Math Teacher, Please Get Lost (GL) - Chapter 6

Thinking back to the student fight that broke out in the morning, Yao Shuhan still felt a dull ache in her head. Thankfully the matter had settled quickly—no one from the discipline office came to question her, so it seemed the incident had already blown over.

The sun had set, the sky was growing darker. After finishing dinner in the teachers’ cafeteria, Yao Shuhan picked up the books she’d prepared for Han Jiangxue and headed out to buy oden.

At the school gates, a crowd of students had gathered, necks craned like hungry chicks, waiting for classmates with campus passes to bring snacks back from outside. Da Xiong was waving a baton around, scaring off the kids pressing toward the gate. Each time a car drove through, the crowd surged forward, trying to slip out in the chaos.

Scanning the group casually, Yao Shuhan spotted Wang Xiao and Zhao Kaiqi.

She walked over and tapped Wang Xiao’s shoulder from behind. “What are you doing here?”

Wang Xiao jumped and turned around. Seeing his homeroom teacher, he let out a sigh of relief. “Geez, Laoban, you scared me!”

Zhao Kaiqi ruffled the greasy bangs on his forehead, revealing a patch of angry red pimples. “Laoban, we were just waiting here, seeing if we could sneak out.”

Yao Shuhan glanced once at Zhao’s pimples, then quickly looked away. She waved a hand. “Come on, I’ll take you out.”

“Yay! Laoban, you’re the best!”

“If you know I’m good to you, then study hard,” Yao said, hands stuffed in her coat pockets as she led the boys past the gate.

“Yeah, yeah, for sure.”

On the other side, Da Xiong was still brandishing his baton. Spotting Yao Shuhan from afar, he raised the megaphone in his left hand. “Hey, Teacher Yao! Careful, it’s crowded there—don’t get pushed around!”

A whole cluster of heads turned her way. Wang Xiao and Zhao Kaiqi exchanged a look, both grinning mischievously.

Yao Shuhan rubbed her temple, forced a polite smile, and waved. “Thanks, Brother Xiong, you get back to work.”

“Ha, Laoban, we’ve known it all along—Da Xiong’s sweet on you~” Wang Xiao leaned close with a sly smile, eyes darting about.

“Keep it up and you’ll be late for evening study hall,” Yao Shuhan raised a brow, pulling a mock-stern face.

Zhao Kaiqi quickly tugged Wang Xiao away. “Come on, come on, thanks Laoban!”

Yao Shuhan pressed her lips into a smile and waved them off before going to find Han Jiangxue.

The air had grown cool. Oden was the perfect thing—warming to eat, and hot bowls doubled as hand warmers. A throng of students crowded around Han Jiangxue’s little cart, red lanterns swaying above, so thick that Yao couldn’t even see her inside.

Waiting under the supermarket eaves nearby, Yao Shuhan finally approached when the crowd thinned. At once, Han Jiangxue put down the skewer she was threading, wiped her hands on a towel, and beamed. “Shuhan-jie.”

“These are for you.” Yao handed over a paper bag decorated with an Eiffel Tower sketch, a freebie she’d gotten when buying gloves at the school shop.

Han Jiangxue’s bright eyes sparkled, her tender cheeks flushing pink. She immediately reached out both hands. “Ah, thank you so much, jie!”

“You’re welcome.” Yao smoothed back the strands of hair mussed by the wind. The rich fragrance of simmering broth filled her lungs, lifting her mood. “Take a look, see if you like them.”

“Mhm.” Jiangxue peeked inside the bag. “Zhang Xiaofeng’s essays and Xi Murong’s poetry! I read them for the first time back in middle school—I loved them so much. Thank you, jie!”

Yao’s willow-shaped eyes curved in a soft smile. “I’m glad you like them. When you’re done, let me know—I’ll bring you more.”

“Mm-hmm!” Jiangxue nodded eagerly, then remembered something. “Oh right, jie, I wanted to tell you… something.”

Yao paused, amused by her hesitant look. “It’s fine, just say it.”

Jiangxue touched her chin with a finger, thinking. “Well, it’s about that older sister you brought yesterday. She came at noon, bought some food but didn’t pay. She told me to ask you for the money. She also said from now on, whenever she eats here, she’ll put it on your tab…”

Yao Shuhan: !!!

“How much does she owe you?” Yao asked, eyes widening.

“Not much. Just five yuan.”

Yao pulled out a fifty and handed it over. “Here, Jiangxue, keep this. I’ll talk to her when I get back. If she comes again, just deduct it from this.”

“Sorry, jie. Normally a few yuan wouldn’t matter, but my family really…”

“It’s fine, I understand. Just take it.” Yao pressed her fingers against her temple, “I have class tonight, I’ll head back first.”

