Suiyi’s summers were always especially long. By late September, the heat still clung thickly, refusing to dissipate—like those youths at the start of the school term who ignored the immensity of heaven and earth, relying on the lingering might of midsummer to charge forward without restraint, barreling through recklessly, arrogant and untamed.
Jin Zhao had gone out early that morning. When she arrived, the lottery center had just opened. The moment she pushed the door open, cool air rushed toward her. She turned her head and glanced at her reflection in the glass door: loose long sleeves and trousers, a mask and sunglasses, a wide-brimmed sun hat on her head, and a ten-yuan canvas bag in the same color scheme slung over her shoulder.
“Hello.”
The lottery center staff greeted her lukewarmly. As he casually set down his breakfast cup, the metal spoon struck the ceramic cup wall with a clinking sound.
“Hello, I’m here to claim a prize.” Jin Zhao stepped closer, taking out her ID and the winning lottery ticket. “I have an appointment.”
The other party reacted, letting out an “ah”: “You’re Ms. Jin Zhao who won 30 million, right?”
Jin Zhao: “Yes.”
It was her, Jin Zhao.
Twenty-six years old, relying on no one, buying a lottery ticket with her own money, winning 30 million.
The staff called over a supervisor. The two of them verified her lottery information together and confirmed her identity. Under their guidance, Jin Zhao went to stand beneath the surveillance camera.
“Now please write your ID number and bank card number on the back of the lottery ticket.”
Jin Zhao took the black pen and asked, “Can it be deposited into four bank cards separately?”
The staff member was taken aback. “Is there some problem?”
“No. Before coming, I checked some guides. Online it says people who are conflicted need guidance-type RMB, people who avoid need initiative-type RMB, people lacking love need attachment-type RMB, and irritable people need appeasement-type RMB.” Jin Zhao took out bank cards from the four major banks from her canvas bag, lined them up one by one on the tabletop, her fair fingers tapping the slightly cool cards in turn. “Here—guidance-type, initiative-type, attachment-type, appeasement-type. I want them all.”
The staff stared at her, dumbfounded.
Three seconds later, he nodded with great professional composure. “All right. Thirty million, taxed at 20%, leaves 24 million. Deposited into four bank cards, that’s six million credited to each card. Please confirm there’s no problem and write the account numbers on the back of the lottery ticket.”
“All right, thank you.”
Jin Zhao lowered her head and neatly wrote down the account numbers of her guidance-type, initiative-type, attachment-type, and appeasement-type bank cards.
While carefully conducting a second verification, she heard the staff turn back and say to the supervisor, “This kind of thing—six million—only exists in long dramas. If it were a short drama, it’d be at least sixty billion.”
Supervisor: “Exactly. Over there, inflation is fierce.”
What long dramas, short dramas?
Jin Zhao’s heart jolted. Just as she was about to turn around and ask, an urgent shout suddenly reached her ears—
“Wake up!”
“Hurry up, wake up!”
Jin Zhao groggily opened her eyes, her gaze gradually coming into focus.
The driver was wearing a short-sleeved shirt, a pair of black-framed nearsighted glasses perched on his nose. One hand rested on the steering wheel, the other braced against the passenger seat as he twisted around to call to her: “Miss, don’t sleep anymore, we’ve arrived.”
Jin Zhao had slept deeply this time, and for a moment she was still muddleheaded, curled up in the back seat without moving.
Her unfocused gaze drifted past the driver, through the windshield.
Ahead was a straight stretch of asphalt road, plane trees lush on both sides. The morning sunlight filtered through the gaps in the leaves, scattering fine flecks of golden light all along the road, swaying gently with the wind—looking exactly like the thirty million in her dream, glittering as it called to her.
What a nice dream. Don’t have it again next time.
The ride-hailing car roared off. Jin Zhao stood where she was, staring at the sign beside the school gate that read “Suiyi Normal University,” her heart hollowed out, filled with melancholy.
She was twenty-six this year. She had started kindergarten at two, studied bitterly by the lamplight for a full twenty-four years, spent all she had, and finally raised herself into what the public considered a respectable person, becoming a university teacher. She had thought the sea of learning was boundless and hardship was the boat, and that she had finally come through the bitterness into sweetness. But when she looked up, she suddenly realized—
Good grief, no one ever told me that after finishing the suffering of studying, you still have to suffer from having no money!
