This year, Zhou Zheng’s class had turned in especially strong college entrance exam results — barring any surprises, this year’s Outstanding Homeroom Teacher award for the city should go to no one but him.

Once the exam bonus was paid out, combined with what he’d saved up over the past few years, it was enough for the house down payment. Zhou Zheng brought his grandmother into the city and showed the old woman the house he’d selected.

Beiquan was an obscure small city, without even a high-speed rail station or a train station — the highway had only just been finished these past two years. At 6,500 per square meter, it was considered a solid development, and move-in ready besides. Zhou Zheng’s grandmother was so startled her eyes went wide, gripping his hand and crying that it would be the death of her. “Wasn’t it supposed to be 3,000-something? How much is this going to cost? You couldn’t even build a building like this in the village for half that.”

Zhou Zheng picked a spacious 130-square-meter unit, signed the contract with the developer, paid the down payment, and was now waiting for the bank loan to come through before getting the deed.

His mentor’s wife heard about it and called to press Zhou Zheng to come over for dinner, to celebrate.

Every few months there was always this kind of meal to attend. Zhou Zheng arrived with gifts, and the meal went pleasantly enough for host and guest alike — it was just his mentor’s wife’s nagging that was a bit hard to endure.

Without fail, the conversation turned again to his lifelong prospects — now that the house was bought, there’d been not the slightest progress on his personal life.

Zhou Zheng hadn’t gone out of his way to mention things with Lin Shuang, but Ding Yan had caught wind of it too. After confirming it, the couple had even discussed meeting the young couple — but before they could bring it up, the two had already broken up.

His mentor’s wife privately harbored some doubts of her own — at the start, she’d introduced so many young women, and Zhou Zheng had never been moved by any of them. Just this one, and Zhou Zheng had picked her alone — who would have thought, after lying dormant for the better part of a year, a spark would finally flicker up.

“A-Zheng’s got good taste, at least — I’ve seen photos of this girl, genuinely pretty.” His mentor’s wife cut fruit for the two of them. “Well, it hasn’t been long — broken up is broken up, then. A-Zheng, don’t get discouraged, there’s better ahead.”

Broken up is broken up — she also worried the girl had been too pretty, her standards too high, that Zhou Zheng wouldn’t be able to hold on or keep up.

Zhou Zheng’s own conditions certainly weren’t outstanding, but they weren’t lacking either — plenty of good qualities to his name — it was just a matter of finding the right match, someone grounded, willing to build a slow, steady life together with him.

His mentor’s wife brought up the old topic again, and Zhou Zheng started playing dumb, trying to steer the conversation elsewhere.

After Lanting, he really had slowly given up on the idea of blind dates — let alone now, with his well run dry, unable to summon even the faintest flicker of interest.

Ding Yan remained unbothered. “What’s the rush? Young people these days marry late — look at those young folks in the big cities, past thirty and still unattached, no rush at all.”

“Big cities are big cities. Beiquan’s a small place — past the Zhao family, it’s the Li family, the population’s just that small. Can it compare to a big city?”

Ding Yan shooed his nagging wife away. “Go on, go watch TV in the other room. Let us finish this game, then you can come back and offer your commentary.”

With peace and quiet at last, Zhou Zheng’s moves on the board turned slow and hesitant.

Ding Yan knew he handled things steadily, never one to worry over such matters. He took a sip of tea. “House is bought, everything else will fall into place. Don’t listen to your mentor’s-wife’s nagging either — fate is fate, it comes when it comes. You’re still young, no need to rush.”

Zhou Zheng gave a soft “Mm,” eyes lowered on the board, tapping a piece down again and again.

“What’s wrong? Something on your mind?”

“A couple days ago… I got a call, from over in Wan City. Asking if I wanted to switch to a private high school.”

Beiquan had no private high schools, but Wan City had the best private school in the province — its reputation extremely strong, students’ families uniformly wealthy or well-connected, teacher compensation famously high, competition fierce, constantly poaching top teachers from renowned schools across the province.

“What kind of pay are they offering?”

“Triple what I make now. And tutoring outside school is allowed by default.”

“That’s not low at all.” Ding Yan did the math — between in-school and outside tutoring, that could add up to several hundred thousand a year. “You’re young, plenty of room to grow still, and it’s exactly the time you could really contribute a lot to a school. Your teaching results these past few years have been solid too — that price is only fair.”

