It was Saturday. Since we’d agreed to meet at the school gate at seven AM, I woke up at 5:30.
Baiyu wasn’t up yet. On weekends, this little sleepyhead usually slept till past ten. Waking her now would just make her grumpy—she had a terrible temper when roused.
I made her breakfast, wrapped it in cling film, and tucked it into the fridge. I left a note too. Not knowing when I’d be back, I also left some cash for her lunch—takeout or eating out.
After prepping breakfast, I checked the time. It was just past six. I tidied the apartment a bit before heading to school.
I hadn’t even stepped through the school gates when I spotted Gong Xinyan waiting at the entrance.
I walked over and greeted her, “Morning.”
She glared at my casual tone, waving her wrist. Pointing at her watch, she snapped, “Morning? Do you even know what time it is, teacher?”
I pulled out my phone, confused. “It’s still fifteen minutes till seven. I came early.”
“What?! Seven? We said six!”
Her eyes widened as she yelled, “Men who make girls wait are the worst!”
“Six or seven was the plan. Showing up at six is way too early—I’d have to wake at four!”
“Is waking at four weird? I’ve been waiting almost an hour…”
“Whoa, that’s overkill.”
I noticed Xinyan’s body trembling slightly. She kept tightening her coat unconsciously.
She really had waited long.
Today, she wore a white short jacket over a light green tee, paired with slate-gray jeans. The outfit looked cute but was too thin for the morning chill.
It was late September in S City, deep in the south—a tricky season for dressing. The temperature swung wildly between dawn and noon, and the wind was biting. If she’d truly been here since six, she must’ve been freezing. She’d probably warmed her hands by breathing into them before I arrived, too shy to do it now.
I tested the waters, “Why come so early? Were you really looking forward to this?”
“If you help me write a great novel, a little cold means nothing!”
Her shivering undermined her words, but she fixed me with a sharp gaze. “Still, men who make girls wait are the worst! The worst!”
“No need to say it twice. Sorry, my bad.”
Though it wasn’t really my fault, I wisely apologized.
Xinyan pouted unhappily but didn’t scold further. She turned toward the bus stop outside the gate and glanced back. “Enough talk. Come wait for the bus.”
I followed and stood beside her at the stop.
While waiting, she tucked her hands into her sleeves and gently blew warm air into them. The gesture was unexpectedly adorable—I stole a quick peek.
The bus arrived. She hopped on, dropped two coins into the fare box, and slid into a double seat. Patting the empty spot, she called, “Teacher, sit here.”
“…”
I obediently took the seat.
The bus was nearly empty that morning. I’d wanted to sit elsewhere, but I always realized too late that I’d just followed her lead.
Xinyan’s home was far from school—about forty minutes by this bus. I lived in S City’s southern outskirts; she was in the north. From school, our routes went in opposite directions.
Her apartment building stood in the north district, where housing was cheap. Most structures here were old.
Inside, it was a simple two-bedroom unit. The decor was plain but spotless, with furniture neatly arranged.
At the entrance, Xinyan handed me cute pink bunny slippers. “Here, change into these.”
“…Can I pick another pair?”
“Nope.”
I pointed to gray-brown slippers on the shoe rack. “What about those?”
She glanced over. “Those are Dad’s.”
“Your dad’s not home. It’s fine if I borrow them.”
“No way! He’ll notice.”
Seriously? Who detects a visitor just from worn slippers? Is your dad Gong Sherlock Holmes? Or does he sniff his footwear to spot strangers?
Come on—even police dogs don’t have noses that sharp. I don’t even have foot odor. Who sniffs their own slippers anyway?
But Xinyan insisted. I slipped on the bunny slippers while she padded barefoot into the living room.
She wore tight black socks, moving like a cat—silent steps.
I followed her in. She grabbed a can of cola from the fridge and thrust it at me. “Here.”
“Really, it’s okay…”
She shoved it into my hands. “It’s all we have. Don’t be shy, teacher.”
I held the can.
I rarely drank soda—Baiyu got stomachaches from it, so I’d avoided it for ages.
Xinyan cracked open her own can, took a sip, then pointed toward her room. She led the way; I trailed behind.
Her room was starkly simple. No typical girly clutter like makeup. The wallpaper was a muted gray. A small wooden bed sat center-stage. Near the window stood a desk with an old desktop computer. To its left loomed a tall wardrobe, topped only by a tiny mirror.
The sole hint of cuteness was a worn teddy bear pillow on her bed. Its arm was clumsily stitched back on.
Otherwise, this room felt nothing like a girl’s space. Baiyu’s, for example, overflowed with plushies and pink wallpaper.
I just glanced around silently. I’d seen far messier girl rooms—like that flat-chested doujin artist’s disaster zone. Compared to that, Xinyan’s place was immaculate.
