HYSE - 11

Shi Yin thought that if she were to meet this man again, she would definitely recognize him, even without seeing his face clearly.

Because he had a voice that could make one’s ears “pregnant.”

Clear and cold, with the texture of thin ice, yet seemingly laced with unfathomable icy grains that made one’s soul tremble.

A group of students sneaking out of their dorms in the middle of the night got caught by an adult. They all acted nervous, fearing they’d be asked about their grade, class, or homeroom teacher, and be told to meet their teacher tomorrow. In unison, they bowed deeply and apologized loudly, their voices louder than military training chants: “Goodbye, sir!”

—Then they turned tail and fled.

“...”

Shi Yin was at the back, but on impulse, she glanced back.

The night blended with him, leaving only a faint red glow visible for an instant before it fell to the ground and was extinguished underfoot.

It really looked like ghost fire.

Shi Yin suppressed her urge to run over and use her phone to illuminate his face to see what he looked like. Instead, she turned around and followed Ergou down the stairs.

Even though she hadn’t seen his face, her heart began to race uncontrollably. Could she have really met a ghost?

In the following days, whether during class, recess, lunch break, or self-study, Shi Yin was somewhat distracted until she saw him again under the arts building.

The man stood by the entrance of the arts building, leaning against the wall. Students passing by greeted him, and many girls blushed, calling him “Teacher Gu” with lingering tones.

He nodded in response without raising his eyes.

Shi Yin realized he didn’t even need to speak or rely on his voice for recognition. Standing there silently, his presence alone overlapped with the figure from that night.

His aura and silhouette matched perfectly.

The face she hadn’t seen clearly that night was younger and more handsome than she imagined, resembling an otherworldly fairy untouched by human affairs.

The break between classes was only a few minutes, and more than half of it had already passed. With time pressing, Shi Yin was anxious, unable to think of a reason to approach him.

Why wasn’t he a security guard? He was a teacher.

She wished he were a security guard instead, Shi Yin thought.

Frustrated, she stamped her feet and impulsively decided to go over and say hello, figuring she’d improvise later.

Just as she was about to approach, the bell rang for class.

“...”

Shi Yin was irritated, scratching her head and reluctantly casting one last glance at him before running towards the teaching building.

After a few steps, she stopped and turned around. Coincidentally, the man had also shifted his gaze, looking directly at her.

For the first time, Shi Yin saw his eyes clearly—pale gray-brown, emotionless, regarding her with no feeling, as if staring at something lifeless.

But she didn’t have time to ponder much; time was tight and urgent. She quickly jogged back, looking up at him nervously while licking her lips: “Hi.”

“...”

Shi Yin furrowed her brows in frustration, feeling like a complete idiot.

She cleared her throat and asked knowingly: “So you’re not a security guard?”

He lowered his eyes, still silent.

Shi Yin put on a look of sudden realization: “Do you not remember me? It’s just—” she paused, scanning the surroundings before lowering her voice and whispering, “We met on the rooftop the other night, right? That was you, wasn’t it?”

He hesitated for two seconds before finally responding: “Mm, it was me.”

Shi Yin sighed in relief, feeling both happy and smug: “I knew it was you. Although I didn’t see your face clearly then, are you a teacher?”

He glanced at her: “Doesn’t it seem so?”

“It seems too much so, but I didn’t expect a teacher to be on campus so late,” the girl smoothly added respectfully, “Do you go by Mr. Gu? What subject do you teach? Science? Physics? Chemistry?”

As soon as she finished speaking, the second bell rang for class.

The previous bell was a warning, so class had now officially started.

The campus was empty of other students. The man watched her quietly, his voice flat and calm: “I teach subjects you don’t need to study. Class has started; go back.”

How do you know which classes I don’t need to attend?

Before she could respond, he had already turned and walked into the arts building.

Shi Yin blinked twice.

The office for science teachers wasn’t in the arts building, nor was it for humanities teachers. She didn’t know the layout of the new campus’s arts building, only hearing from seniors that the first floor and basement were filled with art studios.

It took three minutes to run back to class. When Shi Yin returned to the classroom, she was gloriously five minutes late.

They were having biology class. It was rumored that all the biology teachers at Experimental High School No. 1 in both campuses were bald Mediterraneans, and none were female—all male. So stepping into the biology teachers’ office revealed rows of shiny foreheads connecting to bald heads, from old to young, none spared, as if cursed mysteriously.

Shi Yin’s class was an experimental science class, and the biology teacher was the head of the biology department. Likely because he was the strongest, he was also the baldest, affectionately known as Old Baldy.

He was also their homeroom teacher.

Shi Yin thought the unknown Mr. Gu couldn’t possibly teach biology because he wasn’t bald.

But she couldn’t accept that he might not be strong.

How could such a handsome man not be strong?

But he wasn’t bald.

Strong people were bald.

