The distance was short; after a few turns through dimly lit streets, the car arrived in seven or eight minutes. He Lizhen's apartment complex couldn't be entered by car, so she had to park at the entrance. She paid the fare and helped Wan Kun out of the car, his weight immediately pressing against her.
"Get out..."
He Lizhen was petite, and Wan Kun was so drunk; it took a lot of effort to steady him, her muscles straining under his bulk. "Wan Kun, don't sleep!" He Lizhen said, supporting him as she walked towards home, each step a struggle.
Wan Kun had drunk a lot and was swaying unsteadily. He Lizhen felt like she was dragging a bear, incredibly difficult—dead weight that threatened to topple them both.
This bear was also very irritable. Because he was so heavy, He Lizhen hadn't been able to hold him properly at first; he swayed as he got out of the car and then grabbed He Lizhen's shoulder with sudden force. Wan Kun's hands were large, and he gripped He Lizhen's entire shoulder, his fingers digging in. He opened his mouth, somewhat irritably, and said with slurred aggression:
"Walk steadily!"
He Lizhen was startled by his shout, his breath reeking of alcohol washing over her neck. She wanted to criticize him, but felt it was pointless to argue with a drunkard, so she frowned and dragged him home with grim determination.
Aunt Zhang was washing vegetables at the door when she saw He Lizhen helping a man back. She didn't say anything, but couldn't help secretly glancing at him, curiosity bright in her eyes. He Lizhen noticed and blushed slightly, quickly explaining with unnecessary detail:
"This is a student. He drank too much and I couldn't contact his parents, so I brought him home because I was worried something might happen."
Aunt Zhang smiled quickly, knowingly. "Oh, I see."
He Lizhen suddenly regretted her explanation, looking at Aunt Zhang's expression, thinking it would have been better not to explain at all. The words hung in the air like an accusation.
She quickly got Wan Kun into the house and closed the door, shutting out Aunt Zhang's knowing gaze. He Lizhen had him sit on the single sofa and went to the refrigerator to get a bottle of yogurt.
"Wan Kun, Wan Kun?"
He Lizhen brought the yogurt over and inserted the straw with careful precision. "Drink some yogurt to sober up, hey!"
Wan Kun was slumped on the sofa, completely drunk, his body boneless. He Lizhen called him for a while, but he didn't move, so she raised her voice a little, frustration creeping in.
"Wake up, don't sleep."
He Lizhen pushed him, and Wan Kun frowned impatiently, shaking her arm with surprising force. He Lizhen hurriedly dodged. He then turned to lie on the other side, dismissing her entirely.
"You—"
He Lizhen had no choice but to put the yogurt aside. She hadn't eaten dinner yet, and now that she was finally free, her stomach was growling with hunger that gnawed at her.
He Lizhen went to the kitchen counter and cooked a bowl of noodles.
This was a small apartment; the living room and kitchen were combined, and the sofa was placed next to the counter in the cramped space. He Lizhen stared blankly at the water boiling in the pot, bubbles rising and breaking. When she came to her senses, she glanced around casually and was surprised to find that Wan Kun had woken up sometime earlier, his elbows propped on his legs, bent over, and looking down at the ground. He held the yogurt carton lightly between three fingers, dangling it in front of him like a forgotten thing.
He Lizhen looked at him. "You're awake?"
Wan Kun didn't answer. He Lizhen said, "Did you drink the yogurt?"
Wan Kun slowly raised his head, his face still stiff from the alcohol, his eyes bloodshot and unfocused. He flipped the yogurt carton over with his long, thick fingers and shook it. The yogurt carton was like a toy in his hands, small and insignificant.
Seeing him like this, He Lizhen couldn't help but say, "Why are you drinking alone so late? Where's your family?"
Wan Kun didn't speak, putting the yogurt container aside, his gaze seemingly fixed on something else—or nothing at all—sitting quietly in the small space.
He Lizhen turned around, picked up her backpack, and said, "I'm going to call Teacher Hu."
She walked to the table, still scrolling through her contacts on her phone, when her wrist was grabbed—sudden and firm.
Wan Kun was tall, and especially in this small room, with only the two of them, He Lizhen looked exceptionally small, vulnerable.
"Don't look for him..."
Wan Kun finally spoke, his voice low and deep, resonating. He Lizhen could almost feel the vibration of his chest as he spoke. The warm breath, carrying the smell of alcohol, fell on He Lizhen's head, making her neck break out in goosebumps. She took a step forward, twisting her wrist, but couldn't break free from his grip.
"Let go," He Lizhen said.
Wan Kun not only didn't let go, but with a forceful movement, he turned He Lizhen around, making her stand face to face with him, trapped between his body and the counter.
He Lizhen was a little angry, fear beginning to creep in beneath it.
"I told you to let go!"