“So what did you decide?”

Zhou Zheng leaned over the board, brows knitting without his noticing, his tone somewhat subdued. “I replied today. Still turned it down. Not considering it.”

He wasn’t sure why, but there was a dull, muted ache in his chest.

Ding Yan actually let out a breath of relief. Zhou Zheng was a student he valued highly — the two of them were now something between mentor and friend, and he genuinely wanted to give the boy a leg up. Besides, he himself had just a few years left before retirement, and given Zhou Zheng’s rank progression and ability, he privately felt the vice-principal position would suit him well as a successor.

“Public schools have their advantages, private schools have their own difficulties. Young people these days are all a bit restless — really, you need to stay grounded. Someone steady and down-to-earth never loses out, wherever they are. Back when I started, I was nothing but a junior high teacher at an agricultural vocational school in the countryside — and look where I’ve ended up now.” Ding Yan sighed with feeling. “I’ve taught so many classes over the years — you’re the one who’s stayed closest to me. All those other star students, some went abroad, some went into business, some became officials — they show up to pay respects around the holidays, sure, but I can see it plainly: not many left who can really settle their hearts down.”

Zhou Zheng’s steadiness was simply his nature.

“Back then, it was because of you, Teacher, that I made up my mind to teach. Even after graduation, you were the one who urged me to come back. If it were just about the money, there’d have been no need to come back at all.” Zhou Zheng rubbed his nose. “I have feelings for the school myself too, still want to stay here — call it seeing things through to the end.”

“Worth it too, on my end — I spent two train tickets’ worth of money to pull a promising young teacher out of a factory. That counts as a good deed done.” Ding Yan teased. “The students you’ve taught — they ought to be thanking me instead.”

Zhou Zheng laughed too.

Ding Yan remembered something. “The school’s Youth League committee is being reshuffled this year — want to put in an application? Give it a try?”

Rising through the Youth League committee track meant faster promotion.

Zhou Zheng understood what Ding Yan meant, but his interest lay in teaching — organizational work didn’t hold much appeal for him.

Ding Yan asked him, “Since you’ve made up your mind to stay at the school, what path do you want to take going forward — star teacher, or administration?”

Being a star teacher relied on teaching ability; administration relied on interpersonal skill. Ding Yan felt Zhou Zheng had a sharp enough mind for either path at the school.

“Teaching, for now.” Zhou Zheng had a deep interest in mathematics and still wanted to devote his energy to the subject itself. “I’ve been homeroom teacher for four years running — this year I don’t want to take on a class again, want to try something else.”

“Fair enough.” Ding Yan patted his shoulder. “You love teaching, so put your effort into that. Effort’s never wasted.”

The following year, Zhou Zheng still taught senior year, but with the new arrangement of teaching duties, he really didn’t take on homeroom teacher duties this time — instead becoming the school’s math competition coach.

The bubble tea shop’s one-year anniversary was coming up soon. Looking back over the year, the income had been decent — not exactly overflowing with profit, but enough to cover expenses. The shop was gearing up for a new promotional campaign. Now that the staff was fully in place, Lin Shuang no longer needed to spend a dozen-plus hours a day minding the shop; business ran along steadily on its own, and once the novelty wore off, she found herself growing a bit slack again.

When she was busy, she didn’t feel much of anything; but the moment she slackened off, it was easy to slide into idleness, an emptiness inside, nothing to occupy her.

It had been over a year since she’d come back to Beiquan, and no longer being fresh into her twenties, Lin Shuang felt her own mindset had shifted somewhat — for instance, she’d grown especially attentive to maintaining her appearance, going to the beauty salon and hair salon more often, and had also started exercising and dancing regularly to keep her body’s vitality up.

She took a trip out to visit Lin Hai, then lingered in Wan City for a few days. After returning to Beiquan, she broke up with the bank manager’s son — no particular reason, just grown tired of him, having lost her curiosity and desire to explore where men were concerned.

Fu Min called, saying it was Qi Shan’s birthday and the whole family was going to find a place to eat together.

