June Yellow

Xia Jiao believed that maybe she and the oven just didn’t get along, but the failed bread was definitely inedible.

Wen Chongyue rolled up his shirt sleeves, tied on an apron, and began to handle the “aftermath.” He first made milk oatmeal for his hungry wife to sip from a small spoon, settling her stomach. After that, he scrambled an egg. Wen Chongyue’s scrambled eggs weren’t just a simple fried egg; he added sugar, salt, and milk to the egg mixture. He cooked it over low heat, adding a bit of cheese, and the eggs came out golden, soft, and tender—deliciously smooth.

He also made two servings of shrimp and cheese baked rice using pre-prepared ingredients: diced carrots, corn kernels, onions, shrimp, and bacon. After stir-frying, he added some milk to simmer, seasoning with black pepper and salt. The mixture was poured over rice, topped with cheese, and placed in the oven.

“15 minutes at 180 degrees,” Wen Chongyue said, focused on cutting small tomatoes for the salad. He reminded his wife, “If you’re doing it yourself, it doesn’t need to be so precise.”

“I understand!” Xia Jiao gave him an OK gesture. “Just watch the rice, and when the top turns golden, it’s ready!”

Wen Chongyue smiled in satisfaction. “You’re teachable.”

Xia Jiao responded, “And you’re patient.”

The teacher and his student, the master and apprentice, got along very well.

At the beginning of the morning, the breeze stirred the bamboo, and the apricot mist flowed like jade. The birds sang, pecking at the banana plants outside the window.

It was early, and after preparing breakfast, it was only around seven o’clock.

Wen Chongyue placed the dishes on a zelkova wood table beneath a translucent screen. After the plum rains, the southern summer was humid and hot, but the morning still felt clear and comfortable. Outside, the cicadas hadn’t yet started their noisy chorus, and only the birds could be heard. In the small garden pavilion, Xia Jiao slowly enjoyed her breakfast.

Wen Chongyue was never in a rush. To him, weekends were for relaxing. Even if work couldn’t be put off, he still made sure to rest.

After breakfast, Xia Jiao fed the goldfish in the garden with leftover fish food from the previous night. Wen Chongyue was on the porch, working on his computer, talking to a colleague on the phone. His tone was relaxed, and he often smiled as he spoke.

When talking with his friend, he sounded even more at ease, and Xia Jiao heard him laugh several times, calling the person “Zhouren.”

Xia Jiao quietly tossed some fish food into the water, watching the koi rush over, causing ripples in the pond. The lotus swayed, and the cool breeze brought the fragrance of the flowers.

Recently, Xia Jiao hadn’t been in much contact with Jiang Wanjun. Her friend had recently been promoted, bought a house, and paid the down payment. Although she jokingly called herself “deep in debt,” Xia Jiao admired her.

A young woman who had never asked her family for help and had achieved so much on her own—such determination was rare.

Xia Jiao admired her friend’s courage. She realized that perhaps she had a tendency to admire strong people, always fascinated by the abilities of those who were capable.

Whether it was Jiang Wanjun or Wen Chongyue.

He seemed to know everything—the best places to visit and eat. There was a white egret park where egrets^[1]Egrets are a type of bird that looks like herons. They are usually white and have long necks. Egrets live in places like lakes, rivers, and marshes, where they hunt for fish and small animals. One … Continue reading rested, with straight trees growing in the middle of the water. Along the winding boardwalk, one could reach Egret Isle. Unfortunately, they didn’t see any egrets, but they picked up two white feathers from the ground.

When leaving, Wen Chongyue crossed the Dushu Lake Avenue, passing through the tunnel bridge, half above the lake surface and the other half submerged in the water. He played a song, “Moon River,” with its soft melody. Xia Jiao hummed along softly, closing her eyes as she slowly sang.

Wen Chongyue didn’t join in, he simply listened quietly to Xia Jiao sing. When she encouraged him to sing along, Wen Chongyue smiled and declined.

“No, I don’t like singing,” Wen Chongyue said.

Xia Jiao didn’t press him. She didn’t sing much herself and only hummed a few lines now and then. When they went to KTV, she would always hide in the corner. If her friends insisted and handed her the microphone, she would sing a few words softly, stumbling through them.

