Math Teacher, Please Get Lost (GL) - Chapter 36

Up to this point, all of her suspicions had been confirmed, and Shuyan no longer needed to ask anything.

She had never been careless, just not attentive to many things. But not being attentive didn’t mean she wasn’t observant. During the more than half a year she had lived with Yao Shuhan, she had noticed a lot of details and had many doubts, but she never thought them through.

It wasn’t until she had confirmed her feelings and confessed to Yao Shuhan that Shuyan finally calmed herself down to slowly analyze the details she had once brushed aside.

Lanxi had asked her if she knew that Yao Shuhan had always been alone. In fact, Shuyan had long wondered about something similar. Yao Shuhan was from L City; she only went out of town for university, and all her relatives and friends were in L City. Yet Shuyan had never seen her interact with anyone outside school. She had never even seen her call her parents. Shuyan herself called home every week to greet her family and also kept in touch with her old friends—twice, her besties had even come from out of town to L City to visit her.

By comparison, Yao Shuhan, as a local, lived an alarmingly simple social life. It really was rather lonely.

Shuyan looked at Lanxi strangely. “How do you know so much?”

Lanxi grinned, made a finger-gun gesture at the sun-bathed snow, and teased: “What, are you planning to silence me?”

“Actually, you don’t work for the magazine, do you? You’re an intelligence agent, right?” Shuyan forced a laugh.

It made her uncomfortable that someone unrelated knew more about Yao Shuhan than she herself did. Suddenly, she realized she was far too careless—living under the same roof with Yao Shuhan, hugging and kissing every day, morning and night, yet she still knew almost nothing about her!

Shuyan had a little notebook full of Yao Shuhan’s preferences. She had thought that understanding a person was just about catering to their likes, but now she recognized it wasn’t nearly that simple.

Liking someone wasn’t that simple—and loving someone was even less so.

“Are you feeling unwilling to accept it,” Lanxi said calmly, “wondering why I know so much about Yao Shuhan even though I’m not close to her?”

Shuyan didn’t reply, which was the same as admitting it.

Lanxi continued, “That’s because you haven’t really observed her with your heart. You study engineering—math requires logical thinking, and you must have keen insight. But you can’t just use your logic for formulas and theorems. Human relationships also follow certain patterns. No one acts solely with reason, and likewise, no one is led only by emotions.”

Another long lecture.

Shuyan ruffled her hair, completely lost.

“Stop, stop, stop,” she cried. “Senior, seriously, I don’t understand when you talk like this. Can’t you explain it simply?”

Lanxi thought for a moment, then began, “What I mean is…” But she trailed off.

Shuyan waited intently, but when Lanxi didn’t continue, she tugged at her sleeve. “What do you mean?”

Lanxi’s eyes reflected Shuyan’s figure. Her face sank slightly, as if weighing something inside.

When Shuyan shook her again and waved her hand in front of her, Lanxi finally looked at her and said: “Actually, I think everyone has their own way of understanding and expressing themselves. Why do you have to take my way?”

Shuyan’s eyes lit up, and she lowered her chin slightly.

Lanxi said, “Dating is between two people. It’s fine to seek advice from others when you’re confused, but what matters is that she cares about you. With two people, why can’t you just talk it through?”

“Mm…” Shuyan twirled her fingers.

“Think of it like solving math problems,” Lanxi explained. “Questions may come in endless forms, and students may be stumped by new wordings, but as a teacher you know the basics never change—it’s still testing the same key points. People’s ways of expressing themselves are the same. Sometimes you just don’t understand because you’re looking in the wrong direction, you’re not used to it yet. The more you interact, the more natural it will become.”

Shuyan nodded silently. What Lanxi said made sense.

Lanxi saw her hanging her head, fiddling with her fingers, and knew the message had gotten through.

She added, “To understand her, you just need to take it slow, reflect carefully, bit by bit. And another important thing is your way of expressing yourself.”

At the mention of expression, Shuyan wilted. Forget actions—even her words often upset Yao Shuhan, and she still didn’t know why.

Lanxi smiled. “She already likes you—that means you’re her type. You’ve already won at the starting line. Why worry about the marathon in the middle?”

Then she suddenly asked: “Shuyan, why do you think Yao Shuhan likes you?”

Shuyan’s head shot up, stunned.

“I don’t know,” she admitted.

“…” Lanxi was speechless.

People say opposites attract, while similar personalities repel—it holds some truth. Here, though, “opposite” and “similar” didn’t just mean magnetic poles or gender, but broader attributes. Yao Shuhan was fragile and sensitive, hesitant and indecisive in everything. Perhaps it was Shuyan’s fearless, wholehearted spirit that deeply attracted her, letting her glimpse a different shade of life.

But if one were to talk about their similarities, they weren’t absent either…

Lanxi thought, if nothing else, just looking at their stubborn tempers, it was hard to say who was more obstinate.

Shuyan, embarrassed, touched her nose.

