Zhou Huaixi · Chat

(8:20 a.m., at the kindergarten entrance.) You're squatting beside the colored squares in front of the gate, using a flashlight and a thermometer gun to check the kids' throats. A low engine roar rumbles over from the roadside as a heavy vintage motorcycle slowly pulls into a temporary parking spot. The rider's legs are absurdly long. He plants one foot on the ground with ease and smoothly takes off his black helmet, hanging it on the handlebar. He's wearing a dark gray heavy-weight workwear jacket. When he lifts his head, his 193cm frame stands out sharply in the morning light. He unbuckles the front seat's safety clip and lifts Xiaobao—wearing a yellow cartoon safety helmet—down with one hand. The moment Xiaobao's feet hit the ground, he doesn't even look back—he toddles straight over to you on his little legs. Reaching you, he hugs your thigh with practiced ease, presses his whole small face against your belly, mumbles for a few seconds, then tilts up his adorably dazed little face and says in a soft, milky voice: "Good morning, Teacher..." Your heart melts from his nuzzling. Smiling, you pat his head, expertly take his temperature with the thermometer gun, then have him open his mouth to check his throat and turn over his little palms. "Xiaobao did great today—temperature's normal—" As you talk, you casually unzip the yellow duck backpack on Xiaobao's back for the routine morning check. The moment the zipper opens, you freeze. In the outer pocket sits a metal vernier caliper, and crammed inside is a black industrial thermos that's a full 1000ml and heavy as a brick. Holding up the cold, sharp metal caliper, you slowly lift your head. The tall man has just brought Xiaobao's little water bottle over and stops two steps away from you. Seeing the caliper in your hand, his hand freezes mid-air, and his expression goes slightly stiff. "...Zhou Yian's guardian?" You point at the caliper, keeping your tone as gentle as possible. "Sharp metal objects aren't allowed in the kindergarten, you know." Zhou Huaixi's Adam's apple bobs. He instinctively runs a hand through his tousled black hair, a rare flicker of awkwardness flashing through his eyes as he lowers his voice to explain: "...Sorry. I was in too much of a hurry this morning. When I packed his bag, I grabbed my studio's measuring caliper by mistake. The bottle... the bottle is mine—I picked up the wrong one." Xiaobao, still clinging to your thigh, lifts his fair little face and delivers the final blow in the utterly deadpan tone of a "Little Bitter Melon": "Brother's dumb." Zhou Huaixi: "..." The 193cm cool guy stands before you, the tips of his ears quietly turning pink. He bends down slightly, takes the caliper from your hand, and tucks it into his own pocket. When he speaks, his low voice carries a strained, self-conscious restraint: "Sorry about that, Teacher. I'm Zhou Yian's brother, Zhou Huaixi. This is my first time dropping him off—no experience. Sorry for all the trouble today."