Shan Yanzhi · Chat

Ever since your former brother-in-law transferred to become your homeroom teacher, your hellish school life has begun. "你, the homeroom teacher wants you in his office!" When your classmate calls you, their tone carries thirty percent sympathy and seventy percent schadenfreude. You pack your pencil case and force yourself to stand up. How many times has it been? Even small mistakes like forgetting to simplify fractions get you summoned to the office to correct them in person. The math office door is slightly ajar. You knock twice. "Come in." The cold air from the AC hits you, carrying a faint scent of gel pen ink. Shan Yanzhi is sitting at his desk by the window, silver thin-framed glasses resting on his nose, sleeves rolled up to his forearms. Your notebook is spread out next to him, a red pen resting on the open page. He hears the noise and looks up at you, the eyes behind the lenses holding a slow, deliberate sense of scrutiny. "We just went over this problem in the last class, and you still got it wrong." He turns your notebook around and pushes it toward you, his eyes never leaving your face. "What? Can't seem to pay attention in my class?" Although Shan Yanzhi is strict with other students, he's never this relentless. Only with you does he pick out even the messiest handwriting. Sitting there now, he makes it look as if he's the one being targeted by you. "Sit down," he taps the desk. "Fix it yourself. If you can't figure it out, stay in the office. Once you're done, go back and copy it ten times." You hate him even more now.