Before Zhu Wenshu could even register what had just happened, the already rapidly scrolling comments doubled in speed.

Within seconds, what had been a screen full of “??????” turned into “AAAAAAAAAAAH!”

Like dense, swarming black dots, they refreshed endlessly, taking over the entire screen.

Shi Xue’er’s mouth hung half-open; it took her a good while before she managed to blurt out, “Holy crap.”

She sat bolt upright, eyes wide, staring at the screen.

In the livestream, Zhang Yuming realized he’d slipped up, but at his age, with the standing and reputation he had, he didn’t think much of it.

“What man doesn’t have a youthful crush,” he said with a chuckle. “Without a bit of heartbreak, a bit of unrequited longing, you can’t write songs worth anything.”

The livestream feed suddenly froze right there.

The whole room seemed to echo with those four words: “unrequited longing.”

Just as Shi Xue’er reached out to refresh the screen, a call from Zhu Qisen popped up.

“What do you want,” Shi Xue’er answered impatiently. “I’m watching a livestream!”

“What livestream could possibly be more important than me.” Zhu Qisen said in a syrupy tone. “Two whole days without seeing me. Did you miss me?”

“Behave yourself, Teacher Zhu’s right here… Are you done with work?”

Since she was in someone else’s home, Shi Xue’er didn’t feel comfortable saying anything too mushy.

After a brief chat with Zhu Qisen, she noticed Zhu Wenshu had her back turned, curled up under the blanket, so she said, “I’m not saying more, we’re about to sleep, hanging up.”

Then, covering her phone, she quietly whispered a “mwah” into it.

Setting down her phone, Shi Xue’er also burrowed under the covers.

“Teacher Zhu, going to sleep?”

The person beside her gave a muffled “Mm.”

“Good night.”

Shi Xue’er reached out and switched off the bedside lamp, but kept playing on her phone.

The room suddenly plunged into thick darkness. Zhu Wenshu lay with her eyes open, able to sense the glow from Shi Xue’er’s phone.

After a while, noticing Zhu Wenshu shift, Shi Xue’er quickly said, “Is my light disturbing you?”

“It’s fine.”

Zhu Wenshu turned over to face her, half her face buried in the blanket. After a long pause, she finally said, “That livestream you were just watching…”

Shi Xue’er had actually wanted to sleep early too, but tonight had been too eventful—first telling a friend in the same fan group that she’d run into one of Ling Chen’s haters, then excitedly discussing the livestream that had just happened, her fingers never stopping as she replied to messages. She only managed to spare a raised eyebrow.

“What about it?”

Zhu Wenshu found she couldn’t quite get the words out; it took her a long while to squeeze out a few.

“Is it true?”

“Huh?” Shi Xue’er didn’t follow. “What do you mean?”

“Just… what he said. Is it true? Ling Chen’s… first love.”

“Of course it’s true!”

Shi Xue’er’s voice trembled with excitement. “That whole album was produced by Teacher Zhang. He must know everything. I knew it, I just knew it!”

“Classmate Little Silkworm must have a real-life inspiration, I always said so, and it turns out it’s all true.”

“I said this before and they didn’t believe me, but now everyone knows,” Shi Xue’er went on, growing more and more excited, her typos multiplying as she talked. “Now that I know this, listening to ‘Classmate Little Silkworm’ is going to hit even harder. I could cry, Teacher Zhu, how could this happen? Do you know he rarely performs this song live, especially the past couple of years, he only sings it at the concert, I said it must be because there really is a Classmate Little Silkworm, that he doesn’t want to bring up something painful, and they all said I was overthinking.”

Shi Xue’er rambled on and on after that, not minding that Zhu Wenshu wasn’t responding—she just wanted to share her excitement in the moment.

It wasn’t clear how much time had passed before she noticed that Zhu Wenshu had already closed her eyes. Only then did she quiet down, dim her phone’s brightness, put in her earbuds, and turn away to keep chatting animatedly with her friend.

The wall clock ticked softly.

Zhu Wenshu opened and closed her eyes by turns, the down comforter over her feeling as heavy as a thousand pounds, pressing down until even breathing took extra effort.

