Sometimes fate works in the strangest ways.

She had been back in Nancheng all this time — had gone to every place there was to go — and hadn’t crossed paths with him even once.

Yet once they actually came face to face, it happened again and again.

Not only Lu Rangchen — Yunque was surprised too.

She’d slept poorly the night before and was running a low fever. She’d been thinking of requesting the morning off, but Old Liu had called early to tell her that Deng Jiao’s family would be coming in.

Deng Jiao’s late-night job at the bar — Yunque had told her about it at the police station the night before.

Old Liu was genuinely concerned, and had reached out to Deng Zhe that same evening, asking him to come in the next day.

These days, teacher-parent communication was mostly done over WeChat.

Deng Zhe had never sent a voice message in return, so Old Liu naturally had no way of knowing that the person who showed up would be Lu Rangchen.

And if Old Liu didn’t know, then Yunque certainly didn’t either.

She had only been thinking about how to speak with Deng Jiao’s family about the situation.

After all, Lu Rangchen — with that cool, detached manner of his — had always been the type who would smooth things over as a favor and call it generous. He probably couldn’t be bothered to actually get involved in disciplining a kid.

Taking it a step further: if Lu Rangchen covered for her and Deng Jiao’s actual family remained in the dark, the girl would only become harder to manage.

Yunque thought it over and decided to come anyway.

Out of habit, she also brought Old Liu breakfast.

She had barely stepped through the door when she caught a glimpse of that familiar figure.

Dark-toned outer jacket, casual trousers, broad shoulders and long legs — bathed in the clear morning light, the kind of look that at a glance seemed understated, but the longer you looked, the more clearly it harmonized with his bearing: refined, with a quality of considered elegance.

The same pair of eyes she remembered from last night.

Sharp and cold, arrogant and unrestrained.

Even the briefest, most indifferent glance from him could throw your heart off its rhythm.

It was a strange feeling.

Like someone who had lived inside a memory of blood and bone — someone who had moved through day after day and night after night — suddenly tearing open the fabric of a dream and coming back to life in your world.

Yunque couldn’t quite say what she was thinking in that moment.

She only knew that she found herself walking toward him, almost as if pulled by something unseen, and extending her hand.

She thought — she’d have to say something eventually. Even if it was just surface-level and formal, at least she would have made contact. At least they’d have spoken.

As it turned out, that gesture did serve some purpose.

Perhaps because Old Liu was present, Lu Rangchen didn’t let things grow as tense as they had been the night before. After a brief pause, he extended his hand in return.

His hand was the same as she remembered — clean, well-shaped.

The handshake, when it came, was warm and dry — but brief, the lightest touch, and then it was over.

Lu Rangchen tilted his eyes up at her with an expression that held a thread of mockery beneath the surface, raised his chin slightly, and said with easy nonchalance: “Deng Jiao’s family.”

Still the same low, magnetic voice.

Yunque felt her pulse quicken, just faintly.

It was Old Liu’s voice that brought her back — adding helpfully: “Deng Jiao’s older brother — Deng Zhe.”

At that name, Yunque visibly paused.

The look she turned on Lu Rangchen carried a question.

But Lu Rangchen looked entirely unconcerned, long legs loosely crossed without a trace of guilt.

Old Liu, with genuine enthusiasm, introduced her to him: “This is the teacher who went with Deng Jiao to the police station last night — kind-hearted and lovely, wouldn’t you say?”

As she spoke, Lu Rangchen did exactly what you might expect — looked Yunque over, openly, without apology. The sweep of his gaze went from bottom to top, playful and knowing, with a certain deliberate edge to it, as if he wanted to make her feel exposed. “Definitely something different about her,” he said.

Old Liu smiled as if this were the most satisfying thing she’d heard all day.

Lu Rangchen looked at Yunque and raised an eyebrow. “Then thank you, Ms. Zhu.”

His tone carried a double meaning. It landed like a needle.

Yunque said nothing.

But she had worked out what was really going on — Old Liu’s private intentions, once again.

