But she thought for a moment, and the quiet, orderly image in her mind was once again replaced by the memory of him arrogantly blocking her in the alley just a few days ago.
He Lizhen let out a soft sigh, fingers hovering over her notebook before she finally wrote the words “come on.”
I hope he can learn well, He Lizhen thought, a small tug at her chest reminding her of the responsibility she carried.
In a high school that never held classes or tutoring on weekends, both teachers and students longed to escape to the weekend early. He Lizhen happened to be the last class on Friday, and halfway through, she noticed the shifting restlessness of her students below.
A glance backward confirmed it: Wan Kun had already slipped away during class, leaving only Wu Yueming, head pressed against the desk, asleep since the lesson began.
He Lizhen calmly arranged homework and test papers, sent the weekly notes down the hall, and left school, her steps measured and deliberate.
Back in the office, Peng Qian was standing by the window, eyes fixed on the fading light outside.
“What are you looking at?” He Lizhen asked, curiosity threading her voice.
“Playing ball,” Peng Qian replied, lifting her chin casually.
He Lizhen leaned over, following the gaze, and caught sight of a figure leaping, shooting—a boy whose movements she recognized instantly as Wan Kun.
It was half past five; the sky had begun to darken.
The weather today was mercurial, gusts of wind stirring gray and yellow dust across the playground, thickening the air. Wan Kun played alone, the court empty except for his solitary silhouette.
Peng Qian chuckled suddenly. “Just look at him—skipping class so boldly, it’s almost admirable.”
He Lizhen blinked, grounding herself back in the present. Peng Qian had already packed up, ready to leave.
“Can you leave?”
“Ah…” He Lizhen stammered, hesitant. “I’ll… wait a little longer.”
“Then I’ll leave first,” Peng Qian said, giving a small shrug before walking out.
Alone, He Lizhen moved to pack her things. As she passed the window, she glanced out again. Wan Kun seemed weary, cradling the ball in his hand, standing still to rest. The wind tangled in his messy hair.
Suddenly, he turned his head.
He Lizhen instinctively stepped back—and then realized he wasn’t looking toward the teaching building at all, but toward the playground entrance. Moments later, another figure approached: Wu Yueming.
A few meters apart, Wan Kun tossed the ball. Wu Yueming caught it, and together they walked toward the bleachers.
He Lizhen turned away, slinging her bag over her shoulder, and left the scene.
On the bleachers, the two boys brushed off dust with their feet before sitting on the concrete steps. Wu Yueming handed something to Wan Kun.
“What?” Wan Kun asked, brow furrowed.
“Your weekly diary,” Wu Yueming said. “I brought it back for you.”
Wan Kun flipped the first page—it was completely blank. But on the back of the first page, delicate handwriting caught his eye.
ๅ ๆฒน.
The strokes were neat and refined, sharp yet elegant—just like her.
He stared for a moment, then a laugh burst from him, sharp and unrestrained, nearly choking him. Wu Yueming couldn’t hold it either, and the two doubled over, laughter spilling out in waves.
“This… this teacher,” Wu Yueming gasped between laughs, clutching his stomach. “Where did she come from? I need a smoke to calm down.”
Wan Kun fished a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and tossed it to him. Wu Yueming caught one and lit it, still chuckling.
“You really think she can’t say anything?” Wu Yueming asked once he caught his breath.
“Don’t know,” Wan Kun replied, deadpan.
“Actually, you know,” Wu Yueming leaned closer, smoke curling between them, nudging Wan Kun’s ribs, his voice low. “No matter the age, if you want a woman to behave… there’s only one way.”
Wan Kun gave him a sidelong glance, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. Wu Yueming raised one finger toward the sky, enigmatic, and Wan Kun summarized concisely with a single word:
Go.
Wu Yueming laughed again, head thrown back, eyes sparkling with mischief.
The weekend arrived, and for once, He Lizhen enjoyed a rare moment of calm. Tidying her apartment and wandering outside, she discovered a flower-and-fish market nearby. She spent hours there before buying a fat, red-and-white goldfish. She set up a small tank with water plants on her desk. The fish floated lazily, almost mocking her care, unwilling to move more than necessary.
Monday came. Wan Kun didn’t show up, but Wu Yueming did. That evening, He Lizhen met him at the office doorway.
“You here? Looking for Teacher Hu?” she asked.
“No,” he shook his head. “I’m looking for you, Teacher He.”
“Me? Why?”
Wu Yueming’s expression darkened. “Please, I need your help.”
“With what?”
He pulled a phone from his pocket. “I got a call from a waiter. Wan Kun drank too much—he’s lying in the restaurant, won’t wake up.”
“What?”
“He usually lives alone. When I got the call, everyone else had gone home. I can’t manage him alone.”
He Lizhen quickly searched her contacts. “I can… call Teacher Hu, he just left—”
“No,” Wu Yueming interrupted, gripping her bag. “If you involve him, I might as well go myself.”
“Why not Hu? He’s your homeroom teacher.”
“Wan Kun would kill me,” Wu Yueming muttered, shrugging. “I’ll go myself.” He added quietly, “And you wrote ‘good luck’ in his diary.”
He Lizhen stiffened, an unbidden pang tightening her chest. Her concern, visible to others, suddenly felt trivial, almost ridiculous.
“Where is he?” she asked.
Not far from the school, at a street corner with a spicy hotpot and skewer stall, Wan Kun lay among empty bottles. The scene, combined with his clothing, struck her strangely—like a memory replayed from that alley night.
“Wan Kun!” Wu Yueming shook him gently, startling him. Empty bottles clinked against the table. Wan Kun didn’t stir.
“Are you here to take him?” a waiter asked.
“Yes,” Wu Yueming said.
After paying, He Lizhen bent over him. Heat radiated from his sweat-dampened skin; even the thin layer of sweat on his exposed arm left a slightly sticky impression when she touched him.
Together, they guided him into a taxi.
“Where to?” Wu Yueming asked.
“He can’t stay outside,” He Lizhen said firmly. “My apartment is close. I’ll contact his parents tomorrow.”
In the backseat, Wan Kun leaned back, eyes closed, body limp, only his Adam’s apple moving as he swallowed. The alcohol smell was strong. He Lizhen rolled down the window, letting the wind brush across him and dry the sweat on her cheeks. Neon lights flickered past, casting jagged shadows, while she sat silently, the weight of responsibility and something indefinably intimate pressing close.
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