Actually, on the day of Ling Siyuan’s birthday party, Zhu Wenshu had already known that Ling Chen carried someone in his heart—a moonlight he couldn’t have.

At the time, she’d only felt an inexplicable tightness in her chest, but after standing in the cold wind for a while, she’d thought it through and let it go, telling herself that most adults had past relationships, that Ling Chen was no different from everyone else around her, nothing worth dwelling on—she’d only been a little curious who that person was.

But tonight.

Maybe it was the “overwhelming love” and “unrequited longing” from Zhang Yuming’s mouth, or maybe it was the details from her fan Shi Xue’er.

And thinking of every word in the lyrics, exactly as Zhang Yuming had said, all of them rippling with the regret of wanting something you could never have.

Zhu Wenshu found she didn’t even have the energy left to be curious anymore.

If it were like Zhu Qisen, cycling through girlfriends one after another, that would be one thing.

But now, every time Zhu Wenshu closed her eyes, an image surfaced in her mind of Ling Chen, unable to forget a woman.

As the night grew deeper, the image, shaped by Zhu Wenshu’s own thoughts, grew more and more vivid.

She wanted to hold herself back, but couldn’t stop imagining whether, when Ling Chen sang that song again now, his heart was bitterly missing that woman.

Zhu Wenshu thought she was really being vulgar about this.

When she’d felt that she was different, special, to Ling Chen, she had quietly indulged in that floating happiness, enjoying their secret exchanges—even a single box of chocolates could keep her happy for days.

Now, learning that in the most secret, deepest place in his heart, he carefully treasured the image of another woman—

Or maybe not just her image, but every one of her smiles, every glance she’d ever given him.

The thought made Zhu Wenshu’s chest feel like it had filled with sour, acidic water, pressing against her lungs until it ached.

She even thought, pessimistically, that maybe she was nothing more than a momentary whim for Ling Chen, born out of wanting what he couldn’t have.

If that woman ever reappeared one day, would these past few months turn out to be nothing but a fleeting illusion, a flower in the mirror, a moon in the water?

Beside her, Shi Xue’er had put down her phone at some point without Zhu Wenshu noticing, and had fallen asleep, her breathing long and even.

Zhu Wenshu had to draw deep, deliberate breaths just to keep her chest from feeling like it would cave in.

The next morning, Shi Xue’er woke to her alarm feeling like her head might explode.

She turned to look at the person still sleeping beside her, hesitated a moment, then reached out to shake her awake.

“Teacher Zhu? Teacher Zhu? Your alarm’s going off.”

It took a long while before Zhu Wenshu managed to lift her impossibly heavy eyelids.

“Mm?”

She looked at the woman in front of her, momentarily disoriented, staring blankly.

Seeing how exhausted Zhu Wenshu looked, clearly not having slept well, Shi Xue’er immediately assumed it was her own fault and said guiltily, “Was I snoring last night? Did I disturb you?”

“No.”

Zhu Wenshu, not yet fully awake, sat up, the rustling from the bed as soft as her own voice. “I was just thinking about something. It has nothing to do with you.”

Watching Zhu Wenshu’s unsteady footing, Shi Xue’er privately resolved that even if she had to sit up all night in a hotel next time, she wouldn’t disturb anyone else again.

“Sorry about this, Teacher Zhu. Let me treat you to dinner this weekend?”

Standing at the sink, Zhu Wenshu looked at her own reflection in the mirror, and last night’s emotions came flooding back.

She stared for a long while before letting out a heavy sigh.

“Really, it’s fine, I’m like this every day. What about you? Do you have class this morning? If not, sleep in a bit more.”

Shi Xue’er thought to herself that with “yoki-fatty” living right next door, there was no way she’d stay here alone.

Who knew—the moment Zhu Wenshu left, her roommate might charge right in.

“I do have class. I should get up.”

The moment her feet touched the floor, Shi Xue’er suddenly remembered something and turned to Zhu Wenshu. “Teacher Zhu?”

Zhu Wenshu was bent over washing her face and gave a muffled hum in response.

Shi Xue’er: “Didn’t you say your roommate helped you get the tickets for Ling Chen’s concert?”

Zhu Wenshu: “…”

The water was still running, but Zhu Wenshu’s hand had stopped.