Old Liu was the mentor who had taken her under her wing when she first arrived at this school — supportive, warm, enthusiastic, and most devoted, above all else, to setting up the school’s single teachers. Yunque felt too much affection for her to ever turn her down.

So she could only say, evenly: “No need to thank me. I was only doing what I should.”

Her tone was mild.

But the words themselves carried a small, needle-sharp point.

She genuinely couldn’t help it.

Couldn’t help poking back at him, just that little bit.

She looked at him steadily and said: “That said, when all is said and done, it really does fall to the family to take responsibility. Deng Jiao is still young, and she’s got one more year before her college entrance exams. No matter how busy you are, I hope you’ll make the time to supervise and guide her more closely. Something like sneaking off to work in a bar — I’d really prefer not to see it happen again.”

Every single “you” she used was formal and deliberate — the kind of careful distance that belonged between strangers.

Her entire manner was that of a teacher addressing a guardian, perfectly professional — the ideal example of playing a role while knowing full well what you were doing.

It caught Lu Rangchen completely off guard and made him laugh.

He genuinely hadn’t imagined that there would ever be a day when the two of them spoke to each other like this. Anyone who knew the situation would have recognized a teacher talking to a family member — anyone who didn’t might have thought an elder was dressing down a wayward grandson.

But then again, thinking about it — there was nothing surprising about it at all.

She had always been that kind of person.

Always quietly composed on the surface — and yet she had a way of finding an unexpected angle that made you notice her whether you intended to or not.

Like right now.

Before Lu Rangchen could even formulate a response, Yunque’s expression had already returned to neutral, and she glided past him to her seat.

Her desk was by the window.

The sunlight was full on.

She settled in front of her computer with a certain unhurried elegance, the light seeming to favor her, tracing the lines of her naturally stunning face into something even more striking, more luminous.

Her slender pale fingers reached into the pen holder for a ballpoint pen — and in keeping with some habit she apparently couldn’t shake, she clicked it twice before lowering her gaze to start writing.

A faint, lingering scent of gardenia drifted through the air from where she’d been.

And just like that, without warning, it seemed like nothing had changed.

She was still the girl he had once loved deeply. Still the woman who had been so important to him that he had traveled alone to another country, set aside every last bit of his pride, and gone to beg her to come back.

Yet everything had changed.

Years of absence — years apart — and she was still the same person who made you feel that desperate, clenching pull in your chest. Yet she was no longer the person who left you with any hope.

Watching her, Lu Rangchen gave a quiet, self-mocking tug at the corner of his mouth.

After that, it was all just going through the motions.

He heard nothing — not Deng Jiao’s grades across her subjects, not how she was conducting herself at school. Not a single word registered.

Fortunately, the ordeal didn’t last too long. Before much time had passed, the head of the academic affairs department appeared in the doorway, calling Old Liu away for a brief meeting.

Old Liu had already said what needed to be said, and responded readily. She turned to Lu Rangchen and apologized — she was sorry, she’d hoped to have a longer chat about the situation, but something had come up unexpectedly.

As they both stood, Old Liu added: “If you’re not in a hurry, feel free to speak with Ms. Zhu a bit more — she’s been very attentive to Deng Jiao.”

At those words, Yunque finally looked up from where she’d been sitting quietly.

Her gaze passed over and landed on Lu Rangchen.

Sensing her attention, Lu Rangchen glanced at her as well — instinctive, unhurried, his expression carrying that particular quality of his that was hard to read, yet full of something beneath the surface.

But before Yunque could make sense of it, Lu Rangchen had already looked away.

He gave a clean, uncomplicated answer: “That’s alright — I’ve got a few things to take care of.”

The tone was breezy and conclusive, as if everything between them had long since been put to rest. He even smiled. “Don’t let me keep you. I’ll head out.”

Old Liu seemed to realize, belatedly, that it wasn’t exactly convenient for the family to linger.

She hurried to say her goodbyes and see Lu Rangchen out of the office with her.

The early-morning office was nearly empty. Once they had gone, only Yunque remained, and a stillness settled in around her.

She held her ballpoint pen, lost for a moment without realizing it, a vague tightness pressing against her chest.

After a moment, she looked toward the window.

