On the Wedding Night, I Transmigrated to After the Divorce – Chapter 113

Lu Yu

Goodbye

Long Time No See

Lu Yu said she didn’t want anyone to like her.

            

At least, not before she saw her again.

Maybe she still liked her. Maybe it was an obsession. Maybe she had already let go. She wouldn’t know until the moment they met face to face. In all this time of unknowing, she wouldn’t allow herself to enter another relationship. She couldn’t truly give herself to one, either — her heart was always fixed on that person.

The day came sooner than Lu Yu had expected.

            

Perhaps she had assumed a reunion would be something ethereal and endlessly far off. She had waited with quiet acceptance, yet secretly shied away from it in her heart. When the day truly arrived, what she felt was a trembling unease. It felt so unreal — as unreal as a dream she had been having for eight long years, shattered in an instant.

Yuncheng was vast — so vast that most people in it would only ever meet once in their lifetimes. Yet Yuncheng was also small — so small that through a single pane of glass, the distance between her and her was the entire city that had trapped her.

Lu Yu stood at a loss, not knowing how to respond. She could only stare blankly at the familiar yet unfamiliar figure in the coffee shop nearby. She wanted to step forward and call out to her, but her throat was so dry that no sound came. As if fated, the woman noticed her too. The moment their eyes met, Lu Yu’s mind went completely blank. In the entire world, her eyes could hold only her.

            

Lu Yu watched her without blinking. Images and feelings from eight years ago — things she thought she had forgotten, thought had faded — surfaced once more.

Many, many years ago, in the unhurried days of her youth, she was the gentle, witty math teacher, and she was the serious, dependable math class representative¹. The teacher always complained that this girl was too earnest, too quiet, too studious. She gave her a nickname: Xiao Mutou².

“Xiao Mutou~”

            

She would always call out teasingly like this just as Lu Yu turned to leave, two steps after handing in the collected homework at her office. Lu Yu didn’t much care for the nickname — it sounded too cute, and it didn’t suit her. But she never said so. She simply accepted it, turned around obediently, and went back to stand before her teacher, lifting her eyes to meet those bright, sparkling peach blossom eyes³.

Seeing her like that, the smiling teacher laughed even harder.

The teacher pulled two chocolates from her desk drawer, set them on the desktop, and with two fingers nudged them toward Xiao Mutou. “The class rep’s salary,” she said.

            

The teacher’s smile turned gentle. She softened her tone and said, “Don’t be so tense all the time. You need to relax once in a while, okay?”

“Mm.”

“All right, off you go.”

            

She gave the teacher a properly behaved little smile, reached out and took the chocolates from the desk, slipped them into her pocket, and turned to leave.

Stepping out of the office, a spring breeze brushed her cheeks, tousling her hair. Her white school uniform rippled with it. The secret of her youth was tucked away in her heart. She took the two chocolates from her pocket to look at them, couldn’t bear to eat them, and smiled to herself, savoring the moment alone, giddy with private joy.

The teacher would never know — from the moment I turned around, I was already counting silently in my heart: how many seconds would pass before she called out to stop me this time? I noticed the teacher had a playful streak, a bit childish, and she especially loved teasing me. Sometimes she’d even startle me on purpose, just to get me to loosen up a little.

            

She always complained that I was too serious, too old-fashioned for my age — said I was like a little adult. Did I have a meimei at home to take care of? I didn’t, actually. The truth was, I was childish too. I did plenty of silly things that kids my age did. But I wanted to seem a little more grown-up in front of her. I didn’t want her to see me as a child.

Most people described the teacher as mature and gentle, and she was — so fair, so reliable. She guided students when they were anxious, comforted them when they were sad, encouraged them when the class felt lifeless. You could go to her with any problem and always find an answer waiting. She was clever, strong, kind. She was like a steady ship, slowly, surely carrying us toward a bright future.

