When the dishes arrived, the waiter refilled the wine. Li Changjia poured himself a glass and stood.
The table went quiet.
"This..." He started to laugh before he could get a word out. "You're all teachers, but the moment I stand up, everyone goes silent and stares. I feel like a student again."
Laughter rippled around the table.
"We haven't eaten yet, so I'll be quick," Li Changjia said. "The reason I invited everyone today is simple: I want us to know each other. The paperwork is done, the procedures are settled, and classes start next week. We're from different schools, but from here on we're colleagues. I'll drink to that. I hope this cram school runs without a hitch."
He Lizhen thought it was no wonder his students loved his classes. His voice was warm, his pace unhurried. There was something deeply bookish about him, the kind that came not from performance but from years of living inside language.
The other teachers applauded and raised their glasses. Li Changjia drained his, then added: "Anyone who doesn't want wine, please switch to something else."
He Lizhen flinched. She'd been caught mid-reach for her glass. Li Changjia was looking right at her. She felt too embarrassed to swap now, so she poured herself half a glass instead.
Li Changjia glanced away. "No need to finish it," he said lightly. "Just drink what you want."
The moment he sat down, the teacher beside He Lizhen, Zhang Jing, tilted his head back and emptied his glass in one go. He Lizhen stared. Zhang Jing turned and said, straight-faced: "Thirsty. Don't laugh at me, Teacher He."
He Lizhen smiled weakly. "Not at all. You're welcome to my bottle too."
Once Li Changjia broke the ice, people relaxed into eating. He Lizhen slowly realized she had badly misjudged Zhang Jing. The three bottles on their end of the table, hers included, plus what the female teacher beside her had left untouched, all of it ended up in his stomach. And still Zhang Jing showed no signs of trouble. His cheeks flushed slightly, and he talked with undiminished energy.
"Old heart, never grew up," Zhang Jing said, opening another bottle. "I was ready to retire. But then what? Sit at home and stare at the ceiling? Too boring."
He Lizhen smiled. "You've given so many years to teaching. I think you'd miss it."
Zhang Jing just refilled his glass.
"You have an impressive capacity," He Lizhen said.
She glanced over at Li Changjia. Four or five empty bottles sat near him too. He Lizhen thought about this quietly. Chinese literati had always had a thing for wine. Li Bai. Su Shi. Tao Yuanming. Even Cao Cao. As a student she'd wondered whether wine opened something up in people, some vein of feeling they couldn't reach sober.
Zhang Jing drinking like this, though, it was different. Worlds away from the sixth-shift gathering she'd stumbled into once, where the drinking had no elegance at all, just volume.
She looked at Zhang Jing now, half his hair gone gray, completely at ease, and thought: maybe that was the difference. Literati drank with a kind of sentiment behind it. Something that made the drinking mean something.
That thought was her undoing.
She reached for a bottle, poured herself a glass, and raised it toward him. "Teacher Zhang. Let me drink to you."
"Of course, of course." Zhang Jing never refused. He tilted his head back and was done in an instant.
He Lizhen squeezed her eyes shut and took several large sips. The bitterness hit hard. But for that small scrap of sentiment, she pushed through, held her breath, and drank it dry.
"Well done," Zhang Jing said, impressed.
He Lizhen set down the glass. The wine did not settle. It rolled back up toward her throat. Her eyes stung, and something wet threatened to spill from her nose. She covered her mouth and coughed.
Zhang Jing watched her with mild concern. "I drank too fast," He Lizhen said first, waving her hand at him.
She was still trying to hold it together when Li Changjia appeared at her side, patted her on the back, and said: "Teacher He, are you alright?"
That pat finished her. Something lurched in her throat. She stood up fast, waved him off, and made for the door. A waiter appeared in the corridor. He Lizhen covered her mouth, unable to speak. The waiter took one look and pointed without missing a beat. "Turn left up ahead."
He Lizhen ran.
She pushed open the toilet stall, didn't even manage to lock the door, and got sick before she could try.
It felt like everything she'd eaten that day came up at once. Between heaves, she thought: finally a decent meal, and here we are.
When it was over, she stood at the basin, washed her hands, rinsed her mouth, and caught her breath. Then she walked out.
Li Changjia was waiting in the corridor.
She hadn't expected that. He looked genuinely worried. "How are you feeling?"
"Fine," He Lizhen said. She felt heat rise in her face. "I pushed myself."
"Did Teacher Zhang keep toasting you?"
"No, no." She shook her head quickly. "I toasted him. I wanted to try it. I didn't realize it would hit like that."
"How do you feel now?"
"Better."
They walked back together and passed a waiter in the hallway. Li Changjia stopped her. "Could you bring a bowl of warm wine dumplings to our table?"
"Of course."
He held the door open and said to He Lizhen, with a half-smile: "They help settle the stomach after vomiting. I've been there."
Then he went back to his seat and picked up a conversation as if nothing had happened.