If possible, she would avoid such activities altogether.

Xia Jiao let out a soft sigh as she heard Wen Chongyue ask, “It seems you’re not used to receiving compliments.”

Xia Jiao paused for a moment, then realized what he meant. She replied, “Ah, because I don’t know how to respond…”

It sounded quite bad.

But it was true. Sudden praise from teachers or unexpected rewards made Xia Jiao uncomfortable, especially the way people looked at her afterward. Even if it was just a teacher casually saying, “Xia Jiao has made great progress this time.”

Since childhood, Xia Jiao had never typed anything other than “Received” in the class group chat. When talking to people she didn’t know well on QQ or WeChat, she would type out her message, then hesitate, double-checking it, making sure there were no mistakes before sending it. She would also think repeatedly before hitting send—whether her words were appropriate, what the other person would think, and if she needed to phrase it more gently.

When buying high-speed train tickets, Xia Jiao would choose a seat near the aisle, even though she liked the window seat, just to avoid troubling strangers. If she did pick a window seat, she would make sure not to eat, drink, or go to the bathroom during the trip, ensuring that she wouldn’t need to get up before getting off the train.

Xia Jiao had tried to change. To appear more socially capable, she once tried to make small talk with others, but it always ended in awkward silences. To avoid the discomfort, she would search for new topics to talk about, trying to engage in unnecessary communication.

Of course, when she realized that her behavior showed signs of a people-pleasing personality, Xia Jiao stopped trying.

“In the end,” Xia Jiao concluded, “my social skills are just too bad.”

Wen Chongyue listened quietly.

The two were now in the tunnel under the lake, surrounded by steel and concrete, the path stretching long ahead with only the lights guiding the way. Countless lights lit up the darkness, pointing them in the right direction.

Wen Chongyue asked, “When did this start?”

Xia Jiao thought for a moment.

She wasn’t sure. “Maybe… middle school?”

Before middle school, Xia Jiao was still a “wild child.” She grew up with her grandparents in a small town and had a close group of friends.

But after starting middle school, Xia Jiao moved with her parents to a “city middle school,” where she felt out of place.

An outsider.

It was around this time that Xia Jiao learned that word.

She couldn’t engage in the discussions in class, didn’t have friends to walk with after school, and her grades began to slip. Her parents couldn’t understand: “You’re so young, why think so much…”

But she couldn’t help it.

Thoughts couldn’t be controlled.

For a teenager, socializing was as important as eating, but her family didn’t understand. They felt that providing for her education and sending her to a good school and tutoring classes was already a lot. Back in their day, they didn’t have those opportunities. They thought she should be grateful, and anything beyond that—any “delicate” feelings—was unnecessary.

Xia Jiao slowly organized her thoughts: “…I guess I was afraid of being laughed at, afraid of making mistakes.”

So, she wore loose clothes, kept quiet, held back her personality, avoided running into familiar faces on the road, and always wore headphones—whether listening to music or not—pretending not to see anyone, pretending she hadn’t run into them. That way, she wouldn’t have to act, and if she didn’t act, she wouldn’t make mistakes.

Wen Chongyue asked, “Do you think that whatever you do will lead to the worst possible outcome?”

Xia Jiao nodded.

“You think that this bad outcome would cause you to make a fool of yourself, ruin your life, and leave you unable to recover?”

Xia Jiao replied, “Yes.”

Wen Chongyue asked, “Have you ever faced such a situation?”

Xia Jiao hesitated, then said, “Although sometimes the results are bad, it’s never been as bad as… social death.”

“Failure isn’t as terrifying as you think,” Wen Chongyue smiled. “Jiao Jiao, I think I might need to help you change that view.”

Xia Jiao turned her head. “Hmm?”

After a pause, she asked, “Have you ever failed? The kind of failure with really bad consequences?”

Wen Chongyue went silent.

After a while, he spoke softly, “Yes, I have. Deeply unforgettable.”

When he said this, his tone was low. For a moment, Xia Jiao felt like she was back in middle school, remembering that time when Teacher Wen had pressed someone’s head against the wall during a rainy season. She blinked; Wen Chongyue’s expression was far from gentle. Xia Jiao guessed that he must have been recalling something unpleasant.

