The moment class ended, the office was always full of kids coming and going—one moment someone was tattling, the next someone was crying, and the teachers coaxed them this way and that until the whole room was as lively as a wet market.
But Zhu Wenshu’s class had just finished art class, and the children were probably still absorbed in the joy of making crafts, so no one came looking for trouble. She had an unusually quiet moment to herself.
And so, this scene unfolded—
Every time Zhu Wenshu wrote a bit of her lesson prep, she’d flip open Ling Siyuan’s workbook and glance at it for a moment.
Then she’d lower her head, press the back of her hand to her lips, and force herself not to laugh out loud.
But before long, someone noticed something was off.
“Teacher Zhu, what have you been laughing about this whole time?”
“Huh?”
Zhu Wenshu pressed her lips together, suppressing the curve at the corners of her mouth. “Nothing much. Just thinking about a cross-talk routine I heard yesterday.”
“…You really do like cross-talk, huh.”
Zhu Wenshu didn’t respond further, but it was hard to fully shake off her current state.
It wasn’t just the world-of-difference between Ling Chen’s and Ling Siyuan’s handwriting—though that was part of it. Zhu Wenshu simply couldn’t stop herself from imagining the scene.
She refused to believe Ling Chen had honestly sat beside Ling Siyuan, guiding him through writing the pledge letter, then solemnly signed his own name.
The image that kept surfacing in her mind, unbidden, was this: this morning, Ling Siyuan packs his school bag, ready for school, and Ling Chen sneaks over, digs out his workbook, secretly signs his own name on the back, then puts it back without anyone the wiser.
Zhu Wenshu couldn’t shake the feeling that this was exactly the kind of thing Ling Chen would do.
After a while, the warning bell rang.
The next class was Zhu Wenshu’s Chinese class. She gathered the workbooks and stood, ready to head to the classroom to hand them out.
At the door, something occurred to her, and she turned back to her desk, pulled out a red pen, flipped open Ling Siyuan’s workbook, and drew a checkmark after the pledge letter, adding today’s date for good measure.
Mm. Cool and aloof. Very much in character.
But a second before closing the workbook, another idea sprouted in Zhu Wenshu’s mind.
She stared at the pledge letter for a moment, then carefully tore the page out, folded it twice, and tucked it into her bag—
On the way to the classroom, arms full of workbooks, Zhu Wenshu ran into Zhu Qisen, who was heading to his own class.
“Teacher Zhu!”
Zhu Qisen called out to her from a distance, jogging over in a few steps to walk alongside her. “I was just about to message you and here you are. Free tonight?”
Zhu Wenshu: “Why?”
“Xue’er took her students to a choir competition a while back, it’s over now, and she wants to treat you to dinner.”
Xue’er was not Zhu Qisen’s first girlfriend.
In college, guys like Zhu Qisen were popular at teacher’s colleges, and he’d gone through several girlfriends, nearly all of whom had been brought along to eat with Zhu Wenshu and the others at some point. Thinking of how sickeningly sweet Zhu Qisen and his girlfriends always got, Zhu Wenshu shuddered. “No thanks. I’m afraid I’ll have to watch you two show off your affection and won’t be able to eat a bite.”
“Then bring someone else.”
Zhu Qisen thought about it. “How about your roommate? Xue’er’s been wanting to meet her, she thinks she’s amazing.”
Zhu Wenshu quickened her pace. “…Let’s not.”
Zhu Qisen: “What’s wrong? She really did us a huge favor, and I’ve been meaning to thank her properly—it’s perfect, I’ll treat everyone to dinner, you just ask her if she wants to come.”
“…”
Zhu Wenshu looked up at the sky, suddenly feeling she wasn’t so different from Ling Siyuan after all.
Tell one lie, and you need a thousand more to cover it.
“No need to ask. She has social anxiety.”
“Ah, I see…”
Zhu Qisen said, “Then you come to dinner tonight, you don’t have anything else going on anyway.”