But I loved the teacher’s childish side. She would cheer loudly for our class at the school sports meet, and when we lost, she’d get discouraged too, patting my shoulder and saying it was such a shame. After evening self-study⁴ she’d stretch her arms and groan about how exhausted she was — wasn’t her little blockhead class rep worn out too? The teacher needed to go home and pet her cat to recharge. What? Student Lu didn’t have a cat? How tragic. She was fiercely protective of us, too. When other teachers said our classmates were slow, she’d argue back indignantly — what was slow about our class? Look at her class rep, first in the grade every single month. The kids were just a little playful; with good guidance they’d behave.

            

On last year’s autumn field trip, we took a sightseeing bus up the mountain. I sat in the back row. One seat was left empty, and the teacher sat down in it. We rode together in the late autumn heat, and when we spotted a tiger, she grabbed my wrist in excitement. “So magnificent,” she said.

Her palm was warm, with a fine layer of sweat that made it slightly sticky. My body went rigid. I didn’t dare move, afraid she would pull her hand away too quickly.

She held on for five seconds. I don’t know if she noticed my reddened ears. I hoped she was focused on the tiger. And yet, I also wanted her to see them.

            

I always felt there was a kind of unspoken understanding between the teacher and me. Certain looks she gave — only I could read them. She must have known that only I could read them, right? That was why she looked at me — why she looked at me like that. Could she see through me?

Everyone said my concern and fondness for the teacher were obvious. I had nowhere to hide, didn’t know what to do. She seemed to sigh. I panicked. But she only patted my head and said, “The teacher wants you to be happy every day.”

I thought the teacher didn’t know. The teacher knew everything.

            

The teacher, as she had so many times before, showed me understanding.

Lu Yu would never forget that ordinary yet not-quite-ordinary evening self-study. Everyone was studying quietly in the classroom. Purple sunset clouds drifted along the horizon, and the sky was so vivid, so passionate — even after all these years, Lu Yu still thought it was the most beautiful sunset she had ever seen in her life. She stood on the fifth-floor rooftop, letting the comfortable cool breeze wash over her. Under the teacher’s palm, she lowered her head and silently urged herself: hurry up and grow up.

Lu Yu thought she had forgotten.

            

It turned out she had remembered so much that her heart had grown accustomed to the fluttering. She thought she might have already let go — but that was because she had been living in waiting, had forgotten how agonizing the wait could be. And such calm couldn’t withstand the slightest ripple connected to her. Lu Yu was right. When she saw her again, everything she had buried came rushing back to life, surging to the surface, each memory vying to be first.

The locked gaze stretched on endlessly. After who knows how long, the woman picked up her bag, pushed open the glass door, and walked toward her.

The teacher had changed. She was more mature than before, her presence more commanding. The years Lu Yu hadn’t shared had left faint traces on her face. Her gaze and thoughts were no longer Lu Yu’s alone to read. They were no longer in sync. It was disorienting — as if she were no longer the same person.

            

But she was still her. When she smiled, it instantly overlapped with the smile in Lu Yu’s memory.

She stood before Lu Yu across time itself, bringing the exact same warmth as before.

Lu Yu stared at her in a daze, stared straight at her. Someone usually so composed couldn’t even mind her manners or composure — until the woman before her said her name.

            

“Lu Yu?”

Her voice was still as soft and pleasant as ever. Lu Yu snapped back and fumbled out the address that spanned eight years: “Teacher Meng.”

She had grown up, but the teacher was still far more composed than she was. The teacher looked her up and down, meeting her eyes. “Long time no see, Student Lu.”

            

Lu Yu’s brow furrowed.

Long time no see.

Teacher, where did you go?

            

Teacher, have you been well all these years?

Teacher, do you blame me? Do you resent me for what happened back then? How should I make it up to you?

Over the years, Lu Yu had turned these questions over and over in her mind countless times. No one had given her an answer. And now that the teacher was truly standing before her again, she couldn’t get a single word out.

            

Too much time had passed. Too abrupt. She swallowed every word.

“Why so quiet?”

Lu Yu’s throat was dry. “Teacher, you…”

            

“No need to call me Teacher anymore,” Meng Ling said with a smile, cutting her off. “You graduated so long ago. I haven’t been your teacher for a long time. Just call me Meng-jie.”

Lu Yu pressed her lips together.