From the fifth floor, you could look out over nearly the whole campus.

The students were all at morning study, and the grounds were quiet.

So it was easy enough — surprisingly easy — to find Lu Rangchen’s figure.

That long, lean silhouette, walking briskly toward the gate, still carrying that air of untamed certainty. Out front, a black large-body SUV was parked. Within moments, he had swung the door shut and driven away.

Yunque suddenly thought back to a conversation.

She had once told Lu Rangchen she liked black cars — ideally a big one. She’d said they had a kind of presence.

She’d said white cars bored her. Not his style either.

At the time, Lu Rangchen had laughed, reached out, and flicked the tip of her nose lightly. “You’re not exactly big,” he’d said, “but your list of requirements is.”

Then he’d thought for a second and added: “Fine, I’ll listen to you. Switch to a black one — something big. More space too, which will be convenient.”

Yunque had looked at him with an expression of total innocence and asked: convenient for what?

Lu Rangchen had laughed — a low, slightly roguish sound, drawing out his words as he teased her: “Convenient for what, you’re asking.”

He had leaned in and murmured against her ear: “For having my way with you — does that work for you?”

Yunque remembered turning red.

She hadn’t spoken to Lu Rangchen for the rest of the afternoon.

And he — who ended up skipping training to spend the whole time coaxing her back into a good mood.

He had managed it, of course, eventually.

He’d pressed her into the back seat and kissed her breathless, and the traces of the two of them wound together had been left all over those seats.

Those memories were seared into the flesh of her — impossible to wear away.

Back then, Yunque had believed, with certainty, that the two of them would walk together for a lifetime.

But fate, it seemed, loved nothing more than to make a fool of you.

She could never have imagined that in the future, Lu Rangchen’s life would carry on without a place for her in it.

—

People say that mood is affected by the weather.

But sometimes it seems to go the other way — as if the weather responds to how you feel.

Shortly after Lu Rangchen left, the clear morning turned overcast, and by afternoon a sizable rain had set in.

As a result, outdoor exercise for that day was cancelled.

And so it happened that Yunque crossed paths with Deng Jiao.

The girl had no shortage of energy — she’d been crying her eyes out the night before, yet the next day she was cheerfully chatting and walking arm in arm with a friend, entirely back to herself.

But that smile didn’t last long. The instant her eyes landed on Yunque, her expression dropped.

Yunque had just come back from another classroom, carrying a stack of papers. She gave the girl one cool glance. “Come with me to the office for a moment,” she said.

Every student from every era knows that particular sentence, and the dread it carries.

Deng Jiao’s heart was hammering as she followed Yunque back to the office.

No one else was there at this hour.

Deng Jiao stood beside Yunque, gripping her own hands nervously, trying to figure out what she might have done wrong this time.

Then Yunque raised her eyes and spoke — and the first thing out of her mouth was: “Your brother is Deng Zhe. Why did you have Lu Rangchen come in your place?”

“……”

Deng Jiao’s shoulders jolted. She stared, completely caught off guard.

Her voice trembled a little. “Teacher… you met my brother — no, I mean, you met my Rangchen-ge?”

She blinked, struggling to process it. “Wait, but how do you know his name?”

Yunque glanced down and continued sorting through the papers on her desk.

Her voice was cool and clear, with no attempt to conceal or evade anything.

She said: “Because I used to date him.”

She said it the way you’d mention the weather — matter-of-fact and unhurried, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world.

And in a sense, it was.

Two young people in school — they caught each other’s eye, and one thing led naturally to another, a relationship that was difficult to forget.

It was just that when this information reached Deng Jiao’s ears, the effect was nothing short of an explosion.

The girl — bless her — didn’t seem to know what came out of her mouth, because she swore out loud.

“……”

Yunque looked up, about to say something — but Deng Jiao beat her to it: “So you’re the moonlight he’s been pining after all these years — the one who put him through hell and still lives in his head!”

The words landed.

The air in the office went perfectly, completely still.

Yunque’s temple twitched.

She couldn’t quite say, in that instant, what unsettled her more — the phrase “put him through hell,” or the phrase “moonlight.”