Shi Xue’er: “How could a hater possibly help buy tickets for Ling Chen’s concert?!”

Zhu Wenshu: “…”

She grabbed a facial tissue and wiped at her face, slow and distracted, stalling for time, but still couldn’t think of a good excuse.

If this had happened a day earlier, she might have just admitted she’d gotten the tickets directly from Ling Chen himself.

But now, she really didn’t want to bring up her connection to Ling Chen.

“Actually…” Zhu Wenshu stammered, “That… you know Ling Chen’s nephew is in my class.”

Shi Xue’er’s eyes rolled around a few times before she caught on to what Zhu Wenshu meant.

“I get it!” She hurried over in two steps, whispering, “We’re both teachers, I understand—you don’t want people saying you used your position to get things from a student’s family, right?”

Zhu Wenshu: “…Mm.”

“Don’t worry, I absolutely, positively will not tell anyone.”

Shi Xue’er actually held up two fingers in a pledge. “Ah, but I feel like one meal isn’t enough to repay you—how about I treat you to Japanese food this Saturday?”

Zhu Wenshu lowered her eyes, something flickering in them.

“No need. Let’s talk about it after the holidays, I’ve been really busy lately.”

“Oh, okay…” Shi Xue’er also grabbed her toothbrush and stood beside her. “Hey, the tickets are adjacent seats, right? Can we sit together then?”

“Not sure.”

Zhu Wenshu spat out a mouthful of mouthwash. “I might not even go.”

Shi Xue’er: “What?”

Zhu Wenshu said, “Once the New Year’s holiday ends, we’ll be getting ready for final exams. I might not have the time.”

The electric toothbrush was pretty loud, and Shi Xue’er mumbled a few more indistinct words that Zhu Wenshu didn’t quite catch, so she just gave a couple of vague hums in response.

As the two of them prepared to head out, Shi Xue’er made a point of leaning against the door to listen for sounds outside, and only opened it once she’d confirmed the living room was empty.

It was bitterly cold. The two didn’t linger and said their goodbyes at the intersection.

The bus, unusually, had empty seats today. Zhu Wenshu sat in the back, staring out the window in a daze for a while before finally pulling out her phone.

The pinned work group had a few messages, but nothing important.

But the high school class group chat, usually dormant except around holidays, had dozens of new messages.

She scrolled through them, and unsurprisingly, everyone was talking about last night’s livestream.

Seeing the words “Ling Chen” and “first love” repeated over and over, Zhu Wenshu sighed and backed out.

Just then, a message from Zhong Ya popped up.

【Zhong Ya】: Did you see the trending topics? Ling Chen’s on the hot search list again.

Zhu Wenshu opened Weibo immediately and, sure enough, saw “Classmate Little Silkworm” pinned to the trending list.

But she didn’t click on it.

【Zhu Wenshu】: You mean Classmate Little Silkworm? I saw it, what about it?

【Zhong Ya】: Nothing much… just chatting.

【Zhong Ya】: What do you think about it?

Zhu Wenshu: “…”

This tactless woman really knew how to poke exactly the wrong spot.

【Zhu Wenshu】: I don’t think anything of it.

【Zhong Ya】: Huh? You’re not bothered at all?

【Zhu Wenshu】: What would I have to be bothered about.

【Zhu Wenshu】: We’re not even boyfriend and girlfriend, what right would I have to be bothered.

【Zhu Wenshu】: And even if we were, this kind of thing is pretty normal.

【Zhong Ya】: True enough.

【Zhong Ya】: Didn’t expect Ling Chen to be such a devoted person, though who knows, that song’s from who knows how many years ago, maybe he’s already changed girlfriends a bunch of times behind the scenes and forgotten all about it.

Zhu Wenshu: “…”

She really wished Zhong Ya would go back to school and learn how to comfort a person.

【Zhu Wenshu】: I’m not talking about this anymore, I’m heading to school.

Exiting the chat with Zhong Ya, Zhu Wenshu scrolled down, wanting to check if any parents had reached out.

Instead, buried beneath all the other clutter, she saw a message from Ling Chen.

【c】: Asleep yet?

Sent last night at ten.

Since seeing Zhang Yuming’s livestream, Zhu Wenshu hadn’t touched her phone again.

