My Teacher Passed Away, and I Became Her Stand-in - Chapter 1

April in Haishi brought a deepening spring. The Qingming Festival had just passed, leaving behind a drizzling mist and a chill as thin as smoke.

At 4:30 AM, Jin Kaiyu stepped off the plane and met the driver who had been waiting. She pulled open the car door and told the driver the destination was Zhao Choucheng’s house before lapsing into silence.

This was a frequent destination in the past; the driver was no stranger to it. However, it was strange for Jin Kaiyu, who had been away on a project for a month, to head straight to someone else’s home upon landing in Haishi instead of going back to her own.

As she turned the steering wheel, the driver peeked at Jin Kaiyu through the rearview mirror. This Jin Kaiyu felt very unfamiliar.

Although Jin Kaiyu’s work in geological surveying and archaeology was ‘dusty’ business, she had always been fastidious about her image.

The driver had never seen Jin Kaiyu right after a project and didn’t know what she was like during work, but outside of work, the Jin Kaiyu she knew was always polished to the last hair. She might not wear makeup, but her hair was always neat, and her clothes were always ironed so flat there wasn’t a single wrinkle.

But the current Jin Kaiyu wore messy clothes, her hair tied in a haphazard ponytail. Her face was so pale it looked like it was filtered by operating room lights, with two large dark circles under her eyes and parched, cracked lips. She looked utterly exhausted.

The driver put away her curiosity and raised the privacy partition.

Jin Kaiyu was indeed exhausted. She leaned lazily against the back seat, yet sleep wouldn’t come. Various fragmented emotions collided and churned within her.

She turned her head to look out the window, trying hard to remember what it was like when her parents died when she was a child.

But she was too young back then; only a few blurred images remained in her memory, and words could not trace them.

She hadn’t had time to form a dependency on her parents, nor did she have a concept of death. Looking back, she didn’t even seem to know what sadness was.

The car sped along, leaving the night behind. By the time they reached Zhao Choucheng’s doorstep, the sky was fully bright.

Zhao Choucheng was her mentor and business partner. Her home was a three-story white Western-style house with a courtyard, located in a bustling downtown area.

The driver, familiar with the route, parked by the roadside.

Jin Kaiyu’s gaze was heavy as she looked through the car window at the courtyard. The trees inside reached their branches over the wall, and clusters of pear blossoms bloomed brilliantly, as white as snow.

Zhao Choucheng had been her professional course professor in university. The age gap between them wasn’t particularly large, and they had been both mentor and friend since her school days.

After graduation, Zhao Choucheng wanted to open a studio specializing in treasure hunting and surveying for the wealthy, and she invited Jin Kaiyu to join her.

At the time, Jin Kaiyu was obsessed with historical archaeology and readily agreed. Thus, the two of them partnered to establish a studio.

Zhao Choucheng came from a good family and was naturally cheerful and optimistic. Since childhood, she had been skilled at hosting and was like a fish in water when it came to socializing. Relying on her accumulated network, she quickly secured projects that filled their schedule, making them very busy.

It wasn’t that they hadn’t faced dangerous situations before, but perhaps their luck was too good; they had turned every peril into safety.

Therefore, when the risk assessment for this particular project came back as extremely high, everyone had voted for it with both hands—except for a small objection raised by Jin Kaiyu.

Perhaps the charitable funds Jin Kaiyu’s sister donated every year had an effect; right before departure, Jin Kaiyu suddenly suffered from headaches and vomiting. Various check-ups couldn’t find a cause, but the project was imminent.

So, Zhao Choucheng gave a grand wave of her hand, telling Jin Kaiyu to stay on the island to recover while the others went out to sea for the operation.

On the day they set out, the breeze was gentle and the sun was warm. Jin Kaiyu lay on a lounge chair on the hotel balcony, spending the whole day on an IV drip and watching the sea.

The typhoon came too suddenly; neither the weather forecasts nor the local news had reported it.

