Chapter 30: Worlds Apart

Qi Xuan: “Ah—I was too far, didn’t hear exactly what Teacher Jiang said. Anyway… first time I’ve seen her that fierce. When they came back the girl was crying…”
“They were deskmates—Teacher moved their seats apart. The girl slumped on her desk until school ended. Her friend—the one who got the letter—didn’t speak a whole period, ignored people. Class was awkward tonight.”
“But honestly—I think Teacher Jiang went too far this time.”
“That girl—good grades, nice personality, good with Teacher Jiang—who knew she’d scold her that hard… made her cry.”
“She didn’t really do anything wrong—wrote a letter… hadn’t even given it out—Teacher happened to find it…”
“And I don’t get it—what’s wrong with liking a girl? Liking a girl…”
Before she finished a figure flashed from the lower bunk—“click”—room dark.
“Why’d you turn off the light?” Xuan dazed—still heated on the topic.
“Lights out. Sleep.” Qi Yu said flatly.
Topic drifting. Keep going and Xuan the chatterbox could talk till dawn.
Qi Yu back to bed, pulled the quilt flat—heard grumbling above. Looked up, knocked the bunk board. “Sleep, hear me? Don’t meddle in what isn’t yours.”
“Still energy to discuss—tomorrow you’ll say you didn’t sleep enough, rush to school last minute.”
Upper bunk quiet at last.
Qi Yu slid into the quilt—soft mattress and pillow—long exhale.
Early start today, outside almost all day—no heavy labor but nerves never loose. Yawning hard before home—lying here, tossing, not much sleepiness.
Closed eyes ten minutes—still awake. Helpless—phone out, brightness low, scrolled Moments.
First—Tang Xuejun, shared a song. Qi Yu had not heard it—title said breakup playlist.
Tang usually seemed casual—depth of feeling beyond imagination.
Two weeks after the breakup still wrecked daily. Tonight worse—drunk, wanted to call the ex for another chance—Qi Yu stopped in time or tomorrow’s hangover would shame her for life.
Scrolling—liked Li Tong and colleague Xiao Zhao’s posts. On Jiang Ya’s four photos of Zaizai—belly up in the bed, snoring—last one Jiang Ya’s hand, Zaizai sleeping in her palm—finger paused.
Flipped a while—habit to like—stopped halfway. Stared at screen—did not tap like.
Bored a few more minutes—drowsy—phone aside, eyes closed again.
Quiet around—night temperature fine—should sleep well. Eyes closed a moment—opened again.
Staring at dark nothing, face calm—thoughts surging again and again.
Suddenly—that night returned.
The night she poured her heart out to Jiang Ya.
Years without thinking of it. At first deliberate avoidance—memories blurred and boxed like an old photo under dust, hazy—she had not wanted to look closely.
Why now—why remember now.
She remembered—never drank before—forced a bottle of baijiu. Bitter, burning throat to stomach—as if igniting her whole self, burning reason away.
Maybe only then courage—only then could she convince herself to admit to Jiang Ya the fantasy that had crossed the line.
No matter how long—she would not forget. How could she? She remembered so clearly.
They stood on the rooftop of a residential building. Once their place to say anything—later somewhere she dared not tread again.
She remembered clearly—Jiang Ya after reading the letter, red-eyed, choking out every word.
What did heartbreak feel like?
Not tearing apart—not blade through chest.
When Jiang Ya said “impossible”—when she saw those tearful shattered eyes—when she knew clearly that after that moment between her and Jiang Ya there was a gulf that could never be crossed—her heart suddenly too heavy to beat, dull pain like dying suffocation.
That minute she heard nothing more Jiang Ya said. Fell into abyss—yet strangely calm—even heartbeat seemed stopped for the pain.
How many unrealistic fantasies, how much joy after self-delusion—dream shattered—equal cutting pain.
Unbearable pain. So she sobbed alone in corners, drowned in alcohol, regretted, raged, refused, blamed.
She had wanted to ask—why not, why? Just because she was a girl—is that all?
Questions that troubled her long. Now Qi Yu could answer her younger self.
Yes—Jiang Ya had been clear enough.
Because she was a girl—one reason enough to defeat everything.
Because she was a girl—they could never be.
Fortunately—thankfully—she had cut those thoughts long ago.
After all—even the best friends could only be friends.
She had not understood then. She understood now.
Between her and Jiang Ya—the distance of worlds apart; north and south, unsuited.
……
The love-letter incident rocked Class 1-4. Though Jiang Ya had solemnly forbidden spreading it—two days later the storm had not calmed, only spread wider.
The grade lead heard somehow, pulled Jiang Ya during break to the open space outside the office for a private talk.
“Teacher Jiang, your class thing… I heard—a girl wrote another girl a love letter? Is that it?” The grade lead—a middle-aged man—frowned, grave, staring at Jiang Ya.
Jiang Ya had expected it—calm. “Yes, that situation.”
“Mm… how did you handle it?”
“That evening I accidentally picked up the student’s belongings—accidentally found it. Before that she had not meant to make the letter public or give it out—so I personally don’t think the severity is high.”
“Of course—even though she hadn’t given it, I talked to her—clearly said high school does not allow romance—not boy-girl, not girl-girl either.”