They were nearly at her classroom door, and Zhu Wenshu didn’t feel like arguing further.
“Fine, fine, fine.”
—
Elementary school let out early, well before dinnertime.
Zhu Qisen usually didn’t drive to work—partly because it wasn’t as convenient as his bike, and partly because he felt that as a mere elementary school PE teacher, driving an Audi A7 to work every day would be far too conspicuous, practically announcing “rich second generation” on his forehead.
So after school, he went home first, then drove to pick up Xue’er.
Zhu Wenshu wasn’t as free as he was—she stayed busy at school until past six, then headed straight to the restaurant.
It was rush hour. By the time Zhu Wenshu had biked to the subway station and made her way to the barbecue restaurant, Zhu Qisen and Xue’er were already waiting for her.
“Sorry, the subway station was a bit far, I had to walk over.”
“It’s fine, it’s fine, we just got here too.”
It was Shi Xue’er who spoke.
Zhu Wenshu’s impression of her, formed entirely from Zhu Qisen’s descriptions, had been of a pampered little princess.
Now that she saw her, Shi Xue’er was indeed petite and delicate, wearing a fuzzy short jacket—she certainly looked the part of a little princess. But her tone and expression weren’t spoiled at all.
And the moment Shi Xue’er laid eyes on her, her bright eyes stayed fixed on Zhu Wenshu, never once looking away from the moment she walked in to when she sat down.
If it had been a man doing this, Zhu Wenshu would have found it creepy. But coming from a pretty girl, she found herself, inexplicably, a little shy.
“Cold outside, right? Drink some hot water quickly.”
Shi Xue’er didn’t even glance at Zhu Qisen, just waved a hand to direct him. “Hurry up and pour Teacher Zhu some hot water!”
“Oh, oh.”
Zhu Qisen scrambled to his feet to pour water for Zhu Wenshu.
Cupping the hot water glass, Zhu Wenshu smiled at Shi Xue’er. “Hi, Zhu Qisen’s mentioned you many times. Finally got to meet you today.”
“If it weren’t for the student competition, I would’ve wanted to meet you ages ago. I never expected Zhu Qisen to have such a resourceful friend, able to help get Ling Chen concert tickets—you’re incredible!”
She was far more enthusiastic than Zhu Wenshu had imagined, leaning forward unconsciously as she spoke. If there hadn’t been a table between them, Zhu Wenshu suspected she’d have leaned right into her arms.
“I actually didn’t do much to help…”
She said quietly.
“I know, it was your roommate who helped buy them.”
Shi Xue’er said, “Your roommate being amazing basically makes you amazing too—seriously, you have no idea how hard those tickets were to grab, VIP seats too, and at face value, no less! That’s harder than winning the lottery! Ugh, it’s such a shame your roommate didn’t come, I really wanted to meet her, she must be some kind of fandom deity.”
Zhu Qisen watched the chattering Shi Xue’er, smiling without interjecting, picking up his phone to scan the menu QR code.
“…I’m not too clear on that part.”
Zhu Wenshu, remembering Ying Fei’s attitude toward Ling Chen, felt her voice growing less certain. “She probably just happened to see someone reselling a ticket. That person apparently had something come up and couldn’t go.”
“That’s basically a living bodhisattva, not even trying to profit off it.”
Shi Xue’er’s eyes went wide, her tone extremely animated. “Last year, I bought a signed Ling Chen album off someone. You know how much it cost?”
Zhu Wenshu shook her head. Shi Xue’er held up two fingers, her sparkling manicure dazzling Zhu Wenshu’s eyes.
“Two, two thousand?”
Shi Xue’er: “Twenty thousand!”
Zhu Wenshu: “?!”
Shi Xue’er: “And that’s considered cheap. I’ve seen some go for thirty thousand. There are a lot of wealthy women chasing idols these days!”
Zhu Qisen, hearing this, was also stunned.
Despite being rich second generation himself, he was a typical pragmatist and couldn’t quite understand Shi Xue’er’s spending habits.
