"Who are you?"

Hearing the voice, Qi Yan finally noticed his colleague at the next table—a petite girl with an adorable style.

She wore a light blue denim overall dress.

Her dark brown wavy hair draped over her shoulders.

Loose, wispy bangs added a breezy touch.

Her face had a hint of baby fat.

One hand held a soy milk pouch; the other gripped a steamed meat bun.

A small bite marked the bun, revealing tooth prints.

As she bent to eat, she looked like a little hamster.

Without the green faculty ID card pinned to her chest, she’d easily be mistaken for a student.

"Uh… I almost forgot to introduce myself," she said. "I’m also a new teacher, half a semester ahead of you. I’ve just turned full-time after my internship. A music teacher from Provincial Normal University. I’m Le Meng."

"Hello, Teacher Le," Qi Yan replied, extending his right hand.

"Just… wait a sec. Let me finish eating first," Le Meng said playfully, shaking her food-filled hands and tilting her head.

Qi Yan had never understood why people enjoyed watching Korean idols eat kimchi live. He’d asked a buddy once, who called it "appetite fuel"—just seeing a pretty girl eat made him devour extra rice. Qi Yan had scoffed at that. But watching Le Meng munch baozi and sip soy milk today, he realized it truly was a pleasure.

"Um… could you not stare while I eat? It’s a bit embarrassing…" Le Meng murmured shyly.

"Ah, sorry—I was lost in thought," Qi Yan quickly apologized. He lowered his head, grabbed the class schedule on his desk, and hid his gaze to mask his true feelings.

Seeing Qi Yan look away, Le Meng dropped her ladylike act. She wolfed down the bun, devouring it in seconds.

She wiped her mouth with a tissue. "Teacher Qi, sorry to keep you waiting."

"You look so young, Teacher Le. Nothing like a fresh grad. Must be popular with the boys, huh?"

"Plenty say that, but it doesn’t make me happy."

"Why? Girls love being called young, don’t they?" Qi Yan recalled someone who treated age like a taboo.

"Well, youth means no authority," Le Meng sighed, resting her chin on her palms. "I can’t control the rowdy students at all."

"Try befriending them. Close in age, you might understand their rebellious phases. Easy to bond, right?"

"I tried. Failed. Once, near class end, students skipped early or never showed. Chaos. The vice principal caught me—he scolded me hard, docked my pay. I snapped at the class later… ruined everything."

"Everyone messes up young. Don’t dwell. If friendship fails, be a cool, distant teacher."

"Thanks for the pep talk. As fellow rookies, let’s work hard together!" Le Meng waved encouragingly.

"Mm."

After greetings, conversation died. Qi Yan, a notorious topic-killer, was to blame.

Le Meng, naturally shy, had used all her courage volunteering to guide him earlier. Now she scrolled her phone silently, browsing social apps.

Qi Yan sat idle. His desk was bare; he had nothing to do. For two years, he’d rarely had free time—busy dawn to dusk, nights spent rushing manuscripts. Boredom felt like a luxury.

Rarely, he pulled out his phone. Months ago, to save money, he’d disabled his data plan. His smartphone became a call-only brick. Last month, he’d shared a family plan with his sister, restoring internet.

He logged into QQ. Messages flooded in like bombers, freezing his phone instantly.

Helpless, he force-restarted it. Most messages were spam. Senior Liu Qin and Su Shiyu had messaged months ago: "Where are you?", "Need help?", "Reply ASAP." Though old, they warmed his heart slightly.

The culprit was his online friend "Luo Xiaoshuai"—a middle-school buddy, real name Luo Xingyan. He’d spammed "99+" messages; Qi Yan guessed nearly a thousand.

Too lazy to scroll, Qi Yan typed: "What do you need?"

"My brother-in-law! You’re back! I thought you’d vanished into the 2D world," came the instant reply. Qi Yan was used to his 25-hours-a-day online habit.

"I cut my data plan. Focused on work for three months. Just back today."

"Wow, caveman? Un-evolved ape? Surviving three months offline in this era?"

"Cut it. I’m not an internet zombie like you. I work for a living. What’s up?"

"Disaster in the scanlation group—the sky’s falling!" Luo Xingyan had formed the group with his Japanese skills. Qi Yan had helped before. His craziest move? Making his Japan-studying sister buy and scan manga.

"You know those viral memes, ‘German Orthopedics’ and ‘British Court’? One guy thought he was close to his cousin, tried copying another group’s senior. But she was martial-arts trained. One back-somersault throw landed him in hospital."

"Oof, rough," Qi Yan said, unsympathetic, almost gleeful.

"I got mocked, took extra projects. Two guys quit for Gaokao retakes. Now only three of us—swamped. Some series are on hiatus for ages. Readers demand updates. If we stall, rival groups will call us toilet-hoggers."

"I get it, but my Japanese sucks. Can’t help."

"Just edit images and typeset. We’ll send translated text. I know you’re busy and strapped—I’ll pay you."

"Skip the cash. Your hobby group’s self-funded. I’m not broke. Send files tonight; I’ll help after dinner."

"Brother-in-law! You’re a lifesaver, a true hero! Worthy of ‘Timely Fire Qi Yan’!"

"Group name unchanged?"

"Nope. Why fix perfection? Why?"

"Never put my name on releases—online or nickname. Your group’s name is cringey."

"Love Meimei Scanlation Group? Catchy and simple!"

"Whatever. No ranting. Time for class prep. Chat later."

"Wait—teaching students? Weren’t you the wild, all-night-cultivating college kid? Into some shameful teacher-student roleplay?"