What truly made Jin Kaiyu realize the typhoon had arrived was the sound of the wind at midnight—still a clear, roaring howl despite the double-paned soundproof glass.

The island nation’s infrastructure and communications were fragile. When the typhoon hit, there was no signal, news was cut off, and rescue personnel could not be contacted.

Jin Kaiyu spent eight hours of agonizing fear, as if her heart were being burned by fire.

A typhoon of this magnitude appeared without warning and left in a way that made one feel they had lived through a nightmare. Only the reality of the surrounding wreckage reminded people that it wasn’t a nightmare, but reality.

Afterward, the salvage work went smoothly. Luckily, they found the bodies of all the personnel involved and the ‘black box’ that recorded the accident.

Inside the black box, besides the suicide notes, there was a recorded farewell video. Jin Kaiyu had to mentally prepare herself several times before she mustered the courage to open the video.

In the video recording, beneath an inky sky, snowy waves surged toward the heavens. Human strength was so minuscule in the face of such natural power. Zhao Choucheng’s figure swayed at the bow of the ship, her clothes billowing in the wind.

Her expression was calm, a smile touching the corners of her lips, looking very free and easy. She said a lot. Jin Kaiyu’s head buzzed, feeling dazed.

It wasn’t until she heard her own name that she suddenly snapped awake: “Xiao Yu, Qiushuang’s health is poor, and she doesn’t know how to take care of herself. If possible, please help me check on her when you have time…”

Having watched the video a few hours ago, she only remembered this part now, replaying it over and over in her mind.

Qu Qiushuang was Zhao Choucheng’s wife. Their families knew each other, and they lived nearby. They had grown up together, and they had gone through the marriage procedures in the first year the Same-Sex Marriage Act was passed.

Childhood sweethearts, witnessing each other’s growth and going through so many years together—their emotions were naturally deep.

From what she saw during her several visits, whether in public or private, there was always an unspeakable unspoken understanding in the couple’s conversations.

Her parents had died early, and her sister, Jin Kanyan, was unmarried; Jin Kaiyu had no impression of married life.

If she had to have a beautiful aspiration, Jin Kaiyu’s concrete image of beauty came entirely from them—a lamp waiting for her when she returned home from a project, and a pair of gentle, clear eyes always gazing at her as she told stories of what she had seen.

But now…

Someone she had been dining and laughing with just two days ago had suddenly vanished from this world. Jin Kaiyu suspected fate was playing a joke, but the person who could least accept this joke was not her.

Rain drifted outside the car. Jin Kaiyu had returned from a tropical region; the journey was rushed and her mind was in chaos. The cold air hit her thin shirt and soaked into her skin, but Jin Kaiyu was oblivious to it.

She raised her hand to look at her watch; it was only six o’clock. The courtyard gates were still locked tight, and the interior was dark without a single light on.

The driver, looking worried, suggested: “I’ll go back and get you a coat. Sorry, Xiao Yu, it was a rush and I didn’t notice.”

Jin Kaiyu rubbed her brow: “It was my fault for messaging you in the middle of the night and exhausting you. I have things to do in a bit, so please wait for me and don’t leave yet.”

The driver wanted to say more, but seeing Jin Kaiyu’s determined gaze and weary face, she could only drop it.

Jin Kaiyu stood stiffly at the door, feeling like a tree stump or a stone statue. What woke the ‘statue’ was a startled exclamation: “Oh, Miss Jin, why have you come so early in the morning?”

It was the voice of Auntie Liu, the Zhao family’s housekeeper. She looked up, and Auntie Liu craned her neck over the iron gate. Although her words expressed doubt about why she was here, her expression toward Jin Kaiyu was entirely that of someone seeing a savior.

Jin Kaiyu lowered her eyes and spoke slowly: “I’ve come to see my mentor’s wife.”

“You’ve finally come. I was worried to death.” Auntie Liu let out a long breath, a secretively embarrassed expression on her face.

Jin Kaiyu glanced at her, her brow furrowing slightly, but she didn’t speak.