Lanxi was long used to Shuyan’s obliviousness. She said: “Just follow your own heart, but think things through before you act. If she dislikes something, change it. If she likes it, keep doing it. For big principles, talk them out. What hurdle can’t be crossed?”

Shuyan nodded.

Lanxi slapped the table. “If she didn’t like you, she wouldn’t even bother with you. The two of you are already like this—what are you hesitating for? Go for it! Push forward! Take her down in one go!”

Shuyan froze, startled by Lanxi’s momentum.

Lanxi glanced around, then lowered her voice. “Don’t tell her I said that.”

“…Okay.”

Lanxi slung her bag over her shoulder, hurried to leave, but then sat back down again. “Actually, you could try another way of communicating. Literary girls like Yao Shuhan always love this one—it never fails.”

Shuyan looked up. “What way?”

Lanxi clicked her tongue, exasperated. “Writing letters!”

Boom—

A bomb went off in Shuyan’s head.

A little angel circled around her with a halo, banging a gong, and asking: “Does she still have her love letters? What did she write in them? Will she still write you love letters…”

Seeing Shuyan stunned and unresponsive, Lanxi thought she didn’t believe her. She patted her hand. “I’m serious, I’m not lying. Just try it and you’ll see.” She sounded a little anxious—she must really have somewhere to be. “I’m going now, I’m in a hurry.”

It was only when Lanxi had walked two or three steps away that Shuyan came to herself and muttered, “Goodbye.”

“Ahhh—” Shuyan groaned, tugging at her hair until it was a mess, like a bird’s nest.

Sigh…

She collapsed onto the table, weakly waving. “Waiter, one coffee, please. The bitterest one you’ve got.”

Garden Square.

In the plaza center, a flock of white doves cooed as a few children giggled and ran, chasing the birds while scattering corn.

Beneath the yellow-flowered trees sat a group of elderly people: some played chess, some drew bowstrings across erhu, others gossiped about neighbors.

A little boy with just a tuft of hair on the back of his head ran around waving a pinwheel. With a thud, he crashed into someone.

Startled, he was about to cry, but then heard a gentle voice: “Little brother, are you okay?”

He looked up curiously and saw a pretty big sister smiling at him, dimples on her cheeks.

“I-I’m fine!” the boy puffed out his chest. “Thank you, sister!” Then he dashed off.

“What’s this? Someone bumped into you?” Lanxi returned with ice cream and handed one to Han Jiangxue. “You okay?”

Han Jiangxue’s cheeks were slightly red. “I’m fine, just a little kid.”

Lanxi draped an arm over her shoulder and laughed. “You really are this gentle.”

“No, I’m not.” Han Jiangxue lowered her head, smiling secretly.

Lanxi pointed to the plaza. “Do you like doves?”

“Hm?” Han Jiangxue looked over. The flock of birds circled the children; some bold ones even landed on people for food.

“They’re so pretty,” she murmured.

Lanxi watched her quietly. “Yes, very pretty. And very pure.”

Han Jiangxue turned back to her. “But don’t they carry bird flu?”

Lanxi chuckled, held her hand, and led her to buy feed. She placed a small blue bag in her palm. “Go on, I’ll take your picture.”

“Huh?” Han Jiangxue’s eyes widened.

Lanxi raised her DSLR camera. “I’ll use it in the magazine, and pay you for the photo.”

At the thought of making money, Han Jiangxue beamed. “You can earn money just by being photographed?”

“Of course,” Lanxi assured her. “So when school starts again in September, study well. After you graduate, come travel with me—writing articles, taking photos—you can make even more money.”

Lanxi had asked a friend who worked at a hospital to arrange things so Han’s father could be transferred there, asking her friend to take good care of him. She herself would cover the nursing expenses.

Of course, she only told Han Jiangxue that her friend was a hospital leader and it would be easy for him to look after her father, so she didn’t need to worry about the costs. At first, Han Jiangxue felt embarrassed, but Lanxi always insisted it was fine. She would say she was simply investing in her—after all, Han Jiangxue would have to “work for her” later and pay her back.

When Han’s father heard his daughter would be able to return to school, his face broke into a huge smile. He urged her over and over to go study, not to worry about him. He was an honest, optimistic, and kind man. He could tell Lanxi truly liked his daughter, and felt fortunate that someone was willing to support her.

Jiangxue’s mother had been a daughter of a wealthy family. She had suffered much when she married him, and later died in childbirth.

Han’s father felt he had already owed his wife too much in this life—he could not drag his daughter down as well. His daughter, like her mother, was gentle and kind, loved reading and writing. Not being able to support her education had been his life’s greatest regret.

Lanxi still remembered meeting him in the hospital ward. He had been lying in bed, and when he saw her come in, he quickly asked Jiangxue to help him sit up. “Miss Lan, I’ll entrust Xiao Xue to you.” He clasped his daughter’s hand and placed it in Lanxi’s. “With you taking care of her, I can rest easy.”

Thinking of this, Lanxi smiled softly, raised her camera, and aimed it at Han Jiangxue, who was smiling among the doves.

“Jiangxue, look over here—say cheese!”