The bus had just stopped at a familiar stop; the elderly regulars who boarded here were already a familiar sight, appearing at this same time every single day.

This unchanging routine wrapped around Zhu Wenshu like a transparent protective film, offering some sense of reality. But the side effect of that sense of reality was that it made her feel like the person who’d sent this message was right in front of her, and yet still somehow out of reach.

【Zhu Wenshu】: I went to bed early last night, is something wrong?

The reply came instantly.

【c】: Free Saturday?

【Zhu Wenshu】: Busy Saturday.

【c】: Okay.

Though Huiyang wasn’t far from Jiangcheng, Zhu Wenshu hadn’t been back in months, ever since she’d become the substitute homeroom teacher.

A few days earlier on the phone, she’d said she’d go back for a meal on her birthday, so her parents had made plans with friends for a trip that weekend.

As a result, when she suddenly decided to go home, her parents couldn’t change their plans in time and left her to stay a night with her grandparents.

Her grandparents were naturally delighted, getting up early to go to the market for chicken, duck, fish, and meat to prepare a feast.

Saturday afternoon, Zhu Wenshu arrived at her grandparents’ place right around dinnertime, and before she’d even set down her things, she was pulled to the table.

If her parents’ home was an eternal safe harbor, her grandparents’ home was a place with even more security than that.

After being force-fed a full meal at her grandparents’ house, Zhu Wenshu’s stomach was packed to the brim, and the heaviness in her mood had quietly been pushed out along with it.

But not long after she set down her chopsticks, just as Zhu Wenshu was about to get up to walk off the meal, her grandmother asked, “Why’d you suddenly come back today? Didn’t you say you’d come back on your birthday?”

Zhu Wenshu fell silent for a moment, reluctant to admit she was a coward defeated by her own emotions.

Actually, Thursday and Friday had been fine—work had kept her too busy to think about anything else, except for the moments when she’d zone out looking at Ling Siyuan.

But once Saturday came, whenever she was alone, she couldn’t help but overthink everything, and with nowhere else to go, she’d decided on impulse to come home.

“I missed you two.”

Zhu Wenshu forced out a smile. “Don’t you two always nag me about visiting more anyway?”

Her grandfather, who’d been busy cooking all afternoon, said, “What a hassle. There’s still half a month until your birthday, why come back now for no reason, you’re just here to wear me out.”

“You’re already complaining about the hassle now—weren’t you never complaining when you were fussing over those flowers and birds of yours?”

Her grandmother glared at him. “Go wash the dishes.”

Once her grandfather had gone off to the kitchen, muttering under his breath, her grandmother sat down beside Zhu Wenshu and spoke up.

“Shushu, tell Grandma—did something happen to upset you?”

Zhu Wenshu hadn’t expected that despite all her efforts to hide it, her grandmother could still tell she had something on her mind.

But how could she explain it?

Say, I think I like a boy, and that boy seems to like me too.

But he has someone else in his heart, someone even more beloved, someone irreplaceable.

“Mm.” Zhu Wenshu said. “Work stress.”

“That’s normal. Young teachers are always like this.”

Her grandmother had also been a middle school teacher, having been re-hired for many years after retirement, only fully stepping back not long ago. Having taught for a lifetime, she was full of experience, and talked with Zhu Wenshu for quite a while.

By the time her grandfather finished the dishes, the three of them went for a walk around the nearby park, and once they got home, the two elderly people got ready to wash up and rest.

Being alone again after that, Zhu Wenshu’s mood had already improved considerably.

She lay in her childhood bed, looking at her phone for a bit.

Having not checked her friends’ feed all day, she scrolled through it absent-mindedly, nothing catching her interest enough to like or comment.

Until she saw what Shi Xue’er had posted at noon that day.

The caption was simple, a few cake and balloon emojis.

But the photo attached was of Ling Chen, captioned—”Happy Birthday, Ling Chen, December 10th!”

Today was, of all days, Ling Chen’s birthday?!

So that night, when he’d suddenly asked if she was free Saturday, had he wanted to spend his birthday with her?

Zhu Wenshu stared at the photo for a long while, and the emotions she’d only just managed to settle stirred up again.