Shi Yin was tormented, lost in deep thought under Old Baldy’s condemning gaze throughout the entire class, her mind wracked with extreme anguish and conflict. Finally, when the bell rang for the end of class, she shot up, pushing her chair back with a screech.

The whole class looked over, and Old Baldy’s face darkened.

Shi Yin solemnly bowed deeply: “Thank you, teacher! Goodbye, teacher!”

—Then she dashed out of the classroom door.

Old Baldy was dumbfounded, taking two or three seconds to react before striding to the classroom door, shouting down the corridor: “Shi Yin! I’m not done yet! Give me five more minutes! Come back here!!”

Without turning her head, Shi Yin waved behind her, her posture cool like a wandering swordsman: “Teacher, you continue; I’ll be back in five minutes!”

Old Baldy was seething, yelling her name. The sound of “Shi Yin” echoed through the empty school corridors, reverberating endlessly.

But it couldn’t pull back the heart of a maiden chasing beauty.

Shi Yin rushed straight to the arts building, acting like a seasoned student of the new campus, entering naturally as if for the hundredth time, discreetly observing.

Sure enough, the entire first floor was filled with art studios.

There were three large rooms. Two doors were closed, but through the glass, one could see art students scattered about, focused and absorbed. The last room was empty, with no one inside.

Shi Yin carefully pushed open the slightly ajar door and entered. The smell of paint mixed with paper, wood, and dust wafted through the air.

Layer upon layer of wooden shelves held various sizes of plaster statues. By the wall was a small oval sink, with two paint-stained brushes resting on its edge. Easels were clustered in groups of two or three or stood alone in corners. Some had unfinished paintings on white paper, with layers of paint blending across the surface. Though Shi Yin couldn’t discern much, she found an indescribable beauty in them.

She felt as if she had glimpsed another world, hesitant to venture further, standing cautiously by the door, her limited view catching a peach placed on a white tablecloth by the entrance. Carefully, curiously, she reached out, gently poking it with her fingernail.

Before Shi Yin could react, the peach rolled off the table, landing lightly on the cement floor with a soft plop.

It was smashed.

Juice oozed out.

“...”

Shi Yin froze, realizing after a few seconds that she had caused trouble.

The girl’s face turned pale.

She shuffled over, trembling as she crouched down, hesitantly reaching out to pick up the smashed, mushy remains of the peach, unsure whether to destroy the evidence or confess.

Just as she hesitated, the art studio door opened again.

Shi Yin looked up.

The unknown Mr. Gu stood at the door, one hand on the frame, looking down at her.

Destroying the evidence seemed impossible now.

Shi Yin’s face was ashen as she swallowed nervously: “It’s not my fault. I just touched it, and it decided to give up.”

“...”

Gu Congli found it amusing.

The girl in her uniform squatted on the ground, looking up at him with panic and unease.

In her palm lay a ruined peach, as if cradling a dead bird. Peach juice dripped from her fingers, plopping onto the cement floor.

Gu Congli’s expression remained indifferent, but he wrinkled his brow in distaste.

This was the most vivid expression his face had shown thus far.

And it was disdain.

Shi Yin felt he was angry, and since it really was her fault—entering his studio, ruining his peach, and trying to shift blame—she stammered apologetically: “I’m sorry, it’s my fault.” Holding the peach high above her head, she looked devout and cautious, “Can I buy ten identical peaches to compensate you?”

“No,” Teacher Gu said expressionlessly, “This is an Austrian royal orchard air-freighted Xinjiang natural peach.”

Shi Yin didn’t catch on, staring at him like a fool: “Huh?”

“Priceless,” Teacher Gu added blandly.

Shi Yin: “...”

An Austrian royal orchard air-freighted Xinjiang natural peach.

Shi Yin didn’t understand why this Mr. Gu could say such nonsense with a straight face, using his highly deceptive features to deliver absurdities that somehow sounded convincing.

She forced a laugh, holding the peach and standing up, offering it to him: “Should we throw it away? Or eat it? It’s a waste.”

“...Throw it away.”

Shi Yin obediently “Oh”-ed, trotted over to the trash can to dispose of it, washed her hands, grabbed a mop leaning against the wall, and asked him: “Can I use this to clean the floor?”

“Mm.”

With his approval, Shi Yin grabbed the mop and approached the crime scene—a small dark spot with a few drips nearby.

As she wiped, she felt the need to explain: “Teacher Gu, I really didn’t mean it. I just wanted to see if it was real or fake. I’m sorry for touching it randomly.”

The man had already sat down by the wooden shelves, reading a thick art book or something. Without looking up, he simply responded: “It’s fine.”

Shi Yin leaned on the mop, making conversation: “I’ve never hurt even a cockroach in my life.”

“...”

“Let alone an Austrian royal orchard Xinjiang natural peach.”

“...”

“That’s too precious.”

“...”