SWTHTC - 12

Chapter 12: “Be Careful”

[From now on, I’ll never let you go home alone again.]

They returned to the classroom at exactly six o’clock.

Zhou Leqi casually pulled a draft notebook from her bag and quickly sketched out a rough outline with a pencil. Since Teacher Pan had given them the theme “Youth Soaring, No Regrets in Senior Three,” she decided to draw a large sailing ship riding the waves. To make the colors more vibrant, she planned to paint the waves with colorful poster paints.

With just a few strokes, she outlined the shape of the ship on the notebook and arranged the layout for the artistic lettering. Then, she handed it over to Hou Zihao for his opinion. “What do you think of this layout?”

What kind of feedback could someone like Hou Zihao, with his lack of artistic expertise, possibly give? Naturally, whatever Zhou Leqi suggested seemed perfect to him—absolutely perfect.

“Let’s go with this,” Zhou Leqi said, realizing he wasn’t going to offer any useful critique. She rolled up her sleeves and walked over to inspect the blackboard. “Today, we’ll sketch with chalk, and we’ll add the colors on Monday.”

Hou Zihao had no concept of how much work creating a blackboard newspaper entailed. He initially thought they’d finish everything in one day, but now realized there was still more to do on Monday—which meant Zhou Leqi would stay behind again? That they’d share another meal together?

Feeling cheerful, he went to grab some chalk from the podium while agreeing. As he turned back, he saw Zhou Leqi moving a chair. He immediately stepped forward to help her and asked, “Why are you moving the chair?”

Zhou Leqi pointed to the upper part of the blackboard. “I need to stand on the chair to reach the higher areas.”

Hou Zihao glanced at the chair, doubting its stability. He assessed the height of the blackboard and, being tall enough to reach without standing on anything, suggested, “Why don’t I handle the higher parts, and you take care of the lower sections?”

Zhou Leqi pursed her lips, showing him the draft. “The top part needs detailed painting—the sailing ship.”

Hou Zihao fell silent for a moment, studying the complexity of the ship’s design. “...Never mind what I said.”

Zhou Leqi couldn’t hold back her laughter.

When she wasn’t smiling, she appeared serious, but when she laughed, she looked sweet—her little tiger teeth peeking out, adding to her charm.

Hou Zihao’s mood brightened even further at her laugh. Perhaps because of their shared meal earlier, the distance between them seemed to have diminished significantly. He smiled back and teased her, saying, “Alright, laugh all you want—are you Xu Beihong reincarnated or something?”

Zhou Leqi felt relaxed too. For some reason, she never felt pressured when she was with Hou Zihao. She retorted playfully, “Better than you, anyway. If you’re not satisfied, why don’t you try drawing yourself?”

Hou Zihao, unable to argue further after Zhou Leqi’s sharp response, quickly surrendered. “Alright, alright, I’m thoroughly convinced—please proceed.”

His tone was so natural that Zhou Leqi didn’t even realize she was being gently coaxed. Perhaps it was because Hou Zihao always spoke with such ease—it made her forget that she was two years older than him. Despite his age, he carried himself with remarkable maturity—not in an old-fashioned way, but rather… he was simply very considerate.

Zhou Leqi adjusted the angle of the chair and prepared to step onto it. At that moment, Hou Zihao extended his hand to steady her and reminded her, “Be careful—you might fall.”

Zhou Leqi pursed her lips, acknowledging his concern. After hesitating briefly, she lightly rested her hand on his arm and stepped up.

She began to draw.

The blackboard was wide, and ideally, they should’ve divided the work—one person handling each side to speed things up. However, Hou Zihao remained worried about her falling and stood by her side, watching closely.

Zhou Leqi found his behavior a bit exasperating. Turning slightly, she said, “I won’t fall. Go over there and draw the grid lines for the artistic lettering.”

As she turned, she once again became acutely aware of how tall Hou Zihao was. He was probably taller than 185 cm—perhaps closer to 187 or 188 cm. Even though she was standing on the chair, she was only slightly taller than him.

After hearing her instructions, Hou Zihao frowned and glanced at the chair again. “Are you sure you can manage?”

His tone made her feel like a child.

“I can handle it,” Zhou Leqi waved him off, urging him to move. “Just make sure the letters are spaced out properly. After you’ve drawn the grid lines, step back and check if it looks right.”

Her instructions flowed smoothly, as if she were naturally accustomed to delegating tasks.

Hou Zihao didn’t have the heart to argue with her. Whatever she asked, he complied. Taking a couple of steps back, he picked up a ruler and some chalk. But as he passed her, he couldn’t help glancing at her again and repeating his warning: “Be careful. This chair isn’t as stable as it looks—don’t lose your footing.”

By then, Zhou Leqi had already tuned him out, fully focused on drawing the sails of the ship.

Hou Zihao sighed and went to work on the grid lines.

Zhou Leqi’s personality could be described as extremely serious.

Perhaps even stubbornly so.

In reality, this blackboard newspaper probably wasn’t a big deal to Teacher Pan—they could have gotten away with a casual effort. After all, in their senior year, who really had time for this?

Initially, Zhou Leqi intended to just half-heartedly complete the task. But once she picked up the chalk, she felt a sense of responsibility wash over her. She couldn’t tolerate imperfections in her work, so she became increasingly absorbed and meticulous. She erased and redrew several sections repeatedly. Surprisingly, she truly embodied the spirit of Xu Beihong.