She had joined the faculty at the end of last semester. When the first salary notification text came in, she glanced at it and actually mistook those four digits for a verification code. If it hadn’t been followed immediately by another message about a housing fund deposit, she wouldn’t even have realized it was a salary text.
She silently backed out, wanting to scroll some short videos to calm herself down, and just her luck, she ran into one—
Those respectable but poor jobs.
The blogger’s voice brimmed with passion as they counted down from tenth place, then ninth, eighth… until finally, liberal arts university teachers crushed all competition and ranked first.
She calmly put down her phone and comforted herself. Times were different now; academic degrees were seriously devalued, and young teachers were bound to be poorer. But it was fine—she would honestly do research, apply for titles, get raises. When she was old, she should have a pretty decent pension.
As long as you think about retirement, you have something to look forward to.
Unfortunately, lately she kept hearing about delayed retirement, which added insult to injury for her already poor self, and at last she started having daydreams.
Thinking of that thirty million, Jin Zhao even felt embarrassed.
How did she even dare to dream it? From childhood to now, she hadn’t even won a pack of tissues.
Some people are born as heaven’s favored ones; even their luck is absurdly good. Some people are born as NPCs.
She was that NPC.
Luckily, this daydream didn’t delay her getting to work. In the end, she arrived at the classroom five minutes early.
Today’s first and second periods were College English for sophomore students.
Early-morning class, a public course, sophomore old-timers—put those keywords together and even veteran teachers would look numb. But Jin Zhao was a newbie. Though poor, new teachers had inexhaustible enthusiasm, and she tried to move her students, aiming for mutual engagement.
She always put extra thought into interaction—for example, using topics everyone was interested in as an introduction, or designing interesting questions to throw to the students for discussion—so the head-up rate in her class was fairly high.
Today’s text was a short love story, with simple vocabulary and basic grammar. The classroom warm-up naturally meant handing the mic to the students and letting them share their own love stories.
When it came to love, the young boys and girls were instantly fired up. Back in high school they’d done plenty of sneaking around; now they could openly talk about it in class, and everyone felt a bit restless. Jin Zhao gave a little encouragement, and those love-struck little couples immediately stood up and started wildly feeding everyone dog food.
Some students couldn’t quite manage in English. Halfway through, one suddenly blurted out, “My English is not ok, can I speak Chinese?”
Jin Zhao nodded, torn between laughter and tears.
Once the gate to Chinese was opened, the scene became lively. Some students who had been planning to catch up on sleep just minutes ago all raised their hands. Those with partners talked about their own; those without partners reported that so-and-so had a partner, dragging people up to speak.
Some laughed and scolded, some watched, some fanned the flames.
Outside the window, blue skies and white clouds, the blazing sun like fire. The college students of the early-morning class, originally listless, became lively and animated, laughing “e e e” without stopping.
Jin Zhao couldn’t help laughing as well, teasing those who were “reporting”: “So you’ve also gotten to eat some customized dog food, huh?”
Only for the boomerang to suddenly come flying back and stab her.
College students in their early twenties were at the peak of social boldness. Relying on the fact that they were only six years younger than her, they didn’t even call her “teacher,” directly calling out “Sis,” and warmly said, “We’d rather eat your dog food!”
Jin Zhao was both annoyed and amused, joking around to deflect it: “Stop calling me sis. You’re not a real estate agent, and I don’t have money to buy a house.”
Unfortunately, she didn’t manage to muddle through.
Someone echoed, “Teacher, you’ve listened to our love stories—we want to hear yours too!”
Jin Zhao had no choice but to honestly confess: “I’ve never been in a relationship.”
“No way! Teacher, you’re so pretty. Back when you were a student, you must’ve been campus-beauty level. How could no one have chased you?”
“Forget student days! Just last week I saw someone post the teacher’s photo on Xiaohongshu asking if she was our school’s campus beauty!”
“Right, right! I saw it too! Teacher, did you see it?”
Jin Zhao: “……”
Don’t say it anymore. She hadn’t seen it herself, but a colleague from the same department had seen it and forwarded it to her—she’d nearly died of embarrassment.
“Didn’t see it,” Jin Zhao denied with a straight face. “I was very well-behaved as a student, focused entirely on studying, undistracted, which is why I’m still single from the womb to this day.”