Wan Kun's eyes were half-open, staring at He Lizhen through her stray hairs. Suddenly, a wicked smile appeared on his lips, dangerous and unreadable. He tightened his grip, and He Lizhen felt a sharp pain in her wrist. She winced, doubled over in pain. Before she could bend over, Wan Kun pushed her to the kitchen counter and kissed her.
He Lizhen finally realized what he was doing. Suddenly, a surge of strength welled up inside her—pure adrenaline and rage—and she shoved Wan Kun hard. Caught off guard, he was pushed away, stumbling. He Lizhen then grabbed the pot of noodles still cooking on the stove and swung it at Wan Kun—
He instinctively turned to dodge, but couldn't. A pot of freshly cooked noodles landed on Wan Kun's back with a wet slap.
Wan Kun could endure it. He frowned, gritted his teeth, and remained silent—though his body went rigid with pain.
"Get out."
He Lizhen hadn't let go of the pot yet, her knuckles white. Her other finger pointed to the door, trembling slightly. Her voice wasn't loud, but it was unusually cold and firm, each word a blade. "Get out."
Wan Kun stood there, slowly turning his head to look at He Lizhen.
His head was slightly lowered, his hair falling down to obscure his eyes and brows, his lips tightly pressed together, making his expression unreadable—a mask of shadow.
However, He Lizhen could tell that he was truly sober now, the alcohol burned away by scalding water and shame.
"Teacher Hu is right," He Lizhen said, her voice shaking despite her effort to control it, "You really are a beast."
Wan Kun didn't reply to this, but just stood there and laughed. At first, it was just a soft chuckle, but then it turned into a wide, loud laugh that filled the small space with something bitter and self-mocking.
He Lizhen watched him cautiously from the side, uncertain.
Wan Kun finished laughing, took a breath, raised his hand, casually brushed the hair from his forehead back, and then faced He Lizhen directly—no more hiding.
This was the first time He Lizhen had seen Wan Kun's face so clearly and so closely.
Because of the drunkenness, exhaustion, and the pain from that pot of noodles, Wan Kun's eyes were dark, as if sunken in. His eyes were bloodshot, and his gaze was dangerous, predatory. But the corner of his mouth was slightly upturned, looking at He Lizhen as if he were smiling—though nothing about it was pleasant.
His nonchalant appearance was exactly the same as that night, when everything had started going wrong.
Wan Kun looked at He Lizhen, a slightly roguish smile on his face, and said, "...Is that so?"
His tone was flat, making it impossible to tell whether he was acknowledging or denying Hu Fei's assessment—whether he accepted the label or rejected it entirely.
He Lizhen's heart pounded, blood rushing in her ears.
She was the one who had lost her temper, and Wan Kun was the one who had made a mistake. But now, He Lizhen felt as if she were the one at a disadvantage, exposed. Wan Kun stood before her, openly scrutinizing her with eyes that saw too much.
A strong wind blew outside, rustling the leaves violently. Someone shouted, "It's raining!" Immediately following was the sound of raindrops pattering against windows and pavement. He Lizhen lived on the first floor, and the sound of raindrops hitting the doorframe was particularly clear, insistent.
"Teacher..." Wan Kun suddenly said.
A little soup remained in the pot in He Lizhen's hand, dripping slowly from the rim onto the floor—tap, tap, tap. He Lizhen tried her best to maintain a cold and calm tone, though her voice betrayed her. "You still remember I'm your teacher."
Wan Kun lowered his head, then suddenly raised it again, chuckled, and said, "Thank you for the yogurt."
He Lizhen narrowed her eyes, suspicious of the sudden courtesy.
"I'm leaving."
He Lizhen was startled; Wan Kun had already turned around with surprising decisiveness. As soon as he turned, He Lizhen saw that his back was wet, with a few strands of noodles stuck to it like evidence. Looking up, she noticed a red patch on his neck, angry and inflamed.
It was from the hot water she had just boiled.
Wan Kun opened the door, and the wind and rain blew in all at once, cold and wild. Wan Kun squinted against the onslaught and was about to leave.
"Wait!" He Lizhen called after him, the word escaping before she could stop it.
Wan Kun stood in the doorway and turned to look at her. He Lizhen met his gaze, silently turned away, went inside, and came out a moment later with an umbrella in her hand.
She tossed the umbrella to Wan Kun, who caught it in mid-air with casual grace; it was a pink folding umbrella, absurdly delicate in his large hands.
Wan Kun glanced at the umbrella, turned to He Lizhen, and lazily said, "Goodbye, teacher."
He opened the umbrella and stepped into the rain. He Lizhen closed the door, turned around, and saw his fleeting figure through the gap in the curtains. The rain had just started, and it was pouring down with a strong wind. The umbrella swayed wildly in the wind like a living thing. After pulling it a few times, Wan Kun simply closed it up, held it in his hand, and left, getting soaked in the rain—choosing punishment over shelter.