Lin Shuang couldn’t even remember this little half-brother’s birthday, and had to work hard to recall his age. She vaguely remembered it was summer — she’d worn a short-sleeved shirt to the hospital, worked up a sweat walking through the inpatient ward, and only felt the chill once inside the room — and then she’d heard a chorus of a baby wailing.

Qi Ling had a round face, two red patches on his cheeks, still a bit chubby without having stretched out yet — not exactly fat, but he could really eat, clearly a kid with a great appetite and a sturdy build.

By the time Lin Shuang arrived, Fu Min was wiping the sweat off her younger son’s forehead, while Qi Xiong was busy putting food in the older son’s bowl.

The division of labor in this blended family was easy to spot. Qi Xiong had a gentle, yielding temperament and mainly comforted Qi Ling; Fu Min leaned toward her own biological son and mainly looked after Qi Shan.

It was hard to find a completely harmonious blended family. Qi Ling was in the middle of his rebellious phase, irritating to everyone who met him, and it wore Fu Min out plenty — she’d more or less given up trying to manage him, choosing not to see it so as not to be troubled by it. Qi Xiong, caught between both sons, could only prioritize the elder in this kind of environment.

The mood over the meal was pleasant enough. Lin Shuang had stopped by a toy shop on the way and bought a small gift. Everyone shared birthday cake together — Qi Shan wore a party hat and cut the cake, giving everyone a large slice, and smeared a dab of cream on everyone’s nose too, laughing heartily at himself.

Qi Xiong waved over a server and handed over his phone. “Come on, come on, today’s Qi Shan’s eleventh birthday, let’s get a family photo.”

Fu Min pulled Lin Shuang close, Qi Xiong pulled Qi Ling close, Qi Shan stood in the middle, and they took a family portrait.

It seemed to be the first family photo they’d ever taken together.

After the meal, Lin Shuang needed to head back to the bubble tea shop. Qi Xiong patted Qi Ling’s shoulder. “Perfect timing, you two are both headed to Beiquan High School, share a cab over there.”

Qi Ling was in his senior year this year, though the term hadn’t officially started, and it was the weekend besides, so the school grounds were empty.

Fu Min explained, “He’s enrolled in a cram school near the campus, already been going for two weeks.”

Qi Ling’s grades really weren’t good. Qi Xiong had once asked Lin Shuang about tutoring for Qi Ling — the tutoring fee wasn’t especially high, 150 an hour, two subjects a day, four hours — but that price was already a real strain for Fu Min and Qi Xiong.

Remembering this, Qi Xiong turned to Lin Shuang. “Teacher Zhou’s a good guy — about tutoring Qi Ling, I called him about it. Even though he doesn’t take on tutoring himself, he still gave some advice, recommended a few teachers.”

“Uncle’s in touch with him?” Lin Shuang asked.

“No, not really, we’re not that close, I didn’t want to trouble Teacher Zhou too much,” Qi Xiong said. “Shame he’s not taking a homeroom class this year — if Qi Ling could’ve been placed in his class, it might’ve helped some…”

If the relationship were closer, maybe they could even get Qi Ling switched into his class, given a bit of extra care.

Lin Shuang said nothing.

She’d once been genuinely angry at Zhou Zheng over this, resenting him for meddling where he shouldn’t — though thankfully he’d never overstepped after that. Later, when she and Zhou Zheng got together, Fu Min’s side had never known anything about it.

The taxi arrived. Lin Shuang waved Qi Ling over. “Let’s go together.”

Qi Xiong pushed a visibly reluctant Qi Ling into the car. “Go on, go on, don’t be late for your afternoon class.”

The two of them sat in the back seat, an empty seat between them. Qi Ling pressed close to the door, turned to look out the window; Lin Shuang looked down at her phone.

The taxi stopped across the street from the bubble tea shop. The two got out and waited at the crossing for the light to change, and — without meaning to — both reached for a cigarette at the same time.

Lin Shuang didn’t smoke in front of Fu Min. Qi Ling’s smoking was probably being hidden from the family too.

She turned to look at Qi Ling — his grip on the cigarette was awkward and green, like a monkey trying to smoke, a raw, unripe kid.

“Look at you, showing real promise, smoking at your age already.” She mocked him. “Watch it, or I’ll tell your dad and he’ll break your legs.”