The students let out disappointed “ah” sounds, but there were also those who wouldn’t let it go—
“Then what about a crush? Teacher, have you ever had a crush?”
Today’s temperature was 37 degrees. The air-conditioning in the classroom was roaring, yet the students still felt hot and turned on all the ceiling fans. The fan blades spun, the wind brushing over the textbook spread open in front of Jin Zhao.
Lightly lifting the thin pages, then letting them fall soundlessly.
For a brief moment, Jin Zhao’s heart grew quiet. She answered honestly: “Yes.”
That group of disappointed geese immediately perked up again, scrambling to ask—
“Who was it? A classmate?”
“To be liked by such a beautiful teacher, I can’t even imagine how handsome the guy must’ve been!”
“Why does it have to be a guy? Can’t it be a girl?”
“Don’t argue—”
Jin Zhao smiled calmly. “He was very handsome.”
Public courses were all combined classes—politics was three classes together, English was two—using large classrooms, each equipped with a microphone for the teacher. Jin Zhao’s voice was light, soft, and serene, and coming through the mic, it easily suppressed the students’ laughter and noise below.
But young people’s enthusiasm for gossip couldn’t be suppressed—
“Then why didn’t you confess?”
“Was it because he was especially scummy?”
“Then forget it—no matter how handsome, a scumbag isn’t worth dating!”
Standing for a while had made her a little tired. Jin Zhao lightly leaned her waist and hips against the edge of the lectern, smiling faintly. “Not scummy. On the contrary, he was very good—especially good. Tall and handsome. Though he looked cool and his mouth was sharp enough to make you worry he’d poison himself just by licking his lips, his heart was actually very warm, very soft. Aside from occasionally being silly and having poor alcohol tolerance, there was nothing wrong with him. He even had exceptionally good luck. He’s the person with the best luck I’ve ever met.”
“Whoa!” A student suddenly whistled. “Teacher, we only said one word—‘scummy’—and look how many words you’ve already said?”
Someone immediately laughed and chimed in, “Your words still love him!”
Others repeated the question again: “Then why didn’t you confess?”
Outside the window, cicadas chirped nonstop, the wind flipping the pages in front of her again and again.
Jin Zhao’s almond eyes were clear. When she smiled, the faint aegyo-sal beneath them curved like a shallow crescent moon. “Because he was too good. We weren’t from the same world.”
When it came to relationships, her students understood far more than she did. Someone—she didn’t know who—asked with striking clarity, “Was it a class divide?”
Jin Zhao was startled. She had dared to say so much only because so much time had passed, because they would never meet again, and because these kids were separated from him by two generations—there would be no intersection at all. She hadn’t expected her students to be so sharp. She definitely couldn’t say any more now. If she slipped up and exposed herself, she’d socially die on the spot.
She pressed down the pages ruffled by the wind and jokingly pulled the topic back. “Thinking about it now, I actually regret it a bit. Back then, I really should’ve confessed.”
“Whoa!”
“That way, maybe his family would’ve given me a card too and told me to leave him with cold, hard RMB.” Jin Zhao sighed with mock seriousness. “Ah, I missed my chance at sudden wealth!”
The whole classroom burst into laughter, students collapsing this way and that.
– – – ꒰ ♡ ꒱ – – –
Meng Zhuxi had caused trouble again. Today, Meng Yanxi came to the school to clean up after her.
The Third Teaching Building and the Academy of Fine Arts were two connected buildings—Teaching Building Three was in Block A, the art academy in Block B, linked by a skybridge in between. The sun was scorching today. After parking the car, Meng Yanxi entered the nearby Third Teaching Building out of habit and took the elevator up to the fourth floor.
Walking from Third Teaching Building toward the art academy, all he heard along the way were teachers’ enthusiastic voices, while the students below were dull as robots, as if they didn’t even need to breathe—perfectly illustrating that saying: spirited elderly people, lifeless college students.
One classroom, however, was unusually lively. Laughter could be heard from far away. That kind of exuberant energy, echoing with the incessant cicada cries outside the window, made Meng Yanxi feel dazed, as though he had returned to the high school years when he loved studying the most.
Meng Yanxi walked casually down the empty corridor. Amid the noise, a quiet, sweet-soft female voice suddenly reached him.
Coming through the microphone, with a faint electrical hum, clear and pristine.
Like jade striking the surface of a calm lake—dong—clear water splashing, the whole world filled with crystalline surprise.
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