Long after his figure disappeared into the darkness, He Lizhen turned around, silently swept away the noodles on the floor, and then wiped the floor again. While she was working, she stopped several times, her hands going still, but her gaze couldn't find a place to settle. Occasionally, she would see the goldfish on the table, slowly swaying their tails and blowing bubbles—oblivious, innocent.
It wasn't very late when Wan Kun left, but because of the rain, the sky seemed dark and gloomy, oppressive. He waited for a long time by the roadside in the rain before finally hailing a taxi.
His place was about a 20-minute drive from the school. After getting in, the driver told him not to lean back, but Wan Kun ignored him and huddled in the back seat, his wet clothes soaking the upholstery. The driver seemed a little annoyed; they exchanged a glance in the rearview mirror, then the driver turned away without saying a word, writing him off.
Wan Kun's back ached, burning, but he didn't care. He looked out the window at the rain, which had washed the sky into a misty haze—everything blurred and indistinct.
He lived in a shared apartment in a residential complex, on the 21st floor, the top floor. Two more floors were partitioned off, creating six rooms in total, housing ten people in cramped quarters. Wan Kun lived in a single room, next to Wu Yueming.
These shared apartments all shared a toilet. When Wan Kun returned, Wu Yueming had just finished showering and was drying his hair in slippers. His eyes nearly popped out of his head when he saw Wan Kun enter, soaking wet and disheveled.
"Wan—" Wu Yueming uttered, then fell silent, reading the situation.
Wu Yueming and Wan Kun had known each other for a long time and had a tacit understanding born of necessity. Wu Yueming could tell from just one glance that Wan Kun was in a bad mood—dangerous, volatile. Wu Yueming didn't say much, watching Wan Kun come up the stairs, pass him without acknowledgment, and go into the bathroom.
Wu Yueming pursed his lips behind him and went back to his room, knowing better than to ask.
Wan Kun stood in front of the sink, looking up at himself in the mirror. He was soaking wet, his clothes clinging tightly to his body, revealing every line. Wan Kun took a half step back, grabbed his clothes, and pulled them off in one swift motion, the fabric peeling away from burned skin.
Enduring the pain in his back—sharp and insistent—he crumpled the clothes into a ball. The washing machine next to him was running; he didn't know whose clothes it was washing. Wan Kun lifted the lid, threw the clothes he was holding in forcefully, and turned to leave, letting someone else's cycle wash away his mistakes.
When He Lizhen arrived at work, there was a heated discussion in the office, voices overlapping. She walked over, and Peng Qian greeted her with characteristic cheerfulness:
"Come, Teacher He, the new documents have arrived."
"What documents?"
"For teaching research and trial classes," Peng Qian said. "Next week, I'll show you what the Chinese language group is doing—" Peng Qian flipped through a few pages and said, "Here it is, oh, we're going to a school."
He Lizhen put down her bag and went over to look.
"Which school?"
"Yuying."
"Yuying Middle School?" He Lizhen said, "Isn't that very close?"
Yuying Middle School and Yangcheng No. 2 Middle School are actually only two streets apart, but this school is remarkable. A few years ago, they changed principals, and their academic performance improved dramatically. Last year, they even produced a provincial top scorer in the college entrance examination—a minor miracle.
"Which day?"
"Wednesday and Thursday."
He Lizhen nodded and said, "Let's hear how they teach."
Peng Qian smiled and said knowingly, "Listening won't help, the students are there."
He Lizhen held the paper in her hand and hesitated, saying, "Actually—" He Lizhen was about to speak when Liu Ying entered the room.
"Teacher He, did you see the message?"
"Ah, I saw it. We're going to Yuying for a trial Chinese class on Wednesday and Thursday."
"Hmm."
Peng Qian didn't ask any more questions, and He Lizhen stopped talking, the moment passing.
She had originally wanted to say that not all children who don't do well in school will be unsuccessful in the future—that grades weren't everything.
But then she thought, she's a teacher now, so of course she should focus on the students' grades. That was her job, after all.
Before class, He Lizhen paused at the classroom door for a moment. She forced herself to forget what happened that night—to compartmentalize, to be professional.
Wan Kun and Wu Yueming both came to school, but Wan Kun had been slumped over his desk ever since He Lizhen entered the room, his back to the world. He Lizhen glanced at him, then opened the attendance book and began calling roll with mechanical precision.
When she called Wan Kun's name, he didn't answer.
He Lizhen, as if challenging someone—perhaps herself—raised her head, looked at the figure slumped over the desk, and called his name again, louder this time.
Wan Kun still didn't answer. Wu Yueming, standing next to her, raised his hand and said to He Lizhen indifferently, covering for his friend:
"Teacher, he's sick."
The words hung in the air. He Lizhen's pen hovered over the attendance book. She marked him present, then continued down the list, her voice steady despite the storm inside her.
Outside, the rain had stopped, but the sky remained gray—waiting.
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