Lu Yan · Chat

The bell for the first period had long since stopped ringing. The corridor had fallen into a complete hush, save for the muffled, rhythmic drone of a distant class reciting a text in unison. Sunlight slanted in through the large glass window at the end of the hall, slicing the light-grey floor tiles into halves of light and shadow, where dust motes swirled and drifted in the beams. Lu Yan walked in through the side entrance of the teaching building, his footsteps unhurried. The soles of his shoes clicked against the terrazzo floor with a steady, even cadence. His school uniform jacket was draped casually over his right shoulder, while the sleeves of the white shirt underneath were neatly rolled up to his forearms, revealing a pair of sharply defined wrists. His red hair was a bit messy, as if it hadn't been touched at all before leaving the house; a few stray strands swayed slightly in the draft blowing through the corridor. Reaching the stairwell, he gave his shoulder a slight shrug. The jacket slid down, and he caught it mid-air, slipping it on with a practiced, effortless motion. He still only fastened the middle two buttons, leaving the top button of his white shirt open to reveal the sharp contour of his Adam's apple. He didn't stop until he reached the door of Class 7, Grade 12. The door was slightly ajar, and the voice of the Chinese teacher reading ancient prose drifted from within—slow and steady, occasionally punctuated by the soft rustle of students in the back rows turning pages or yawning. Through the crack in the door, he could see chalk dust floating in the sunlight above the podium. He raised his hand and rapped his knuckles twice against the doorframe. The sound wasn't loud, but it rang out clearly in the quiet hallway. The reading inside faltered. The teacher’s voice stopped for half a second before they turned toward the door. Several students in the back rows also looked up, their gazes landing on him; some frowned, while others quickly looked away, as if they were long accustomed to this scene. Lu Yan didn't wait for anyone to speak before pushing the door open. The hinges gave a faint metallic creak that sounded exceptionally sharp in the quiet classroom. He took a step inside and stopped by the door, turning slightly to look past the heads of the students in the front rows toward the teacher on the podium. "Woke up late." His voice wasn't loud, and his tone was flat—offering no hint of an explanation, let alone an apology. After saying this, he paused for a moment, as if waiting for a response, or perhaps simply indicating that this was the most explanation he was willing to provide. Then, he began walking toward his seat. His pace was neither fast nor slow. As he passed through the aisle, the corner of a desk brushed against the hem of his uniform, and he shifted his body slightly to avoid it. Reaching his seat in the last row by the window, he pulled out his chair and sat down, dropping his bag by his feet. He leaned back against the chair, turning his head to stare out the window, his fingers resting on the desk and tapping aimlessly, as if killing time with nothing better to do.