“What business is it of yours? Who asked you to manage me? You’re smoking too, aren’t you.” Qi Ling snapped back at her in a gruff voice, eyes fixed on the crosswalk ahead.

“I’m an adult, spending my own money on my own cigarettes, out in the open, as is only right. What about you?”

“Senior year already, and if you’re so dissatisfied with life, then study hard, get into college and get out of here — go far away and don’t come back.” Lin Shuang’s tone turned mocking. “Grades this bad, temper this rotten, living the high life off your parents’ hard-earned money — do you think that makes you something special?”

Hearing her scorn, anger flared instantly in Qi Ling’s eyes. He glared viciously at her, threw his cigarette to the ground, stomped it out hard, and turned to walk away.

“Get back here.” Lin Shuang’s temper flared too, and she called out coldly. “Throw the cigarette in the trash before you go — don’t embarrass yourself.”

Qi Ling picked up his pace, storming off with his head down.

Lin Shuang transferred several tens of thousands of yuan to Fu Min.

By the time Fu Min noticed the message on her phone, it was already evening — she’d finished up at the shop and then handled housework, and it wasn’t especially early anymore when she called Lin Shuang.

“Asleep yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Why on earth are you transferring me money?” Fu Min frowned.

Lin Shuang said flatly, “That few tens of thousands you slipped me last year — I never spent it, been sitting on it. I don’t need the money, so I’m giving it back.”

“I don’t want it.” Fu Min’s tone was firm. “That money was mine to give you, keep it.”

“You’re getting older, your energy’s not what it used to be when you were young, and you still have to support the family, raise Qi Shan — later on, his schooling and marriage will all cost money. And there’s Qi Ling too — can you really just not worry about him at all? Even a cram class now costs a fair bit. I’m not subsidizing you, this was your money to begin with anyway.”

“This money — Uncle Qi doesn’t know about it, does he? Is this your private savings?”

“Qi Shan’s still young, we’ll deal with it later. Qi Ling, I’m not responsible for him — he still has his birth mother, and his father can manage him however he likes.” Fu Min said. “He’s got money to secretly help Qi Ling with, and I’m saving some for your dowry too.”

Lin Shuang laughed.

Both husband and wife had their own little private calculations tucked away.

“Then just keep holding onto it for me — when I get married, you can bring it out then. My bubble tea shop’s doing well, I’m earning plenty too.”

Before hanging up, Fu Min called out to her. “Shuangshuang.”

“Mm.”

“Get some rest early, don’t stay up too late.”

“Got it. Don’t work yourself too hard either, go to bed early.”

“Shuangshuang…” Fu Min’s tone paused. “Are you still not willing to call me Mom?”

Ever since Qi Shan was born, Lin Shuang had rarely addressed Fu Min directly. Between college and a few years of work, they’d barely seen each other, and the mother-daughter relationship had grown even colder — it was only after Lin Shuang moved back to Beiquan that things had gradually warmed a little.

Lin Shuang held the phone, silent for a moment, and after a while said, “When I feel like calling you that, I will.”

The call ended. Lin Shuang played games until her phone grew hot, then set it aside and went to shower.

The bathroom at home was still an old-fashioned layout. Lin Shuang had only replaced the showerhead and toilet; the shower area was separated by a curtain, the floor tiles never replaced, worn smooth in many places, always a bit slippery once wet.

She didn’t want the extra hassle of cleaning, couldn’t be bothered to buy a non-slip mat or bath rug, and had just been making do with it up to now.

She turned on the shower — the water a touch too hot, steam rising thick and heavy, quickly filling the bathroom with a dense haze. Water droplets slid down her soaked long hair, over her flawless features and pale, smooth body, pooling on the floor and trickling away.

Sometimes it’s just that kind of coincidence — not early, not late, something that shouldn’t happen at all, or should have happened sooner, but happens to strike at some strange, precise moment instead.

She stood dripping wet in the shower stall, her face flushed from the heat, and reached absentmindedly for the towel hanging outside the curtain, taking a distracted step on tiptoe.

Splat! Her foot slipped. Lin Shuang’s apricot eyes went wide, instinctively grabbing at the curtain, and as she crashed hard onto the floor, she genuinely heard the sharp, cracking impact of her body against the hard ground.

Then came the sudden, sharp pain.

She really couldn’t help but let loose a string of curses.