Too much time had passed. She was no longer her teacher.

            

Lu Yu felt an inexplicable sense of loss — as if she had lost her connection to her. It was no different from any ordinary person running into an old acquaintance. She didn’t want that at all.

She didn’t want it at all. The sadness spread, making her want to hold on to the present even more.

She forced herself to hold together, the corners of her mouth lifting into a thin smile. She sidestepped the matter and asked with studied casualness, “What brings you here, Teacher?”

            

“I came to get coffee, and also…” The teacher paused, glanced to one side, and waved at someone. Lu Yu followed her gaze. A young woman in a floral print shirt was walking toward them. Meng Ling continued, “—waiting for my partner.”

“Hello?” Her partner had long, curly hair — a beautiful woman who radiated warmth and energy, looking at Meng Ling with eyes full of love. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

Lu Yu watched their hands come together so naturally. She heard Meng Ling introduce her. She felt dazed, could hear her own breathing, heavy and labored, as if she couldn’t quite process what was happening.

            

Partner? The teacher’s… partner?

The teacher liked women too? The teacher could like women?

So there really was a possibility that the teacher had liked her, wasn’t there?

            

But…

“She was my student before, my class rep — a wonderfully well-behaved child. In that whole class, she was the one who gave me the least trouble.”

The one who gave the least trouble? The teacher said she was the one who gave the least trouble…

            

“Lu Yu? Lu Yu?”

It took several calls before Lu Yu snapped out of her daze. The teacher’s voice was still gentle, but to Lu Yu it sounded more merciless than anything she had ever heard. It cut short Lu Yu’s drowning in the dream.

Lu Yu looked up. Meng Ling, standing beside her partner, looked at her with concern. “Why did you zone out?”

            

“You used to space out a lot too, didn’t you? What are you thinking about?”

She mentioned the past lightly, playfully.

But she wasn’t drowning in the past the way Lu Yu was, unable to wake up. She returned to the present at once. “This is my partner.”

            

She said, “We’ve been married for three years. We couldn’t reach you at the time — otherwise, we would have had you at our wedding.”

“…Is that so?” Lu Yu knew her smile was truly strained. Her mind short-circuited for a moment, and she didn’t know what words of congratulations to say.

Saying nothing didn’t seem right either. The cracks were too obvious. It would be too rude.

            

She hesitated, voice trembling, then said, “As long as you’re happy, Teacher.”

Terrible. Lu Yu gave a wry laugh. The cracks in that line were pretty obvious too. Fortunately, the teacher was as forgiving as ever. “Thank you~”

“My partner came to Yuncheng to keep me company on a work trip. We’re leaving soon — a four o’clock flight this afternoon. We need to head back to the hotel and pack.”

            

Lu Yu looked into her eyes and saw the same helpless, soothing look as always — perhaps with a touch of pity. In that moment, she felt they still understood each other.

The teacher’s gaze — only she could read it. And the teacher surely knew she could read it.

“Mm. Have a safe trip, Teacher.” Lu Yu didn’t want to make things difficult for her.

            

“Then, Lu Yu — goodbye.”

Meng Ling, arm linked with her partner’s, turned and walked away. She didn’t say anything perfunctory like “let’s catch up next time.” She walked away with such finality — and then, after a few steps, suddenly looked back, gazed at her deeply, and waved.

Lu Yu, goodbye.

            

Lu Yu stood rooted to the spot, watching her leave. She watched intensely, as if trying to memorize her retreating figure. But her vision suddenly blurred with tears. When she blinked and struggled to look again, the teacher had already vanished from her sight.

Where she couldn’t see, the teacher had begun her new life. The one trapped in place was only her.

After eight years, the teacher had appeared briefly before her — so briefly that they hadn’t even sat down for a cup of coffee together. She hadn’t been able to pour out her longing, hadn’t been able to ask the questions she had agonized over in her heart again and again. They had only stood together by the roadside for a little while, and then she was gone.

            

But everything had its answer.

The teacher had appeared briefly before her, as if only to say goodbye.

As if to tell her that her youth had ended long ago — and that it was time to wake from her one-sided dream.

            

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