Chapter 6: Under The Streetlight

                             

The bell rang after class. He Lizhen felt a swirl of emotions, but she did not linger on them. She finished the lecture smoothly, ignoring the students’ eyes, said a word, and left with her book in her arms.

Back in the office, the room was empty. He Lizhen set the book on her desk and, before she could sit, logged onto the school intranet to check student records.

"Password..." she muttered, frowning. "What is the password..."

Peng Qian entered, smiling at He Lizhen, who was perched over the computer like a statue. "What are you doing standing? The stool’s right there. Trying to lose weight?"

He Lizhen startled, turned, and asked, "Peng Qian, do you know the login password for our academic intranet?"

"Academic intranet?" Peng Qian looked skeptical. "I think it’s the last six digits of the ID card. But nobody has used that thing in ages—800 years maybe, made for inspections from above. Why are you even logging in?"

He Lizhen waved a hand. "Nothing, just wanted to try."

Following the student number, she quickly found Wan Kun.

The boy in the photo, seated against a red backdrop, looked stiff and expressionless, hair slightly askew. It was a photo from two years ago; he had since taken a year off and repeated a grade. The boy in the picture seemed so much younger.

By enrollment year, he should have graduated two years ago.

He Lizhen scanned his records. Poor results. Almost everything failed—except physical education. She closed the webpage.

Ever since seeing Wan Kun, she had been restless, unable to focus all afternoon. Evening arrived, and after organizing materials for the next day, she walked out, noticing the deserted school gate.

She walked down the road, phone in hand, debating whether to call Hu Fei.

Then, a voice behind her:

"Hey."

He Lizhen ignored it and turned into an alley. The footsteps grew closer, and suddenly, her arm was grabbed.

Startled, she opened her mouth to shout.

"What are you—didn’t you hear?"

The voice felt familiar. She looked up into the shadowed alley, lit faintly by a streetlamp. Wan Kun stepped before her, blocking the light behind him.

Cars passed, headlights tracing arcs across his back, then fading.

He Lizhen freed her arm and faced him. "What are you doing?"

Against the light, his face was shadowed, hair falling over his brows. Only the firm hand gripping her arm was clear.

A strange tension ran through her.

"Let go," she said.

He released her, hands slipping into his pockets, standing straight to look at her.

"You remember me, right?" Wan Kun said.

Though a question, his tone carried certainty.

"I never imagined—you’re my teacher."

Her hands gripped her backpack straps tighter. "What do you want?"

He bent slightly, voice low and teasing, close enough that she felt the cool dew of early autumn on her skin. "Don’t talk about this at school, understand?"

She pursed her lips. "Is that how you speak to a teacher?"

He looked at her without concern.

She tightened her gaze. "I didn’t know the situation before, but now I do. This cannot be ignored."

Wan Kun tilted his head.

"Places like that—you cannot go there again," she said. Seeing no reaction, she added, "Does your family know you work in that kind of nightclub?"

He chuckled lightly, still silent.

Her back was damp with a thin layer of sweat, partly from the fleeting, wordless encounter earlier, partly from his towering presence—182? 185? In that moment, she almost had to tilt her head to meet his eyes.

She kept her thoughts hidden, saying coolly, "Those places aren’t for students. If I find out you go again, I’ll have to tell Hu—"

Her words were cut short as his hand rested on her shoulder. She jumped back, heart racing.

"What are you doing?!"

She was small, and against him felt powerless. He stepped forward; she instinctively stepped back.

Leaning down, he murmured, "Why so many words all of a sudden? Weren’t you embarrassed that day?"

Her mind erupted; she hoped the night could hide her flushed cheeks.

"You—"

He straightened. "Enough. I heard you. Remember, don’t speak about this at school."

He turned and walked away. She wanted to call out more, but his retreating figure blocked her voice. He raised a hand lazily in the air. "Teacher, goodbye—"

Only when he disappeared from the alley did she exhale, dizzy and bewildered.

This was their first conversation—not really, yet entirely so.

He moved with such ease; she felt undone.

Elsewhere, Wan Kun exited the alley, rounding the corner to an internet café called “Xiao De,” its entrance flickering weakly.

Inside, Wu Yueming and several boys were engrossed in a game. Wan Kun tapped Wu Yueming on the shoulder and left. Wu Yueming handed his console to another boy, following him out.

Outside, Wan Kun leaned against the broken lightbox, lighting a cigarette. Wu Yueming asked, "So? How did it go?"

Wan Kun brought the cigarette to his lips, lit it, and murmured, "What do you mean?"

"You ran into her, right? What did she say?"

"Don’t know," he said, exhaling.

"Don’t know?"

"Hmm."

"Will she tell anyone?"

"Don’t know."

"Nothing? Didn’t you try asking?"

"Too lazy."

He shrugged, loosened two buttons. "Forget it, another day."

Wu Yueming sighed, lighting a cigarette. "No clue when we’ll get back to work."

Leaning on the lightbox, Wan Kun flicked ash. "You said you didn’t want to work, wanted to relax at school?"

"One day back and it’s boring. Work is tiring, but money’s money."

"The manager said the crackdown is strict. Can’t keep many in the shop. They’ll notify us later."

---

The next day, He Lizhen entered the office to find Liu Ying dropping a stack of notebooks in front of her.

"What’s this for?"

Sweating, Liu Ying said, "I went to a city meeting yesterday. This is the result."

He Lizhen flipped through the empty notebook. Liu Ying continued, "Two senior high students in City A recently jumped from a building due to pressure. They discussed ways to communicate better with students, relieve stress. So—weekly diaries."

Still confused, she asked, "Then what am I supposed to do?"

Liu Ying smiled, patting her shoulder. "Teacher Hu handles the class, too much on him. You just focus. New leadership likes noise."

When the news reached the class, groans filled the room.

"Still writing weekly diaries at your age—"

"Do we have to next semester too?"

He Lizhen allowed it. "No word count. No content limit. Write what you want."

Laughter followed when one student shouted about writing just a sentence. She smiled. "At least four or five sentences."

Handing notebooks down, she interacted with students one by one. Her gaze met Wan Kun in the back row; he looked calmly, unflinching.

Class began. For the next week, Wan Kun attended every day.

On Friday, Hu Fei held tea with other female teachers. "Being honest for days isn’t a good sign," he remarked.

Peng Qian replied, "Some trouble’s okay. None at all isn’t either. Teacher Hu, you’re hard to please."

He Lizhen graded the diaries. Over thirty submitted; only six exceeded fifty characters. One surpassed a hundred—Wu Wei, meticulous and serious, even in a chaotic class. She encouraged him with hundreds of words.

She then saw Wan Kun’s and Wu Yueming’s diaries. Wu Yueming’s had a giant smiley on the first page. She scribbled: “Nice drawing, text next time.”

Wan Kun? His diary was blank. She flipped it repeatedly, no marks.

Hu Fei and Peng Qian discussed “graduation plans” for him, meaning early school exit. She understood well.

He Lizhen lowered her gaze, stunned as conversations of other teachers filled her ears. The blank page became a vivid picture: Wan Kun, crouched under the cafeteria light, smoking into the dark night.

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