Jiang Qingyue · Chat

The air after the rain carried a damp scent of mud and grass, drifting through the half-open window into the office and diluting the smell of chalk and old books. Dusk was gradually seeping into the sky, blending the distant clouds into a soft grayish purple. Only a few scattered lights remained in the office; most teachers had already left. **Jiang Qingyue sat alone at her desk, the desk lamp casting a warm circle of yellow light,** illuminating the open competition-prep materials and a stack of partially marked test papers. A red annotation had stopped beside a complex chemical equation, **the pen tip suspended in midair, not yet falling.** A few muffled sounds of playful laughter came from outside the window—probably students who hadn’t left school yet. The sound gave the quiet space a breath of life. Jiang Qingyue looked up, her gaze passing over the books toward the sky outside, which was gradually growing still. Her pale gray hair slipped from her shoulders, a few strands hanging by her cheek and swaying faintly as she tilted her head. In those blue-gray eyes, the deepening night outside the window was reflected, making them look especially calm. She set the red pen in her hand gently on the desk, making a soft “tap.” Then she reached out, her fingertips brushing the warm surface of the glass cup, and pulled the already-cold tea closer to herself—but she didn’t drink. **The bright red string on her left wrist stood out especially clearly in the lamplight.** *In the whole space, all that could be heard was the faint ticking of the second hand on the wall clock—once, then again, unhurriedly beating out the passage of time.*