That year, on New Year’s Eve, there were two people, each holding a takeout container, drinking milk tea, curled up in their chairs, watching a three-hour space sci-fi film.

The movie built to its climax, the two of them fully absorbed, and after the credits scene, Lin Shuang asked in confusion: “I didn’t get it — why didn’t he die? How did he get out of the black hole? What does the ending have to do with that wormhole?”

Zhou Zheng started from the film’s concept of spacetime construction and patiently explained it to her for half an hour. Lin Shuang tilted her head, eyes rolling around, looking like she half understood.

“Put simply, this is a question of spatial concepts…” Zhou Zheng glanced around, trying to find paper and pen to sketch it out. “How about I draw you a diagram? Then you’ll get it.”

Ugh, an occupational hazard of teachers.

Lin Shuang rolled her eyes up at him, her gaze meaningful, and switched the screen over to this year’s Spring Festival Gala.

“No need, I get it.” Her tone was flat, the ending trailing off, leaving an odd trace of guilty conscience.

The Gala was already winding down, the programs growing dull. The two chairs sat some distance apart; Lin Shuang played a phone game, while Zhou Zheng’s phone had long since filled up with unread messages — students, parents, colleagues, friends, all wishing him a happy New Year.

He glanced at it, saw she was absorbed in her game, closed his phone, and turned to ask her: “Want to go out for a walk?”

“Where to?”

“The school.” he said softly. “No one’s around at this hour — Old Zhang’s gone home for dinner, and I have a keycard.”

Lin Shuang looked up from her phone, her heart giving a small thump, suddenly feeling an inexplicable thrill: “Going to sneak into the office and steal exam papers?”

You really can’t judge a book by its cover — this man had hidden depths. Was he going to take her to do something more exciting?

Lin Shuang arched a slender eyebrow.

“Going for a walk on the sports field.” He stood up, perfectly serious. “Back when I was in school, after evening study everyone liked to go do a couple laps on the field.”

She too had liked strolling on the sports field with classmates during evening study nights.

Zhou Zheng waited for her to put on her coat, reminding her: “It’s late. Wear more.”

The temperature had risen for the New Year — it wasn’t actually cold.

Lin Shuang added a scarf on top.

Zhou Zheng, hands in his pockets, walked ahead, keeping some distance from her, leading her out of the milk tea shop.

He led her through the empty streets. The school’s security office had its lights on, and sure enough, no one was inside; the little gate opened with a “ding,” and he stood aside, waiting for her to go through the narrow doorway first.

The quiet, silent school spread out before her.

For some reason her mood suddenly lifted, a bright cheerfulness welling up in her heart. Her steps grew light and eager as she crossed through the gate, even bouncing twice, half-running into the school like someone with a guilty conscience.

“Zhou Zheng, hurry up, don’t let anyone see us.”

“There are cameras in the security office.” He pointed at the camera overhead. “Don’t worry, as long as we’re not doing anything bad.”

Lin Shuang crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow, shrugging her shoulders as she looked at the camera, then slipped into the shadow of the trees, smiling.

Zhou Zheng continued to lead her, turning right, then left, down the steps toward the sports field. He wasn’t used to chatting with her — he didn’t talk much, only occasionally saying a few words: “Watch the steps here.”

“This used to be the student dormitory building, now it’s been converted into the school’s print shop.”

“This is Zhang Fan’s PE office.”

The vast, empty sports field waited quietly as the two of them approached.

The field’s direct floodlights were off, leaving only a few dim lamps at the edges.

Such a huge, open field — as they walked slowly into it, their figures looked tiny, their shadows stretching long, long across the ground.

The old rubber track had been resurfaced, the color bright, the feel underfoot good too.

The soccer field was laid with artificial turf, a deep, dense green.

The two of them didn’t talk, each doing their own thing. Zhou Zheng walked leisurely along the track, hands in his pockets, while Lin Shuang stepped along the white plastic lines, measuring out the distance step by step on her tiptoes.

They gradually drifted apart, some distance opening between them.

He went left, she went right.

He was at this end of the track, she at the other.

Their shadows grew farther and farther apart, like two parallel lines with nothing to do with each other.

These distances had once truly existed, overlapping with memories from many years ago.

The crackling pop of firecrackers drifted over from far away, echoing through the empty night — starting as scattered bursts from one direction, then gradually merging into a continuous, unbroken crackle.

Many big cities had already banned fireworks and firecrackers, but tonight was still noisy.