“Alright. Thanks again, jie!” Jiangxue waved lightly before returning to her skewers.

Yao Shuhan gritted her teeth as she strode off, wind whipping around her. She longed to fire up that old “Beat Up the Little Brat” game from 4399, though it had been taken down years ago. Still, there were other games where she could slap on a certain someone’s name tag and torment them relentlessly.

A soccer ball rolled across the path. Yao kicked it back without thinking.

A tall, handsome man came jogging over from the field, whistle between his lips. He caught the ball with his foot, spat out the whistle, and waved with a grin. “Shuhan!”

At the sound, Yao lifted her eyes, her gaze sinking. “Lin Zheyu.”

Lin Zheyu, dressed in a neon practice kit, stopped before her, sweat soaking his shirt. He raked a hand over his cropped hair and smiled. “Got class tonight?”

The smell of sweat made her wrinkle her nose slightly, though she quickly smoothed it over with a polite smile. “Mm.”

“I’ll walk you there. The streetlights aren’t on yet—it’s pitch dark.”

“Thanks, but no need. It’s not far.” Yao declined with courtesy, stepping forward.

Among her many admirers, sports department head Lin Zheyu was the trickiest. Unlike the others, he never confessed, never sent gifts or tried to court her with grand gestures. Instead, he quietly offered warmth, care, and friendship—always the best version of himself by her side.

Sometimes Yao felt she was being too cold. Few men could dedicate themselves so sincerely. For five years he had remained her steadfast “close male friend,” never giving up, though both of them understood the truth: he wanted more, she could never reciprocate.

“It’s fine, let me walk you. I could use the break anyway.” Wiping his forehead, Lin shouted back to the boys on the pitch, “Keep playing, I’ll be back later!”

“Sorry, I’m drenched in sweat,” he added sheepishly.

“It’s fine. Why practice so late?”

“There’s a winter cup coming up—December in C City. We’ve got the prelims soon, so I’m pushing them harder these days.”

“Oh… they’re athletic recruits?”

He purposely pulled a mock-serious face. “What, you looking down on P.E. students for being bad at academics?”

Yao made a face. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Heh, I know. Just teasing.” At the teaching building, he stopped. “We’re here. Go on up. It’s cold, wear more layers, don’t catch a chill. I’ll bring you some loquat syrup tomorrow—lecturing every day’s rough on your throat.”

Something small flickered in her eyes. She gave a quiet “Mm” and went upstairs.

On the third floor, she glanced back down. Lin Zheyu was still there, head tilted back, watching her until she entered the classroom. Only then did he leave.

Ah…

The willow fluff scatters with the breeze, the world has no shortage of flowers…
Yet tender hearts are always troubled by the unfeeling.

Yao smiled faintly, pushed aside her emotions, and entered the classroom.

Tonight was Class Twelve’s lesson. The blackboard was covered in dense mathematical symbols—angles, inequalities, neat rows of chalk marks. Their tidy precision showed the hand of a meticulous student.

“You, come wipe the board.” Yao tapped the desk of a short-haired girl near the front.

The girl looked up from her math workbook, thick glasses flashing. She blinked, taking a few seconds to register. “Oh.” She got up to grab the brush.

“Wait,” Yao stopped her. “Don’t use that. Go get a rag from the balcony. From now on, no brushes—the chalk dust just scatters everywhere.”

“Okay.” The girl nodded, bangs trembling as she dashed off for a rag.

Yao’s eyes flicked to the pile of thick practice books on her desk, two test papers tucked underneath. She moved her lips slightly. “Do you have a lot of homework?”

A girl beside her, hair tied with a blue ribbon, looked up. “Math gives tons every day.”

Yao’s lips curved faintly. She remembered her own high school years—math had always been the heaviest, hardest subject. For someone like her, who struggled, every passing grade took great effort.

“Did you write the poetry analysis I assigned today?” Yao asked.

The girl with the blue ribbon froze, then laughed awkwardly.

Yao understood at once. She sat back at the podium. “Since you’re all so busy, I’ll only assign a few questions on weekends. No homework on weekdays. But you have to listen carefully in class. Language arts may not score as high as other subjects, but every point counts. One more point could mean ranking above a thousand others on the gaokao.”

Applause broke out. “Thank you, Teacher Yao! You’re the best!”

She smiled, opened her notebook, and continued writing her lesson plan.

When the bell rang, Yao slung her bag over her shoulder and headed downstairs. Several lights along the path were broken, the way ahead pitch dark. She clicked her tongue and frowned.

“Hey, Great Talent Yao, want me to walk you?” It was Yin Dapeng, following her down.

