"Teacher Xu…"

"Lu Huai, you're here. Perfect timing."

In the office, teachers of varying ages and genders busied themselves with lesson prep. When Lu Huai offered a timid greeting, Xu Zhixi—unfazed—set her materials aside without hesitation. She lifted her gaze to him. Before he could speak, she addressed the boy who barely dared meet her eyes.

"I was just about to discuss the literature club. I didn’t get to tell you directly, but Ruo Xing should’ve mentioned it, right?"

Lu Huai nodded. "She did… So I came to ask, Teacher Xu—could I possibly…"

"No."

Xu Zhixi smiled, her crimson lips parting with quiet finality. Soft, yet utterly unshakable.

"I haven’t even said it yet…" Lu Huai murmured, voice thick with helpless protest. He looked like a cornered pet—powerless, yet still feebly waving tiny paws. Xu Zhixi adored this sight. Her smile deepened.

"I know what you’ll say," she said gently. "You’ll claim you can’t handle it and ask me to assign someone else. Am I wrong?"

Lu Huai flushed silently, confirming without words.

"So my answer remains: no."

"But…" Words tangled in his throat. Blaming his personality felt too raw. Stammering, silent—he embodied the classic guilty student trapped in a hopeless deadlock.

Xu Zhixi stood. "Do you even know where the literature club is?"

Lu Huai blinked, still scrambling for excuses, and shook his head.

"Good. I’ll show you."

"Now? But… it’s before afternoon class. Shouldn’t students be resting?" *Wait—why am I worrying about* them*?* His doubt lacked conviction. He stayed quiet.

Xu Zhixi reached the door, glancing back at his dazed face. "When an idea strikes, act. Don’t procrastinate, Lu Huai."

Down the quiet corridor, sunlight filtering through the winding stairs.

"When did you realize your essays were this good?" Xu Zhixi asked casually.

Beside him, she moved in her uniform and black sheer stockings, a subtle, mature fragrance lingering in the sunlit air—intimate, faintly ambiguous. Lu Huai’s conscience held firm: *Age gap. Reality vs. fantasy.* No improper thoughts. Still… her presence felt undeniably pleasant.

"Nothing… really…" he mumbled.

"Most students here write decent essays," Xu Zhixi continued, voice crisp yet melodic. "But it’s formulaic: quote classics, craft a safe opener, drop a critical closer. Plug in examples like math problems. Logical. Smart. But soulless. Assembly-line work."

Lu Huai listened, captivated.

"That’s why yours stand out," she said. "I’m an English teacher, yes—but I read. Essays that grip you, make you feel, *resonate*? Those matter. You write with soul. Yes, your highs and lows surprise me—but that proves you never treated writing as a template. You take it seriously. That’s why I chose you. Understand, *well-behaved* Lu Huai?"

*Well-behaved.* Heat flooded his cheeks. He scratched his neck—a nervous tic, no real itch.

"Actually… writing just feels… freer…" The words died unfinished. Paper held his voice; speech betrayed him.

Xu Zhixi nodded. They crossed into the club building. Midway up the stairs, she asked, "Were you always this good?"

Lu Huai shook his head. "Elementary school… I wrote one or two lines. Avoided effort." A faint shame, softened by time.

"How’d it change?"

He hesitated. Alone with her, silence felt heavier than awkward words. "My Chinese teacher… saw my weekly journal—barely fifty characters, split into paragraphs as a trick. Dragged me to the lower-grade office. Told sixth-grade me: *‘Even second graders write more. How can you not be ashamed?’*"

"So you worked harder?" Xu Zhixi’s eyes sparkled with amusement.

Lu Huai found it cringey. Public humiliation stung. But childhood pride pushed him forward.

Xu Zhixi smirked, voice dripping with playful charm. "Should I drag shy Lu Huai before idol groups next? *‘Look—these sisters can do it. Can’t you?’* Make you sing and dance onstage?"

"I’d die…" he whispered.

She laughed softly, eyes crinkling at the corners.

Near the literature club door, muffled chatter drifted out—drowsy, casual. Lu Huai’s steps slowed. Crowds + Xu Zhixi’s lead = spotlight. His pulse quickened.

Xu Zhixi knocked. "Anyone in?"

"Teacher Xu?"

"Only someone this lovely could be Teacher Xu!"

*How do they say that so smoothly…* Lu Huai stood hidden just outside view, stiff as a student summoned for punishment.

Xu Zhixi smiled. "Just checking in—and introducing someone."

His heart hammered.

"Stop lurking. Come here."

Her tone carried homeroom authority. Lu Huai obeyed.

At the doorway, he glimpsed a quiet girl and a slender, bespectacled boy.

The girl: quintessential campus beauty—long black straight hair, serene demeanor, yet her large eyes held playful spark. One glance was all he managed. Self-introduction? Impossible.

Xu Zhixi stepped in. "Lu Huai, Class 5. He’ll handle our class’s school magazine piece."

The boy nodded warmly. "Zhang Cheng, Class 4. Nice to meet you."

"Hello…"

A cheerful voice followed. "Yang Mo, Class 4!"

Lu Huai barely glanced at her. "Hello…"

"Ooh, so shy! Reminds me of Qianxun?"

*Qianxun? Liu Qianxun?* A ripple in still water—gone in a breath. Not worth chasing.

Xu Zhixi wrapped it up. "Just showing him the way. Coordinate the draft with him directly."

No contacts exchanged. For Lu Huai—face-blind, distracted—the meeting blurred into anonymity. They left.

Afternoon classes passed normally. He tried drafting during breaks. Failed. *Tomorrow*, he told himself lightly.

The dismissal bell chimed. As always, he slipped out unnoticed with the crowd, head down, heading home to close this oddly turbulent day.

But…

*But…*

Life’s sweetest surprises—and deepest dread—hide behind "but."

Like now.

"Lu Huai?"

A gruff voice cut through. Lu Huai looked up.

A broad-shouldered man in a suit and sunglasses.

Lu Huai’s eyes widened.

*Where… have I seen this look before?*

He remembered ... that nightmare from Friday night.

This outfit ... Isn't it exactly the same?!