“Damn, with that kind of money, couldn’t you do something better?”
“What else would I do with it?” Shi Xue’er blinked, swaying her head side to side. “I’m happy, I’m willing—I earned the money myself, what’s wrong with spending it on my own happiness?”
Zhu Qisen had nothing to say to that, just muttered under his breath, “I just don’t get how a CD is worth that much.”
Shi Xue’er: “What’s valuable is Ling Chen’s signature!”
Zhu Qisen: “Fine, fine, as long as you’re happy. I’ll buy you one too someday.”
Listening to the two of them go back and forth, Zhu Wenshu cupped her water glass, staring blankly at the table, thinking about the pledge letter page she’d torn out that morning.
If Ling Siyuan went home and Ling Chen noticed the page had been torn out…
Would Ling Chen think she’d taken it to sell?!
She sat frozen for a moment, then, while Shi Xue’er and Zhu Qisen were busy bantering, quietly opened her bag, pulled out the pledge letter, laid it on her knee, and snapped a photo.
Then she sent it to Ling Chen, to prove she hadn’t taken it to sell.
[Zhu Wenshu]: Pledge letter received. I’m keeping it, as evidence.
She waited a few minutes.
[c]: Oh.
While looking at her phone, Shi Xue’er’s voice kept churning out the words “Ling Chen” nonstop nearby.
Thinking again of how he’d signed the pledge letter, Zhu Wenshu couldn’t help laughing again.
[Zhu Wenshu]: Freeloading off a kid’s pledge letter—and you call yourself a big star.
[c]: Should I come apologize to you in person?
[Zhu Wenshu]: That’s not entirely out of the question.
[c]: …
[c]: We’ll see if there’s time.
We’ll see if there’s time? What’s the difference between that and not having time at all.
Never mind, it wasn’t like she genuinely wanted Ling Chen to apologize to her face—she’d just been playing along with his words.
So Zhu Wenshu set down her phone.
The moment she looked up, Shi Xue’er happened to hand over her phone for Zhu Wenshu to order food.
—
Because Shi Xue’er’s personality was so outgoing, the meal turned out far more relaxed and pleasant than Zhu Wenshu had expected, and the two of them even added each other on WeChat between bites of food.
Over an hour passed, and after Zhu Qisen finished off the last few pieces of meat on the grill, he patted his stomach and asked, “Want anything else?”
Zhu Wenshu and Shi Xue’er both shook their heads.
“Let’s head home then.”
He glanced outside the restaurant. “Ugh, once it turns cold, it really gets dark early.”
Shi Xue’er also glanced outside, then suddenly asked Zhu Wenshu, “Where do you live?”
Zhu Wenshu: “Over by Guanghua Road.”
“Ah, that’s on the way to my place.” She turned, reaching over to poke Zhu Qisen. “Then you can drop her off on the way.”
Zhu Qisen pulled out his phone to pay the bill and nodded. “Got it, got it. Driver Little Zhu will provide thorough service.”
Shi Xue’er’s home wasn’t far from the barbecue place, and they arrived a little over ten minutes later.
Before getting out, she turned to wave at Zhu Wenshu in the back seat. “Bye, Teacher Zhu, let’s hang out again next time.”
“Sure.” Zhu Wenshu smiled. “Get some rest too.”
Once Shi Xue’er had gone through the gate of her residential compound, Zhu Qisen started the car again.
“What do you think of her?”
“She’s great, so pretty, and such a good personality.” Zhu Wenshu glanced at the back of Zhu Qisen’s head. “Just, her judgment isn’t great.”
Zhu Qisen nodded. “I think so too. Saying Ling Chen is more handsome than me—yeah, her judgment really isn’t great.”
Zhu Wenshu: “…”
Before long, the car pulled up near Zhu Wenshu’s place.
This area wasn’t on a main street, and there wasn’t much traffic at night, so parking enforcement was lax—by nightfall, plenty of cars lined the road.
Zhu Qisen found an open spot, parked, and Zhu Wenshu opened the door to get out.