She shot him a glance. “No need.”

He tilted his head. “Then I’m off~”

“Go on, quick.”

“What, I’m that unwanted?” He walked backward with a grin.

“You’ll miss your bus if you keep dawdling.” Yao chuckled.

That sobered him. “Don’t make fun of me for not having a car.”

“I’m not mocking you. I’m worried. Remember last time? One student cornered you for three whole periods about life philosophy. You missed the bus, the subway had shut, no cab fare—and you spent the night in the office.”

“All you remember are my embarrassing stories!” Dapeng wagged a finger at her. “I’m leaving for real!”

Yao walked home uneasy under the dim glow of far-off lamps. Reaching her apartment, she found the corridor light on her floor had gone out too.

Misfortune never comes alone.

She dug through her bag for keys, searching fruitlessly.

Suddenly, a breath of warm air brushed against her neck. Yao gasped, whipping around—her foot twisted and she fell hard into someone’s arms.

“Teacher Yao, are you alright?”

Tilting her head, she saw Shu Yan’s worried face. But in the darkness, she couldn’t make out her features.

“I’m fine.” Yao’s heart raced. She shoved Shu Yan away, finally finding her keys, and unlocked the door. “You just got back?”

“Mm.” Shu Yan lifted a plastic bag. “Went to the supermarket.” She glanced up at the dark ceiling. “Light’s out, huh?”

Yao flicked on the switch inside. “It was fine before. Just broke today.”

Shu Yan stepped in after her. “Filament must’ve burned out. Do you have spares?”

“Yes.” Yao hesitated, then looked at her. “Why?”

Shu Yan unpacked the bag—rows of canned drinks, lining them neatly on the table. “I’ll change it. You don’t know how, do you?”

“…I’ll go get one.” Yao really didn’t. Whenever a bulb burned out, she usually asked the teacher across the hall for help.

Shu Yan climbed onto a stool and removed the old bulb. “Hold this steady.”

Yao crouched to steady the stool.

“Take this, give me the new one.” Shu Yan reached down.

Yao passed up the replacement. “Here.”

Once the light was on, Shu Yan hopped down, washed her hands, and remarked, “I don’t know how you live alone if you can’t even change a lightbulb.”

“…”

Unbothered by her expression, Shu Yan went on. “I’ve been doing it since middle school. Just a quick twist and it’s done. I even made circuits back then—buy a tiny bulb, some wires, clip them to a paperclip, test if a battery still has juice. All my physics teachers said I had talent.”

“…” Yao turned her face away, cheeks hot, and tried to leave.

“Hey, wait. Sit.” Shu Yan called after her, bending to grab a can. “Do you like Coke or Sprite?”

Yao blinked at the drinks. “I like Fanta.”

“Then Fanta it is.” Shu Yan popped the can, poured it into a glass, rinsed the empty clean, and fished a small awl from a toolbox. Sitting beside Yao, she began poking holes in the tin.

“What are you doing?” Yao asked, baffled.

Shu Yan’s lips curved as she pierced the aluminum. “Back in primary school, our village had a river by the gate. There was a little shop run by an old man.”

Resting her chin on her hand, Yao watched as the holes connected into curved lines, then into a picture—a little Pikachu.

“That old man loved tinkering with odd things. These tin-can lanterns were one. You poke holes into a pattern, put a candle inside, and the light shines through.” Shu Yan added a Charmander beside Pikachu, snapped a candle in half, dripped wax to fix it in place, and lit it.

The orange glow shone through, illuminating Shu Yan’s refined face. On the can’s surface, Pikachu beamed while holding Charmander’s hand, the little lizard sulking with a pout.

“Here, it’s for you.” Shu Yan held it out. “My little cousin used to be afraid of the dark. After I gave her one of these, she wasn’t anymore.”

…

Yao cupped the glowing can in both hands. The warmth seeped through the metal into her palms, flowing like spring into her heart. In a daze, she almost heard a soft “crack,” as if something inside her had broken free of its shell.

“Want the Fanta?” Shu Yan nodded at the glass.

“Eh?” Yao startled.

“You drift off so easily. I asked if you want to drink it.”

“I… I…”

“If you don’t, I will.”

“…Then you have it.”

Shu Yan raised the glass. “Suit yourself. I’ve still got homework—rest early.” She gave a little wave and disappeared into her room.

Yao lingered in the living room a moment before carrying the lantern to her desk, leaving it lit.

By morning, the candle inside had burned to nothing. A breeze drifted in, rustling the sheet of poetry on her desk:

“The silkworm spins until death, its thread unending;
The candle burns to ash, its tears finally dry.”