The two of them glanced at the time at the same moment — this year’s New Year’s Eve was about to end.

Scattered fireworks rose up from the rooftops of the residential buildings across the street, bursting freely, brilliant and dazzling, too much to take in all at once.

Zhou Zheng turned and walked back to Lin Shuang’s side, and together they tilted their heads back, silently watching the fireworks.

“Beautiful, isn’t it.”

“Mm.”

They seemed cut off from the fireworks and firecrackers in another world entirely, and yet also seemed fused into this same world.

“Happy New Year, Teacher Zhou. Wishing you good health, may everything go your way, and may your students fill the world.” She turned, speaking to him lightly.

Zhou Zheng smiled warmly: “Thank you. Then I’ll wish you a happy life too, smooth sailing, and a fortune that keeps flowing in.”

It was getting late; the two left the school and closed up the milk tea shop. Zhou Zheng checked his phone, his tone natural, without any affectation: “It’s late — let me call you a taxi and send you home.”

Lin Shuang raised an eyebrow again, her expression hard to place… subtle.

His place was only a few minutes’ walk from here.

Taxi fares on New Year’s Eve were expensive, and the driver moved fast; Zhou Zheng saw Lin Shuang home to her building.

“Want to come up for a bit?” Lin Shuang’s tone was calm.

“No need… it’s too late.” He pressed his lips together, glanced down at his feet, then looked back up at her. “You should get some rest… good night.”

If a lone man and woman, having once shared some ineffable feeling between them, having just gone through a certain relationship “agreement,” having spent a special night alone together — if, late at night, the girl invites the man downstairs to “come up for a bit,” and is mercilessly turned down —

What, exactly, is wrong with this man?

Lin Shuang suppressed the urge to roll her eyes.

This man was possibly… beyond her realm of experience.

Zhou Zheng thought for a moment, then asked her: “Do you have plans for the next few days?”

“I promised my mom I’d go over tomorrow — there are relatives visiting the family. I should be free around the fourth.”

“All right then.” Zhou Zheng still hadn’t quite shifted out of his role, his tone a bit unnatural, restrained. “Then, if you’re free… I’ll contact you again?”

“Sure.” She looked at him, smiling.

“Good night.” He watched her go up the stairs.

Lin Shuang entered the doorway, climbed the steps, and turned to look back — he was still standing there watching her, his eyes calm and gentle under the dim streetlight.

She took a deep breath, let it out, then suddenly thought of something, turned back, and walked briskly up to him.

Zhou Zheng’s expression looked a bit puzzled.

She smiled radiantly, stepped forward, very close to him now, her eyes bright: “Zhou Zheng.”

“Mm?”

Lin Shuang brushed back her long hair, her eyes seductive as silk: “Aren’t you going to kiss me tonight? A good-night kiss, or something else.”

On Christmas Eve, her lips had teased his; his lips were neither too thin nor too thick, soft to kiss.

Lin Shuang reached out both arms, draping them over his shoulders, mocking him mercilessly: “You’re probably an idiot.”

She was wearing flats today; tilting her head back slightly, she leaned in first, pressing her red lips to his.

Zhou Zheng didn’t move, his thick dark lashes trembling, his expression showing a flicker of feeling, but ultimately calm.

Compared to how flustered he’d been on Christmas, he’d already settled far more.

She moved gently on his lips, and he lowered his lashes too, responding carefully to her kiss, as if tasting a piece of candy.

Lin Shuang’s hand slid from his shoulder, down along his arm, pulling his two clumsy, helpless hands out of his coat pockets, guiding them to rest on her waist.

Her waist was very slim, very soft, barely a handful.

He loosely encircled her slender waist.

Lin Shuang leaned into his embrace.

Her body was slender and graceful, pressed against him, settling into a nestled posture.

Zhou Zheng’s arms circled her waist, settling into an embracing kiss.

It felt good, being in his arms.

“Teacher Zhou.”

“Mm?”

Her beautiful eyes looked at him, one hand pressed against his chest, her voice hazy and teasing: “You’re wearing so little — why are you so hot?”

Under his open coat, he wore only a thin knit sweater; his body heat seeped through the fabric, warmth clinging to her.

Zhou Zheng’s face flushed faintly.

“Good night.” Her eyes shimmered as she pecked his lips lightly, then lightly withdrew from his embrace and went upstairs home.

Zhou Zheng saw the light come on in the window.

He stood there quietly for a moment, then smiled to himself, rubbed his nose, and turned to leave, walking alone through the lively night.