moment, then leaned closer, lowering her voice.
“I wasn’t just trying to comfort him. It really is nothing. I’ve actually seen them fight — and let me tell you, their level is not normal.”
She waited for He Lizhen to ask for details.
Instead, He Lizhen’s eyes widened.
“You saw? Why didn’t you stop them?”
“Please.”
Peng Qian rolled her eyes.
“Why would I butt into that kind of trouble?”
He Lizhen stared at her speechlessly, fingers unconsciously flipping through a student file.
“They’re just a bunch of hormone-drunk teenagers,” Peng Qian added. “Probably watched too many movies and came out looking for fights.”
“….”
Her eyes drifted to one line on the paperwork — then froze.
“Wan Kun… is twenty years old?”
“Yeah,” Peng Qian said. “He took a year off, then repeated a grade, and he started school late.”
She sighed. “Come to think of it, Class 6 must be pretty ‘mature,’ right? So many repeaters.”
“…”
He Lizhen put away the documents and picked up a book to read, though her mind wandered.
Two more classes to go. And then… she would finally meet the student who had become Hu Fei’s headache.
To be honest, she hadn’t thought much about Wan Kun at first. A high school boy, young and impulsive — some immaturity was normal, understandable even.
—
When the afternoon bell rang, she headed toward Class 6 just as it sounded.
Class 6 was at the end of the corridor.
The lower half of the walls was painted a dull green, scuffed with countless blackened footprints; the white upper half was stamped with the imprint of stray basketballs.
She heard the noise before she even reached the door of Class 5.
It was even livelier today than usual — so lively that she walked fully into the classroom before the noise died down.
Several boys crowded together in the back rows, talking loudly. The girls sat in clusters, passionately debating celebrities and makeup brands.
The moment she stepped into the room, her gaze was pulled — uncontrollably — to the last row.
Through the gap between two boys’ shoulders, she saw a flash of white…
A white shirt.
Because of his age, he was taller and broader than the others.
Wan Kun sat slightly sideways, saying something to the classmate beside him.
Then, suddenly — as if sensing something — he turned.
The boys in front of him were still fooling around, their swaying bodies alternately blocking and revealing his face. For a heartbeat, time felt suspended.
There he was.
Hands in his pockets.
Sunlight pouring through the half-open window, catching on the white fabric of his shirt, bright enough to glow.
The breeze pushed the worn curtain forward, its frayed edge brushing lightly along his jaw.
He didn’t move a muscle.
A memory stabbed through her — vivid, intrusive.
That last glance back.
A boy crouched outside the convenience store, white-burning lights overhead.
No wind that night.
The smoke rose straight up as he smoked, eyes quiet and unreadable.
Their gazes locked for only a few seconds before he lowered his eyes again.
He Lizhen forced herself to turn away, but the grip on the books in her arms only tightened. Her ears warmed, heat rising uncontrollably. By the time she reached the podium, she could barely lift her head.
The students were still noisy.
Wu Yueming finished chatting and nudged Wan Kun with a grin.
“Shall we go later? Don’t keep them waiting.”
Wan Kun didn’t answer.
He held a pen loosely between his fingers, tapping it lightly against the desk, lost in thought.
“Hey?” Wu Yueming bumped him. “What are you thinking about?”
Wan Kun pressed the pen tip to the desk, glanced sideways.
“What did you say?”
“I said we should go earlier. Cheng Yuan and his trash crew have been waiting since morning.”
Wan Kun finally smiled.
“What’s the rush? It’s too hot. We’ll deal with them tonight.”
“Fine. Let them bake a little.”
On the podium, He Lizhen clapped her hands — gently, too gently — and said,
“Quiet, everyone. Class is starting.”
Gradually, the room settled.
She scanned the class, deliberately skipping over the far corner. Then she lowered her head and opened the attendance list.
Most classes didn’t need daily roll call.
But Class 5 and Class 6 were different — too many habitual absentees.
She read each name.
When she got to Wu Yueming—
“Here!!”
A loud, booming voice exploded across the room.
He Lizhen looked up instinctively. A student she’d never seen before — tall, though thinner than the boy beside him — waved exaggeratedly, half in greeting, half in mischief.
“Teacher! First time seeing you!”
Laughter rippled through the room.
“Quiet,” she said, though her voice came out softer than she intended.
Only one name left.
Her heartbeat sped up for no reason at all.
“Wan Kun.”
“Here.”
His voice was nothing like a typical high schooler’s — low, flat, emotionless.
Exactly like the voice he used that night… when he sat beside her, leaned close, and asked if she wanted to sing.
Her ears burned again. Shame pricked at her skin like invisible needles.
She didn’t look at him — couldn’t look — and quickly turned toward the blackboard.
“Let’s begin. Open your books to…”
Behind her, the soft rustle of pages flipping filled the room.
Wan Kun lifted his gaze toward the slim figure on the podium.
She wore the same beige half-sleeved shirt as that night, the same plain linen trousers — nothing special, nothing flashy, but…
He flicked his pen onto the desk and abruptly stretched his long legs, kicking the table and chair far apart.
Wu Yueming leaned in.
“What’s wrong?”
Wan Kun didn’t look at him.
He stared out the window at the dusty playground, the sunlight too bright, forcing a faint frown onto his face.
Under his breath, almost inaudible, he muttered a curse:
“….”
Feeling uneasy, Wu Yueming tugged him again when He Lizhen lowered her head to speak.
“Hey. What’s up?”
Wan Kun finally turned.
“I’ve got something tonight.”
“What thing?”
He didn’t answer.
“Going after Cheng Yuan?”
Wan Kun frowned, impatience flickering across his face.
“These guys came as soon as they heard you were back,” Wu Yueming said. “If you want to settle it, we can just—”
“Mingzi.”
Wu Yueming froze.
“What happened?”
Wan Kun crook a finger. He leaned over.
Wan Kun whispered a few words.
“—What?”
Wu Yueming stared at him, eyes wide.
“Seriously?”
Wan Kun leaned back in his chair.
Wu Yueming glanced toward the podium — toward the woman teaching — his expression shifting into something strange.
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