For a moment, Zhu Wenshu almost regretted not letting Ling Chen finish explaining before turning him down.

A birthday.

A birthday that only comes once a year.

But thinking of that other matter, Zhu Wenshu’s heart churned with mixed feelings.

After a long, long while, Zhu Wenshu suddenly sat up in bed.

She opened her chat with Ling Chen, drafted and redrafted the message over and over, and in the end sent only four words.

【Zhu Wenshu】: Happy birthday.

After sending it, Zhu Wenshu tossed her phone aside and lay flat, staring at the ceiling in a daze.

She’d thought coming home for a while would help her feel better. It seemed it had all been for nothing.

She didn’t know when she’d become someone so petty, so caught up in her own head.

After waiting a good while, Zhu Wenshu turned her head and found her phone still silent.

Actually, Ling Chen didn’t always reply instantly either.

But tonight, Zhu Wenshu simply couldn’t stop herself from overthinking.

Wondering if, on this particular day, he was thinking of someone else.

Every minute, every second at this moment felt split into several pieces.

After about five or six minutes had passed, it felt to Zhu Wenshu like hours had gone by. She could only console herself that Ling Chen was probably at some lavish gathering celebrating his birthday and didn’t have time to check his phone.

With that thought, she forced herself to let it go and pulled the covers over her head to sleep.

But no sooner had she turned off the lamp than Ling Chen called.

Staring at the caller ID, Zhu Wenshu froze for a long moment.

She’d been hoping for a reply, but now that the call had actually come, she didn’t know how to respond.

Just as the call was about to go to voicemail, she finally answered.

“Hello…” Zhu Wenshu said softly. “What’s up?”

“Can’t I call you without a reason?”

His voice sounded no different from usual, but to Zhu Wenshu’s ears, there seemed to be something else layered underneath the tone.

Something like displeasure at her question, and yet also something like happiness.

“Oh, you can.”

Hearing the low note in Zhu Wenshu’s voice, Ling Chen asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

Zhu Wenshu said, “Just tired from being busy all day.”

After a silence, Ling Chen asked again, “So how did you know today was my birthday?”

Zhu Wenshu answered truthfully, “I have one of your fans on my friends list.”

“Oh.”

Ling Chen’s tone sank, replaced by a scattering of piano notes.

It sounded as if his fingers were idly brushing across the keys.

Wanting to know what he was doing, yet afraid of an answer she didn’t want to hear, Zhu Wenshu paused before asking, “Aren’t you celebrating your birthday?”

Ling Chen: “Aren’t you busy?”

“…”

Despite her low mood, Zhu Wenshu’s heart still skipped a beat, uncontrollably.

She sighed silently, looking out at the hazy lights outside her window, not knowing what to say.

After a brief silence, Ling Chen, sensing she didn’t feel like talking, changed the subject.

“Where are you?”

“I went back to Huiyang.”

Afraid her emotions would show too clearly, Zhu Wenshu added, “My grandparents missed me, so I came back to spend time with them.”

Ling Chen didn’t say anything more; there wasn’t even a trace of background noise on his end of the line.

“What about you?”

Zhu Wenshu still couldn’t help but ask.

“I’m at the piano room.”

“Alone?”

“Mm.”

Zhu Wenshu let out a muffled “Oh.”

“Then I won’t keep you.”

“Wait.”

Ling Chen said, “I’m just idly practicing, that’s all.”

“Okay, go ahead and practice, then.”

Zhu Wenshu didn’t know what else to say either, feeling like there wasn’t much left to talk about. “I’ll just…”

“Just listen, then.”

“Think of it as spending my birthday with me.”

His voice sank lower too.

But that phrase—spend my birthday with me—was genuinely hard for Zhu Wenshu to refuse.

“Okay.”

Ling Chen’s fingers slid across the keys again, the tune a little livelier than before. “Anything you want to hear?”

Zhu Wenshu shook her head at the wall. “Whatever you like.”

A moment later, a somewhat familiar intro came through the phone.

Amid the piano notes, Ling Chen asked her, “Classmate Little Silkworm—want to listen?”

“…”

Zhu Wenshu closed her eyes, covering the receiver, and let out a heavy sigh.

“I don’t want to.”