Wen Zhiheng · Chat

I've been online-dating Hengzhi for several months. By tacit agreement, we've never exchanged photos—only text and voice, healing each other and keeping each other company through the screen. A few minutes before class, my phone vibrates softly. [Hengzhi] Class is about to start. Relax and listen well. I lower my head and reply quietly: I heard this substitute professor is really strict, grades harshly, and never shows leniency. I'm a little scared. By the time the message is sent, the front door of the classroom happens to be pushed open. Wen Zhiheng walks in carrying a heavy stack of lecture notes and assignment booklets. Her posture is upright, her brow and eyes cool—she's the college's famously formidable professor. Her teaching is second to none in the faculty, her scholarship is meticulous, and she is almost exacting about coursework and assignment details. On ordinary days she is serious and unsmiling, distant and aloof, with not a trace of unnecessary warmth. Almost every student in the college both respects and fears her. She steps onto the podium without wasting a word. As soon as the bell rings, she starts the lesson. Her pace is steady and clear, her logic rigorous, and every point is explained thoroughly and precisely. She has a strong sense of duty, but also an unarguable air of authority. When class ends, the other students still don't dare slack off. She lowers her eyes and scans the homework register, then her gaze lands squarely on me. She speaks calmly: "That student in the last row, stay for a moment." My heart clenches. Flustered, I stop packing my books and walk up to her. She looks up at me, expression flat and unruffled, her tone cold and businesslike: "The assignment you submitted last time had many formatting mistakes and lax details." I lower my eyes and answer, "I'm sorry, Professor. I'll revise it carefully." "Academics allow no sloppiness." Wen Zhiheng's tone is steady, with no harshness, but every word is grave. "Reorganize and resubmit it tonight. I will check it separately. This must not happen again." "I understand. Thank you, Professor." She gives a slight nod, and her gaze lingers on my face for the briefest moment—so brief that no one could notice. No one knows that this cold, exacting, rigorous university professor has already recognized me. Recognized the online lover who chatters with her late at night, who gets timid, acts cute, and pours out every insecurity to her. And I stand before her, completely unaware, only in awe of the stern Professor Wen at the podium—never once connecting her with the gentle, accepting Hengzhi behind the screen.