Ambiguity and a sense of presence, making a grand entrance!

Guangyuan No. 8 Elementary School Exam Center.

Outside the flute examination room, Chen Xuan was chatting with the parent of a candidate about the child learning music.

The parent was a mother born in the mid-eighties, who had her second child in the first year of the two-child policy. Now her second child was five years old and about to start learning, and seeing how well her eldest was progressing with the flute, she was considering enrolling the younger sibling in a music class as well. She wanted the siblings to learn together.

Taking advantage of Chen Xuan’s free time today, she brought up the question with her. After confirming the child’s age, the first thing that crossed Chen Xuan’s mind was the violin—perhaps an obsession rooted deep within her heart.

“The piano is a good choice,” Chen Xuan recommended.

Hearing this, the mother imagined her son elegantly playing the piano, and thought it sounded wonderful. Yet she wondered, with such stiff keys, could a five-year-old have the strength to press them?

Chen Xuan explained, “Just like the breath required for the flute, whether one can play or not depends on the method of practice.”

The parent understood, “Thank you, Teacher Chen. We’ll discuss it at home, and if our child is interested, I’ll trouble you for a teacher recommendation.”

Chen Xuan smiled, “No problem.”

After accompanying the last child for the exam, Chen Xuan declined the parent’s offer of a ride and took the bus herself to Yudong.

She had planned to go home and continue sleeping in the afternoon, but once she got out of bed, sleep eluded her. Normally, in such situations, she would go home, take a watermelon from the fridge, and turn on the TV.

But today, she thought of visiting Li An.

It had been a day and a half since they last met, and she was missing him a little.

Yet, as she stepped out of the elevator and heard the piano, she hesitated.

She went to the office and found the door locked. She hadn’t brought her keys, so she couldn’t get into her own classroom either.

With the thought—not wanting to disturb his practice—she quietly walked to the door of Piano Room No. 4.

She stood there for a while, then suddenly turned and left.

Back on the street, Chen Xuan strode along, swinging her bag, her spirits light and carefree as a bird.

Since she and Li An had reconciled backstage, her life had gradually grown richer. Every task felt filled with energy.

She felt the sweetness of loving someone, especially when you sense your presence is felt by them.

Especially after the straw incident.

In the past few days, all their interactions seemed to be accelerating toward a heart-thumping goal.

Li An greeted her every morning and wished her goodnight every evening. On the way to Blue Whale, he’d snap a photo of the bread in her hand, and after lessons at Ji Yang’s home, he’d capture the night view of the Southern District.

Each morning, as she stepped out of the elevator, she would hear the reassuring sound of his piano, and upon entering the office, find a light breakfast waiting on her desk.

Recently, Li An would drive her home after work each afternoon before attending to his own affairs.

This sense of being cared for was truly wonderful.

Yet there were tiny troubles mixed in.

They never seemed to run out of things to say when messaging, but face to face, aside from music and work, conversation dried up.

Just like earlier—she didn’t know what to say once she entered the room.

What could she say?

Should she say, “I missed you, so I came to see you”?

Chen Xuan felt she might actually say something like that.

So she chose to leave.

Li An hadn’t messaged her all afternoon. There was no way she’d say such things aloud.

Suddenly realizing Li An hadn’t contacted her all afternoon, a feeling of anxiety welled up inside her.

Until 6:34 p.m., when a message arrived.

Li An: “Still not home?”

Seeing that message, Chen Xuan’s mood lifted and she felt ready to eat watermelon again.

It’s said that girls in love become the most adorable creatures in the world.

Perhaps there’s truth to it.

At twenty-four, tasting love for the first time, a single woman’s occasional emotional hiccups deserve our understanding.

—

Li An in Classroom No. 4 had no idea Chen Xuan had dropped by. Around six thirty in the evening, he paused and glanced at his phone.

Not seeing a message from Chen Xuan, he wondered if she wasn’t home yet, so he sent her a text.

Li An: “Still not home?”

Chen Xuan: “Watching TV.”

Seeing those four words, Li An felt a little frustrated—she hadn’t told him she’d arrived home. Even the joy from practicing piano faded a touch.

—

Early Monday morning, Qin Yong and Old Dong entered the conference room one after another, and the room fell silent.

Lately, even Wang Panpan didn’t know what Qin Yong had been busy with.

Since the stage evaluation ended, Qin Yong had only appeared in the conference room once, when selecting simulated examiners.

With their arrival, the meeting began.

The first item was, as always, an update on the elite teacher assessment rankings.

The top three remained unchanged: Li An, Tian Yu, and Xu Nana continued to lead the first tier.

However, Zhang Youwei, Ni Hongjie, and Lin Pengfei had each shown new tricks last week, and their scores had slightly improved.

“Twenty-three days remain until the assessment ends. Keep up the good work, everyone,” Qin Yong continued.

“This past month, you’ve all worked hard. Finance is calculating this month’s teaching hours, and salaries should be credited by tomorrow afternoon at the latest.”

Mentioning salaries, everyone’s faces lit up with smiles—July and August were always the highest-paid months.

Teachers like Huang Juan, Tian Yu, and He Yiming, with over twenty students each, could easily earn fifteen or sixteen thousand in these months.

Seeing the mood was right, Qin Yong swept the room and spoke again:

“But you’ll have to work a bit longer.”

The group was puzzled—normally, after students finished their summer exams, the period before autumn term was a lull. Most kids stopped lessons for two weeks or waited until school started to resume.

With no students, what would they be busy with?

After a pause, Qin Yong announced:

“From the 28th to the 30th this month, our Yudong campus will host three teacher-student concerts.”

Without waiting for a reaction:

“Each teaching group is responsible for one concert. Every main subject teacher must participate in this event.”

“Participation by students is voluntary. For each participating student, three teaching hours will be deducted from the main teacher’s account, with no additional fees.”

“Please contact parents today, draft a list of students participating in the concert, and submit it to your group leader by noon tomorrow.”

“At the teaching group meeting the day after tomorrow, each group will discuss and finalize a program list. By Thursday at the latest, I want to see each group’s proposed program list.”

The conference room erupted.

After a moment, Qin Yong reiterated:

“This concert is the first large-scale public event our Blue Sky Elegant Arts Training Center has hosted for society, and we’ll invite guests from various circles to attend.”

“The main campus has approved funding, and the other two campuses will fully support us.”

“We have half a month.”

“Let’s do our best.”