And then… the contemporary reincarnation of Xu Beihong missed her footing.

At that moment, she was intently focusing on drawing the stern of the ship, planning to write “Dream Chaser” on its hull. Just as she shifted her weight slightly to steady herself, her right foot slipped.

A loud clang echoed through the room as the chair toppled over.

But she didn’t hit the ground—he caught her.

The warmth of his body radiated through his hands around her waist. For a fleeting moment, their eyes met, and each saw their reflection in the other’s gaze.

Someone’s heartbeat quickened.

“Be careful.”

She heard him whisper in her ear.

________________________________________

It was already past eight when they boarded the bus.

The sky was completely dark, and the bus was nearly empty. Zhou Leqi couldn’t continue reading, and sleepiness began to creep over her.

She was tired.

She hadn’t slept well in a long, long time.

Ever since that incident a few years ago—when her father’s infidelity came to light—she had often been woken up in the middle of the night by her parents’ arguments. After they separated and divorced, the sounds of fighting turned into her mother’s sobs.

Day after day, it never ended.

Eventually, she began to fear the night, to dread sleep. Perhaps deep down, she knew that something frightening or exhausting always awaited her in the darkness.

She started suffering from insomnia, night after night.

But tonight, she was exhausted.

She didn’t know why she felt so tired. Was it because the gentle swaying of the bus made it so conducive to sleep? Leaning against the window, her consciousness grew hazy. Before she knew it, she drifted off.

Her breathing grew soft and steady.

Hou Zihao glanced at her sleeping form, his heart filled with a quiet stillness.

She was so thin, curled up against the window, looking even smaller. Her jet-black hair was tied into a ponytail, which had loosened slightly, giving her an unexpectedly delicate beauty.

He suddenly wished she were leaning on his shoulder instead.

Close to him, just like when he had held her in the classroom.

He heard his own heartbeat again.

At that moment, he tried every trick in the book to distract himself, to stop staring at her like some kind of creep. But no matter how hard he tried, his eyes refused to leave her.

It was just like two years ago, when he first saw her from afar on the third-floor corridor of the teaching building.

He steadied his breathing and carefully extended his hand. Gently, ever so gently, he lifted her head and shifted her position so she could rest more comfortably.

She must have been utterly exhausted, because she didn’t wake up despite his movements. She only murmured softly in her sleep, a sound that sent his blood pressure skyrocketing—but thankfully, nothing happened. She remained asleep, now resting against his shoulder, just as he had hoped.

As if she were…

His dearest lover.

When Zhou Leqi woke up, she realized she had been leaning on Hou Zihao’s shoulder.

She immediately straightened up, her face flushing red. Fortunately, the dim lighting inside the bus concealed her embarrassment somewhat.

“I’m sorry,” she stammered awkwardly. “I… I fell asleep…”

And worse, she had leaned on his shoulder…

She felt both embarrassed and guilty, avoiding eye contact with Hou Zihao. Thankfully, he was understanding and shrugged it off casually. “It’s fine…”

He paused mid-sentence, suddenly worried that appearing too nonchalant might come across as flippant. Quickly adopting a serious expression, he added, “Just be more careful next time.”

Zhou Leqi: “….”

“…Okay.”

The bus arrived at their stop at nine fifteen.

Hou Zihao looked at the pitch-black sky and the nearly deserted streets of the development zone. Turning to Zhou Leqi, he said, “It’s late. Let me walk you home.”

Though touched by his kindness, Zhou Leqi still felt the lingering awkwardness from earlier. She felt she had overstepped by falling asleep on his shoulder, especially considering his girlfriend, Yuan Jiahui. This guilt weighed heavily on her.

She despised people who interfered in others’ relationships, especially after her father’s betrayal.

Moreover… she harbored some less-than-honorable thoughts she didn’t want anyone to discover, including her reluctance to let him see where she lived.

Despite feeling uneasy about returning alone to the poorly lit, narrow alleys of her old residential complex, she politely declined his offer.

“Thank you, but it’s really not necessary,” she said. “My house is nearby—I can manage on my own.”

Hou Zihao wanted to insist, but she preemptively said goodbye and turned to leave before he could respond. Her figure grew smaller and smaller as she walked away.

This left Hou Zihao with an inexplicable sense of abandonment.

He found his own thoughts ridiculous, but after a moment’s hesitation, he decided to follow her—not because he was a creep, but because it was so late, and he genuinely didn’t feel comfortable letting her go alone.

He trailed her from a distance, watching as the streetlights grew dimmer and the roads narrower. She seemed tense, cautiously scanning the dark corners along the way, wary of potential threats. Eventually, she began to walk faster, perhaps to avoid any sudden dangers.

She looked like a fragile, frightened little bird.

His heart ached.

He followed her all the way, finally watching as she entered the residential compound and disappeared into the building’s entrance. Standing beneath her apartment, he watched the lights turn on floor by floor and listened to the faint sounds of her opening and closing the door through the poorly insulated walls. Only then did he finally breathe a sigh of relief.

But he didn’t leave immediately. Instead, he lingered near her building for a while, processing the indescribable emotions swirling within him. It was another fifteen minutes before he finally walked away.

At that moment, he resolved:

I will never let you go home alone again.