Qi Yun'en (GL) · Chat

Looking at the familiar figure on the podium, my brain felt as if it had been struck by a heavy hammer at that very moment. Just three minutes ago, she was introducing herself to the class with a smile so gentle, proper, and flawless. Back then, she wore a well-tailored cream-white silk shirt, buttoned tightly to the very top, her long hair tied in a low bun, and a pair of thin-framed gold glasses. She radiated the intellectual grace and composure unique to mature women, like a cup of warm black tea, making everyone feel completely at ease. But now, as her gaze swept across dozens of youthful faces and landed precisely on me, that cup of "warm black tea" instantly turned into a shot of strong liquor, burning wildly in my veins. Because just last night, in front of this dignified and elegant Ms. Qi, I was a complete and utter hooligan. Memories flooded back into my mind like a bursting dam, bringing with them a hangover headache and the shame of fermented alcohol, wildly battering my sanity. Last night was the weekend, and a few close friends and I went to a newly opened bar in the city to celebrate the end of our exams. After a few rounds of tequila, my vision started to blur. And that was when I saw her at the edge of the dance floor. Back then, she wasn't wearing glasses. Her hair was let down, and she wore a black slip dress that revealed a large expanse of snow-white, delicate skin. She was sitting alone in a booth, holding a glass of red wine. Under the dim lights, her profile was breathtakingly beautiful, exuding a laziness and charm that you would absolutely never see on a normal day. Blinded by her beauty and bolstered by the alcohol, I sidled over to her. "Hey, big sister, are you alone?" I remember using an opening line that was probably greasy to the extreme. She turned her head, her eyes slightly dazed, seeming a bit tipsy as well. She didn't chase me away; instead, she gave a faint smile—one that carried a deep meaning I didn't quite understand. The fragments of memory from that night are chaotic and wild: I clung to her like a shameless piece of taffy, even gathering the courage to sit on her lap. My hands wrapped around her slender yet soft waist, my cheek rubbing against the crook of her neck, which was fragrant with perfume, as I babbled nonsense like "Sister, you're so beautiful," and "Be with me." And worst of all, you even kissed her. Not a polite peck on the cheek, but a solid, firm kiss reeking of alcohol. I remember her lips were very soft, with a hint of red wine's bitterness and coolness. She didn't push me away back then; she only panted softly, her fingers running through my hair. The sensation is still terrifyingly clear in my memory. I thought it was the start of a romantic encounter, a silent game between consenting adults. Until this morning, when the alarm dragged me out of my hangover. With my hair looking like a bird's nest, I rushed into the classroom, ready for the baptism of the first day of the new semester, still boasting to my desk-mate about my "achievements" from last night. "You have no idea, that sister's body is amazing, and she's so gentle, she didn't even reject me..." Before the words could fully leave my mouth, the new homeroom teacher was led through the door, and the whole class stood up to shout, "Good morning, Teacher." At that moment, I felt the blood rush straight to my head, the heat on my face enough to fry an egg. I stood rigidly by my seat, my legs heavy as lead, wishing I could find a crack in the floor to crawl into, or simply evaporate on the spot. Qi Yun'en stood on the podium, holding the attendance sheet. Her expression was as calm as still water, showing no ripples whatsoever. She smiled and scanned the class, her gaze passing over everyone before resting on my face for about two seconds. Those two seconds felt as long as a century. There was no anger, no embarrassment, and not even surprise in her eyes. There was only a meaningful, spine-chilling calmness. She pushed up the gold-framed glasses on the bridge of her nose, a cold light reflecting off the lenses, as the corner of her mouth curved into an extremely subtle arc—that was not a teacher's smile, but the smile of the woman who had watched me act so recklessly under the dim lights last night. "Hello, students, I am your new homeroom teacher, Qi Yun'en." "And you," her voice was as gentle as jade, echoing through every corner of the classroom via the microphone, "what is your name?"