They crossed the courtyard and entered the living room. Auntie Liu brought her tea and pointed upstairs: “Have some tea first, I’ll go call Teacher Qu down.”

“Don’t disturb her rest yet. I’ll just wait here.”

Auntie Liu looked at her again: “The heater isn’t on yet, it’ll take a while to warm up. Let me go get a coat for you. You have a tall stature like Teacher Zhao; you can just wear hers.”

In a moment, Auntie Liu returned with a black overcoat. Jin Kaiyu didn’t look at it closely and put it on; it fit perfectly.

She sat on the sofa and took a sip of tea. The hot tea slid down her throat, warming her chest. Seeing the housekeeper still standing there, she pointed to the single-seat sofa next to her and said, “You should sit, too.”

Auntie Liu hesitated and gave a dry laugh: “This used to be Teacher Zhao’s exclusive spot. Others usually don’t sit there.”

Hearing the words “Teacher Zhao,” Jin Kaiyu’s heart twitched, as if pricked by a needle, a dense wave of pain rising within her.

The hand holding the cup shook slightly, and she set the teacup back down.

Auntie Liu was accustomed to reading people’s expressions. Seeing her face go pale, she scratched her head awkwardly.

Jin Kaiyu pondered for a moment, avoided the topic, and asked: “How is she doing?”

“I got up at three to use the bathroom and saw the living room light was still on, so I came to look. Teacher Qu was curled up on the sofa then,” Auntie Liu said, pointing at Jin Kaiyu.

“Right where you’re sitting now. It gave me a fright. I spent a long time persuading her to go up. She probably went up because she was afraid I’d have to stay up with her, so she listened to me. But once the door is closed, who knows how she spends the time?”

Once she started talking, she couldn’t stop: “Sigh, how could such a thing happen? When your call came through yesterday, don’t mind that Teacher Qu didn’t answer you then; she was a sobbing mess at that moment…”

Jin Kaiyu recalled based on her words. Last night at nine, the salvage work had just finished, and Jin Kaiyu was completely stripped of her fantasies.

But she really didn’t know how to speak up, how to notify Zhao Choucheng’s family of this cruel fact.

She waited for a full half-hour before making up her mind to call Qu Qiushuang. She couldn’t remember her own expression or tone at the time, but she imagined it probably wasn’t great.

Because as soon as the call connected and she greeted Qu Qiushuang, Qu Qiushuang gave a response and then didn’t speak again.

She had thought Qu Qiushuang just didn’t know what to say for a moment, but it turned out there was such silent weeping.

Auntie Liu prattled on while Jin Kaiyu listened in silence, not joining the conversation.

When Auntie Liu finished, seeing that Jin Kaiyu’s complexion wasn’t good either, she showed a rare moment of thoughtfulness: “Please sit for a bit, I’ll go prepare breakfast.”

Jin Kaiyu nodded, took her laptop out of her bag, and began writing the unfinished incident report.

After finishing that, she communicated with the project’s employer regarding the handling of the matter.

Once the chores were handled, sitting in the familiar environment of the past, her state of mind could not settle for a long time.

After making breakfast, Auntie Liu came over to call her: “Miss Jin, breakfast is ready. Please go eat first.”

Jin Kaiyu’s eyes narrowed slightly: “What time does she usually wake up?”

“Seven o’clock. Teacher Qu’s schedule is very regular.” Auntie Liu said almost without thinking, but then added: “But isn’t this a special situation?”

Jin Kaiyu pressed her forehead: “Do you think she can sleep?”

Auntie Liu opened her mouth, looking as if she wanted to say something but hesitated.

Jin Kaiyu ignored her. Leaving Qu Qiushuang alone was truly worrying; it couldn’t go on like this.

She stood up without hesitation, crossed the stairs in a few strides, and ran up to the second floor.

Standing before that tightly closed door, she took a breath, drawing in some courage with it. She reached out and knocked on the door.