“After, she promised to focus on studies. I moved their seats apart—temporary distance.”
Seeing the grade lead still stern, Jiang Ya sighed softly. “That night I told all students not to spread it. But…”
Jiang Ya lowered her eyes, said no more.
Grade lead turned to the corridor railing, sighed heavy. “Teacher Jiang, your approach is proper—but not enough.”
Jiang Ya looked up, slightly puzzled.
Grade lead: “First—once it’s out, this uproar—we must ensure the student’s mental state, counsel her, not let psychological harm indirectly affect her studies.”
“But second—this is not just possible early romance.”
“The point—these two students are same sex. A girl writing a girl a love letter—that’s homosexuality.”
“What is homosexuality? Not advocated in our society today—controversial—incorrect values.”
“As their homeroom teacher, finding this, you must guide them back to the correct direction. If needed, invite parents to discuss together.”
“Also…”
“Director Chen.” Seeing him continue, Jiang Ya could not hold back, brow knit, interrupted.
She said seriously, “What you said about the student’s mental state—rest assured I will not let this cause psychological shadow.”
“Also… I don’t quite understand—what is the correct direction you mean?”
Grade lead raised a brow, cloudy eyes wide. “Of course correct her orientation! Homosexuality doesn’t fit current social values—not allowed!”
“You’re a teacher—you have responsibility to guide her! Otherwise what later—everyone knows your class has a homosexual student? How will others see her—what will parents think?”
He spoke loud—passing teachers looked over.
Jiang Ya bore their gazes, met his pressuring eyes—neither humble nor arrogant. “Director Chen, sorry—on this point I disagree with you.”
“I don’t believe a student’s orientation is something to guide. And this is private—I don’t think we need to call parents.”
“I’m her homeroom teacher—I’m only responsible for her physical and mental health. The rest—I don’t think I should or have qualification to interfere much.”
“Thank you for the advice. I’ll handle this—won’t bring negative impact to the school.”
She smiled at him—warm as always.
Grade lead stared, dumbfounded. Wanted to argue—Jiang Ya’s manner so proper he found no fault.
Seeing him speechless, Jiang Ya would not stay—excused busyness, returned to the office first.
……
After the morning talk, afternoon class Jiang Ya watched that student more closely.
The girl—Lin Jun. The addressee in the letter—Chen Mo.
Once deskmates—now three rows apart. Since that night Chen Mo had sick leave—two days absent, seat empty. Still Lin Jun often stared at Chen Mo’s place in a daze.
From the podium Jiang Ya saw everything—especially Lin Jun. Mind elsewhere in class; breaks only sat quietly, occasional words with classmates—no smile again.
She saw it; worry inside. But this was the meaning and duty of being a teacher—even unwilling, she had to act so.
The matter troubled Jiang Ya all afternoon. Before dismissal she decided to talk to Lin Jun again.
Not the office, not the corridor—the meeting room next door, empty, suited for two alone.
Door closed—Lin Jun always head down, constrained—nothing like the laughing girl before.
Jiang Ya comforted her first, earnestly urged her not to let emotion affect herself and her studies.
So much said—Lin Jun never spoke.
Jiang Ya arms crossed, worried, voice soft. “Lin Jun, did you hear what Teacher said?”
At last Lin Jun’s lowered head slowly lifted—cautious eyes on her.
Lin Jun spoke at last—so small Jiang Ya barely heard.
She asked, “Teacher… can I ask you something?”
Jiang Ya: “What?”
“Just…” Lin Jun looked down again, fingers twisting her hem. “Chen Mo… why isn’t she at school?”
“Because of me?”
First words—still about Chen Mo.
Jiang Ya frowned a long while, eyes complex. At last a deep breath. “Chen Mo has sick leave—don’t overthink.”
“But one thing Teacher wants you clear—both your states are affected—and deeply. You know?”
“I know…” Head lower, voice muffled. “But… I can’t help it… I don’t want this either…”
“I wasn’t going to give her that letter.”
“……” Jiang Ya’s head truly ached.
Silence in the meeting room again. Jiang Ya asked once more.
This time—not fix her state—a different angle.
She asked Lin Jun, “Teacher asks you one thing—answer honestly. Do you really like Chen Mo?”
“…Yes.” After a pause, Lin Jun answered.
Jiang Ya puzzled. “How can you be so sure?”
“You and Chen Mo were good friends—I know. Could it be admiration between friends—you mistook it for love?”
“You’re so young—do you know what love is?”
“I know.” Lin Jun suddenly looked up—a trace of stubbornness in her eyes. “Not admiration—it’s love, I can tell… I understand what you said… I’ll adjust, won’t have anything else with her…”
Seeing this Jiang Ya more puzzled—where did such certainty come from.
“But why so sure? Because of what—tell Teacher.”
“Because…” Lin Jun looked at her, face red—about to speak then head down, whisper. “If it were admiration—I could stay friends with her forever.”
“But… because it’s love…”
“I don’t want to stay friends with her forever.”
Hearing that—some sentence struck—Jiang Ya frowned hard at the girl before her, lips a tight line, silent.
When the girl looked up to meet her eyes—Jiang Ya stunned again.
Eyes moving—in the girl’s clear gaze she seemed to see another person’s shadow.