The moment she shut the car door, the phone in her hand buzzed.
[c]: Are you home?
Zhu Wenshu: “?”
She froze for a moment.
What, did Ling Chen install surveillance on her or something?
[Zhu Wenshu]: Just got home, what’s up?
After sending that, Zhu Wenshu turned and headed toward the entrance of her compound. Behind her, Zhu Qisen suddenly called out.
“Wait! Hold on a sec!”
Zhu Wenshu stopped and turned. “What is it?”
Zhu Qisen waved her over, and when she didn’t move, he unbuckled his seatbelt and got out himself.
“So, you and Xue’er added each other on WeChat, right? I just wanted to give you a heads up—she’s been asking me about my dating history lately, and I haven’t dared say much. If she comes asking you, go easy on your answers, okay?”
“Tsk, tsk.”
Zhu Wenshu crossed her arms, eyeing Zhu Qisen with an amused smile. “Getting scared now? Weren’t so scared back when you were cycling through girlfriends one after another.”
“That was just youthful ignorance, wasn’t it?”
Zhu Qisen, needing a favor, put on his best attitude. “Please, I’m begging you. If she asks, just say I only dated one or two girlfriends in college, and both were really brief, and none as pretty as her!”
“I can’t say that.”
Zhu Wenshu pursed her lips. “Besides, your exes were all decent people. Why would I badmouth them?”
Zhu Qisen: “How is that badmouthing? It’s just a well-intentioned little lie.”
“I’d suggest you just come clean. Lead by example, be a role model—own up to your actions, can’t you?”
The evening breeze already carried a hint of winter’s chill. Zhu Wenshu pulled her coat tighter, saying lazily, “We’ll deal with it when it comes up. She might not even ask me.”
“Teacher Zhu, always so eloquent and quick-witted, surely knows just what to say.”
Seeing that Zhu Wenshu’s attitude had softened, Zhu Qisen broke into a grin, ready to drive home. Walking away, he turned back once more, raised his hand to his forehead, and gave her a crisp salute. “Teacher Zhu’s great kindness, this Little Zhu shall never forget.”
Watching his cheerful retreating figure, Zhu Wenshu shook her head with a smile, then turned to head home.
She’d only taken two steps when she remembered Ling Chen’s earlier message and pulled out her phone to check again.
One minute ago.
[c]: I’m coming to apologize to Teacher Zhu in person.
Zhu Wenshu: “?”
Her footsteps abruptly stopped, and she turned to look around.
The road here wasn’t wide, but there were plenty of pedestrians, and quite a few vendors had set up stalls under cover of night. Among the various passersby, Zhu Wenshu didn’t spot Ling Chen anywhere.
Coming to her senses, she realized Ling Chen probably wouldn’t be standing here so blatantly anyway.
She lowered her head, about to ask where he was.
[c]: Turn around.
Zhu Wenshu turned as told, and among the row of cars parked along the roadside, she spotted a black car.
It was an unremarkable car, nothing eye-catching.
Zhu Wenshu only noticed it because its hazard lights were on. Through the windshield, she could see a man in black clothing sitting in the driver’s seat, wearing a baseball cap. She couldn’t make out his face clearly, but she was fairly certain it was Ling Chen.
A wave of inexplicable panic washed over her. She glanced around, then walked over quickly.
Pulling open the car door, she leaned in, somewhat shocked. “You actually came?”
Ling Chen said nothing, just tilted his chin at her.
Zhu Wenshu understood and hurried into the passenger seat, closing the door behind her.
Cut off from the noise outside, the silence inside the car made the space feel rather cramped.
After a moment of quiet, Zhu Wenshu turned her head to look at Ling Chen, and found him staring straight ahead, seemingly lost in thought about something.
“You…”
“That person just now,”
Ling Chen finally shifted his gaze, turning to look at Zhu Wenshu. “Was that Yin Yuoze coming back?”
Hearing that name from Ling Chen’s mouth left Zhu Wenshu momentarily dazed, unable to react at first.