When He Lizhen returned to the table, Zhang Jing was already apologizing.
"I'm sorry, I didn't realize you had such a low tolerance, Teacher He..."
"Don't worry," she said. "That was my fault entirely."
"I'll switch you to something else."
The wine dumplings arrived a few minutes later. The waiter asked who'd ordered them. Li Changjia looked up. "Hers," he said, gesturing toward He Lizhen.
Nobody at the table paid much attention. He Lizhen felt a small embarrassed warmth anyway.
The bowl was lovely. White soup, soft glutinous rice balls, a scatter of fragrant lees. She took a small sip. The sweetness was gentle and the warmth spread through her. Her stomach finally unclenched.
Once or twice she caught Li Changjia's eye across the table and nodded. He just smiled.
Later, as the dinner wound down, Li Changjia drifted over to her side of the table.
"These are one of my favorites," he said, nodding at the bowl. "I have a weak throat, always coughing. A warm bowl of these does wonders."
"It really does," He Lizhen agreed.
The dinner ended well. A few of the men were pleasantly drunk. Two of the female teachers left early. He Lizhen stayed until the end.
When the group finally broke apart outside, Li Changjia found her again. His cheeks carried a faint flush, and he looked content.
"Did you eat well, Teacher He?"
"I did, yes."
"Heading home? Tell me which direction and I'll get you a car."
"I want to walk for a bit first."
"Then wait for me." He was already moving toward the hotel entrance. "I can't drive tonight. I'll call a driver and walk with you for a while."
"You don't have to—"
"Go ahead," he called back, turning with a grin. "I'll catch up."
He was gone before she could answer. He Lizhen stood on the pavement, unsure whether to go or stay. She stayed.
When she looked around, she noticed Hu Fei hadn't left either. He was standing a short distance away, phone in hand, brow creased. As she watched, he lowered the phone and looked up and down the street.
He Lizhen walked over. "Teacher Hu. Still here? Are you looking for someone?"
Hu Fei startled. "Oh, Teacher He. Yes. We were waiting for you."
He Lizhen nodded and was about to step back when Hu Fei muttered under his breath: "Where has that Wan Kun gone to settle accounts..."
She stopped. "Wan Kun?"
"That kid called me," Hu Fei said. "Said he wants to take a leave of absence. I told him to come find me in person. That was half an hour ago."
Something went blank in He Lizhen's mind. "Leave of absence?"
"Yes." Hu Fei shook his head. "If he's going to drop out, just say drop out. Why call it a leave of absence."
"Did he say why?"
Hu Fei looked at her sideways. "No. That's why I told him to come. Why do you ask?"
He Lizhen caught herself. "No reason. I just—"
"Wan Kun——!" Hu Fei's voice cracked like a whip.
He Lizhen spun around. Across the road, walking toward them, was Wan Kun.
He had on the same clothes as yesterday. He looked wrecked. Not tired in the ordinary sense but gutted, like something behind his eyes had been scraped out. He crossed the road without looking, and a passing car only barely missed him. The driver leaned out the window. "Are you trying to get yourself killed!"
Wan Kun stopped in the middle of the road. He looked down at the ground. Then he walked to the curb, picked up half a brick lying there, and started toward the car without a word.
"What are you—what do you think you're doing?!" The driver was a man in his forties. A woman sat in the passenger seat, and when she saw someone marching at them like that, she panicked and started cursing. "Get away from us! You lunatic, get—"
The brick came down on the hood. The metal caved in with a heavy thud. Wan Kun stepped up onto the side panel, bent down, and looked through the window. Up close, his face was dark, jaw set, eyes red and flat.
He said, quietly and hoarsely: "Who exactly doesn't want to die?"
The woman's voice died in her throat. She grabbed the man's arm and shoved him. "Go. Drive. Just go, leave him alone—"
The man sat rigid with anger, staring at the figure outside the window. Wan Kun didn't move, didn't threaten, just waited. The man's jaw worked. He cursed twice, low and bitter, and drove away.
From start to finish, it hadn't taken thirty seconds. Neither Hu Fei nor He Lizhen had moved.
After the car disappeared, Hu Fei found his voice.
"Wan Kun. Get over here. Now."
Wan Kun turned. He saw He Lizhen standing beside Hu Fei. His expression, already dark, closed off completely.
By the time he reached them, Hu Fei had already started.
"What was that? What do you call that? You think you're a gangster? You call me up out of nowhere saying you want a leave of absence—what do you take school for? You think you can just walk in and out whenever you feel like it?"
Wan Kun's hands went into his pockets. His head dropped. The hair across his forehead fell forward and covered his eyes.
"Say something!" Hu Fei's breath was sharp with alcohol. "What happened?!"
A few passersby slowed to look. He Lizhen wanted to suggest moving somewhere less exposed, but Hu Fei was too far gone and there was no opening to cut in.
"Can you not even speak?!" Hu Fei's voice rose again.