Something that had made him angry.

“Failure is not shameful,” Wen Chongyue said. “Jiao Jiao, we don’t fail. We’re just gaining experience for future success.”

The light in front of the car gradually grew brighter as they reached the end of the underwater tunnel. The car emerged to the surface, and the noonday sun streamed into the car. Wen Chongyue opened the window slightly, letting in a fresh, clean breeze from the lake. Xia Jiao took a deep breath and sighed.

She asked, “So, what are we eating today?”

The yellow sparrows flew in the wind, and the wild geese came with the moon.

The Dongting Lake was filled with fruits.

The yangmei fruit finally came into season. Its preservation was more difficult than lychees, and the freshest ones were the best right after being picked. Wen Chongyue bought some as he passed by, washed them under a faucet at the shop, bought a large, pretty cup, filled it with fruit, and handed it to Xia Jiao, telling her to sit in the car and enjoy.

Xia Jiao couldn’t help but envy him.

She really envied Wen Chongyue for being able to discuss things with the shop owner so smoothly. If it had been her, she probably would have rather eaten unwashed bayberries than ask if there was a faucet to wash them.

Wen Chongyue was right—she was afraid of being rejected.

It wasn’t just the rejection itself, but the embarrassment and awkwardness that followed.

On the way, they passed a stall selling peaches and grapes, so Wen Chongyue bought some. Knowing that Xia Jiao was allergic to peach fuzz, he made sure to keep them separate and placed them on the back seat to avoid any direct contact.

To Wen Chongyue, lunch was a very important and formal meal. Fruits couldn’t replace a proper meal. He drove Xia Jiao to a private restaurant to have “June Yellow” crabs.

“June Yellow” refers to juvenile crabs that appear after the sixth month of the lunar calendar.

The famous Yangcheng Lake hairy crabs would come later in the autumn, but the ones they were eating now were smaller, usually weighing less than two taels. These crabs had just undergone their third molting, making them tender with thick, yellow meat, thin shells, and fresh flavors.

Although not as famous as the Yangcheng Lake hairy crabs, these were still a delicacy, considered the “freshest treat of the summer.”

The owner of the private restaurant was an old acquaintance of Wen Chongyue’s. After a few words of greeting, Wen Chongyue introduced Xia Jiao to him. The owner smiled and immediately greeted Xia Jiao as “sister-in-law,” which made Xia Jiao a bit shy. She couldn’t think of what to say in response, and after a long pause, finally said, “You too.”

The owner was actually much older than Xia Jiao and laughed warmly, patting Wen Chongyue’s shoulder. He was busy managing the kitchen, so he didn’t have time to entertain them. He asked them to have tea first while he took care of things in the back and promised to come over when he was done.

Once he left, Xia Jiao relaxed completely. She stretched her body and lazily stretched her back, finally feeling a bit more at ease. She cupped her face with both hands and watched Wen Chongyue pouring tea.

“Teacher Wen,” Xia Jiao said.

“Yes?” Wen Chongyue replied.

“My senior sister and your cousin used to be in a relationship. That guy who greeted us just now looks much older than my cousin.”

Wen Chongyue placed the tea-filled cup in front of her and asked, “So?”

Xia Jiao cupped her face and said, “So I suddenly feel like you’re the ‘old cow eating tender grass.'”

Wen Chongyue was in the middle of pouring tea for himself when he heard this. He smiled slightly, his eyes strikingly beautiful—obvious double eyelids, slightly almond-shaped eyes—not exactly peach blossom eyes, but a gentle and elegant charm, with a smile that exuded freshness.

Xia Jiao couldn’t quite identify his eye shape, but she knew that Teacher Wen’s smile was truly handsome.

With a smile, Wen Chongyue said, “If possible, could you stop calling me ‘Teacher Wen’ when we’re outside?”

Xia Jiao didn’t understand. “Why? Are you afraid of losing face?”

“No,” Wen Chongyue said nonchalantly, “This old cow feels it’s too exciting and can’t resist wanting to kiss the tender grass.”