She was stunned for a good while before saying, “No, you saw wrong. That was my coworker.”
Ling Chen lowered his eyes, murmured an “oh.”
After a moment of silence, he spoke again: “So you haven’t kept in touch with Yin Yuoze?”
Zhu Wenshu felt another wave of disorientation.
It had been a very long time since anyone around her had mentioned Yin Yuoze.
“We…” Zhu Wenshu said, “broke up a long time ago.”
A car approached from ahead, its headlights growing brighter, casting light through the windshield that, cut by the brim of his cap, fell in shadow across half of Ling Chen’s face.
After a long moment, he said “oh” again.
Zhu Wenshu thought the topic would end there, and was about to speak when she heard Ling Chen continue: “A long time ago—”
He raised his eyes. “How long, exactly?”
The question left Zhu Wenshu speechless once more, her thoughts freezing for a moment before she answered, “Junior year, I think.”
Seeing Ling Chen’s brow lift slightly, Zhu Wenshu, thinking she’d been caught in something, hastily corrected herself. “Ah, no, wait, sophomore year.”
The cap’s brim shadowed half of Ling Chen’s face, so Zhu Wenshu couldn’t see the flicker of surprise in his eyes turning to confusion. She only heard him ask, “So was it junior year or sophomore year?”
“Um…”
Zhu Wenshu genuinely didn’t know how to answer.
Back then, Yin Yuoze’s crush on Zhu Wenshu had been common knowledge across the entire class, even the entire school.
One was the top student in the class, the other a golden child of fortune—even the teachers were happy to see it happen, choosing to turn a blind eye.
But their actual relationship began the day of graduation, when Yin Yuoze gave Zhu Wenshu a grand, romantic confession.
If the story had ended there, it could have closed with “and so, the prince and princess lived happily ever after.”
But it didn’t.
Their relationship ended far too quickly, faster than either of them could have imagined.
Yin Yuoze truly deserved the description of a golden child of fortune—Zhu Wenshu had only ever seen him carry himself with spirited confidence.
The day they broke it off, though, she saw defeat and dejection in him—like a puppy caught in the rain.
Seeing him like that, Zhu Wenshu felt deeply guilty. She knew the problem was hers; Yin Yuoze hadn’t done anything wrong.
But even so, Yin Yuoze chose to respect her wishes.
He only asked one thing: could she hold off on telling their classmates the news right away?
That day’s fireworks had been such a spectacle, such a grand display, that everyone who knew of it treated it as a heartwarming tale to pass around.
And an eighteen-year-old boy didn’t want people to know he’d been dumped just months later.
Zhu Wenshu agreed.
As it turned out, the lie didn’t affect their lives much at all.
She stayed in Jiangcheng for university, while Yin Yuoze went to study in America—even without breaking up, the two would have had few chances to cross paths.
Besides, after graduation, classmates scattered in all directions, busy with their new lives, and no one noticed anything odd.
It wasn’t until much later that Yin Yuoze suddenly contacted Zhu Wenshu, telling her that a classmate had asked him why there was no interaction between the two of them on social media, and so Yin Yuoze had told them about the breakup.
The two of them got their story straight and, using the excuse of “a long-distance relationship that drifted apart,” gradually let classmates know, one by one.
Of course, if no one asked directly, Zhu Wenshu wouldn’t bring it up either.
The ones who did ask were just two or three people, and that had been years ago.
Which was exactly why, today, so many years later—
she couldn’t for the life of her remember whether it had been sophomore or junior year.
“Sopho—more year, I think.”
Zhu Wenshu nodded, pulling out the same explanation she’d given classmates a few times before. “We barely saw each other back then, with the time difference, and our lives went in different directions, so there wasn’t much…”
“That’s enough.”
Ling Chen suddenly raised a hand to rest on the steering wheel, staring at the flickering streetlights. “I’m not curious.”
Zhu Wenshu: “…”
Then what exactly have you been asking about this whole time?