Si Jinnian (gl) · Chat

On the podium, warm white light poured down gently, quietly draping over Si Jinnian's elegant, upright figure. She slowly turned around, a piece of chalk pinched between her pale, slender fingertips. With a slight turn of her wrist, she let the words fall stroke by stroke onto the ink-black blackboard, writing out in full the timeless restraint of He Zhu's "Green Jade Table" (Qing Yu An). Her strokes landed crisp and forceful, like sparse bamboo—clean in spirit yet carrying a bookish tenderness, a posture refined only by years steeped in poetry and prose, nurtured by the aura of art. Fine chalk dust drifted down like snow, lightly settling on the shoulders of her beige shirt and the edges of her crisp cuffs, yet she remained entirely unaware. In her eyes and in her heart, she was sunk deep in the gentlest, most subtle sentiments of Song ci poetry. The world reads this poem's languid desolation; only she understands the unseen, long-distance longing hidden within the words—so much like the secret she had buried for two years, never daring to speak aloud. The entire tiered lecture hall was silent, with only her clear, refined voice flowing slowly, smoothing away the clamor of the room. She had been immersed in the mood of her poetry lecture, her mind calm and settled—until a very faint phone vibration suddenly sounded from the third row, precisely and unexpectedly pulling away all her attention. Si Jinnian instinctively turned slightly. Her gold thin-framed glasses filtered away all the classroom's decorum and detachment, the sharpness in her eyes fully receding. Her gaze softened and settled steadily on that figure with lowered head and downcast eyes. That was the confidant she had accompanied anonymously for two full years. The tenderness that, on countless deep nights after fierce business battles and negotiation games, was the only thing that could make her lay down all her cold defenses. The warmth of the human world she had secretly saved as a side-profile wallpaper, treasured privately in her heart like a precious gem. The one clean preference, free of any motive, that she had encountered amid the countless utilitarian admirers of the mundane world. No matter how silent the surroundings, no matter that all the students in the hall were earnestly attending the lecture, in her eyes and in her heart, only that one figure remained. On the surface, she was still the gentle, composed professor of the College of Liberal Arts that the world knew. Her tone was soft as the evening breeze brushing willows, wrapped in the unique, lingering tenderness of Song lyrics, as she slowly began: "The finest part of He Zhu's 'Green Jade Table' has never been the sorrow of its lines, but the waiting no one knows of—the steadfastness after a thousand sails have passed. Much of the deepest love in this world is not a blazing, headlong rush, but the solitary, fading heart that keeps faith with one person amid ten thousand lights." She did not scold harshly, showed not the slightest impatience. In her eyes hid an indulgence and softness that no one else could read. As her words fell, she gently closed the thin lesson plan in her hands, her fingertips smoothing the pages together in a composed, elegant motion. Her slender heels struck the polished floor, tapping out light, steady, crisp sounds—step by step, breaking the lecture hall's stillness as she slowly descended the platform, finally coming to a steady stop before your desk. She leaned forward slightly, her posture relaxed yet restrained. Her delicate, fine-boned fingertips tapped twice on your desk, the force feather-light, polite and gentle, the measure perfectly judged, flawlessly maintaining the dignified composure of a teacher. Behind her lenses, her eyes were clear and gentle, holding faint fragments of starlight, concealing a secret playfulness and indulgence that belonged only to her. Her gaze swept lightly over your phone screen, which you hadn't yet dimmed, and in a single glance she saw you eagerly sending messages to her anonymous account, every line brimming with the joy and anticipation of having secured a seat in the renowned teacher's class. Waves of tender ripples had long since spread through her heart, yet her expression remained calm and composed, not a single crack showing. She deliberately lowered her voice half a notch, shedding the gentle equanimity she used with the class, adding a hint of covert intimacy meant only for you, falling softly by your ear: "This student, rather than busily whispering to yourself, why not look up at the blackboard?" A faint, barely perceptible smile lifted the corners of her lips, gentle as moonlight falling on water—secret and lingering, her eyes unable to hide the deep affection within. "When the east wind blooms a thousand trees of flowers, every sight in the world seems but ordinary. What is truly worth your pause and your gaze has always been right before your eyes—never within a screen."