Chapter 28 - There’s no such thing as right or wrong when it comes to love

After PE class, Lin Xian and Shi Man parted ways. Shi Man had resumed her usual routine of going off to find Xia Zhijin for lunch. Since the gymnasium was closer to the canteen today, she muttered to herself about getting the food early and waiting for Xia Zhijin so that when class was over, Xia Zhijin wouldn’t have to squeeze through the crowd. She still remembered how, during their silent treatment last week, Xia Zhijin had purposely slowed her pace to match theirs, and by the time they got to the canteen, the dishes Xia Zhijin liked were often long gone.

Lin Xian was a little stunned. Back then, Shi Man had acted like she didn’t even notice Xia Zhijin’s existence. But all the while, she’d been observing so carefully?

It wasn’t until she met up with Chen Zhi and Tang Mo at the entrance of the outdoor sports field and headed to the cafeteria that she began to come to terms with what Shi Man had just confided in her. It still felt surreal.

Raised in a strict household, Lin Xian had never laid eyes on what her parents would call "inappropriate reading material." But there were certain topics that Zhou Qin and Lin Zhan didn’t shy away from. When she hit puberty, Zhou Qin had spoken openly and matter-of-factly to her about the physiological aspects of relationships, urging her not to satisfy her curiosity with random, potentially harmful sources. Because of that candor, Lin Xian had grown up with a level-headed view of relationships—unlike her peers, who often harbored a dreamy fascination toward the subject.

In high school, when her classmates were devouring romance novels to the point of sleep deprivation, Lin Xian had tried two out of curiosity and immediately lost interest. Her deskmate Yan Yuhuan was a hardcore fiction fan who spent all her spare time buried in books. But unlike the others who enjoyed discussing juicy plotlines with friends, Yan Yuhuan kept everything a secret. She never revealed what she was reading—not the titles, not the plot, nothing. Even when Lin Xian pressed her for answers, she’d just wave her off, saying, “You’re too innocent for this stuff. I don’t want to lead you astray. Some doors just shouldn’t be opened lightly.”

Lin Xian had tried to tease it out of her, saying, “You must be reading dirty stuff,” only for Yan Yuhuan to indignantly defend herself: “I’m not! I swear I’m not!”

Now, after Shi Man had asked with that slightly teasing tone, “Have you ever read danmei (fiction focusing on romantic relationships between men) novels?” Lin Xian couldn’t help but suspect that that was what Yan Yuhuan had been secretly reading all along.

That playful, cryptic comment—“Some doors just shouldn’t be opened lightly”—kept ringing in Lin Xian’s ears. Her mind was a mess, like something had suddenly been yanked from the shadows into blazing daylight, and she was left blinking in confusion and heat.

Was this... the scorching brilliance that bursts out the moment one steps into a “new world”?

The term homosexuality, once tucked away in a distant, dusty corner of her mind, had suddenly leapt into the spotlight—into her thoughts, her daily life, making itself impossible to ignore.

She remembered the first time she’d ever heard the word, back in middle school. A classmate had casually remarked, “There are some weirdos in this world. Everyone’s supposed to like the opposite sex, right? Boys like girls, girls like boys. But these people, they’re just... off. They like people of the same gender.”

Lin Xian had pondered that in her heart. Is being different really the same as being a freak? It didn’t feel right.

So that evening, she’d asked her parents about it during dinner.

Zhou Qin’s expression had been slightly complicated. She’d calmly asked Lin Xian what prompted the question, then gently said, “Sweetheart, just know this for now: being gay isn’t some kind of sickness or perversion. But this is a topic we can talk more about when you’re a little older, okay?”

Lin Zhan had looked like he wanted to say more but caught Zhou Qin’s look and simply gave Lin Xian a loving nod before the conversation was left there.

And then she’d grown up, the topic quietly fading from memory.

In high school, during a class on adolescent psychology, the instructor—a middle-aged man in his fifties—touched on the topic again. “Homosexuality isn’t perversion,” he said, “but it’s also not normal. True romantic love only happens between men and women. Same-sex affection is usually just a phase—confused feelings during puberty, mistaken for something more because you haven’t yet learned to differentiate friendship from love.”

Yan Yuhuan, sitting next to her, had let out a soft scoff. Lin Xian turned to ask what was wrong, but Yan Yuhuan just bit her lip and murmured, “Nothing.”

At the time, Lin Xian thought—Well, this psychology teacher, she must be a senior expert in this field, right? So, the topic my parents deliberately avoided mentioning back then, could this be the truth? It seemed like what they said was the same too; they both said that homosexuality wasn't a perversion, but neither said it was right. Then, that must be it, right? It's just a... misconception.

Because it was irrelevant to herself, Lin Xian didn't pay much attention to it, didn't bother to look up information to verify it, and thus casually stored this away in her heart as the correct conclusion.

Until today.

But today, Lin Xian's long-held belief seemed to shatter in a heartbeat, overturned by Shi Man's words and the sudden, overwhelming rush of her own thoughts.

Shi Man's feelings—so genuinely clear and heartfelt, so full of tender affection and deep longing—could they really be dismissed as just some "misconception"?

Lin Xian didn't think so. She couldn't lie to herself like that.

So… maybe that old psychology teacher wasn't entirely right after all, was he?

Then… people of the same sex can also experience real love, with butterflies in their stomach, admiration, affection, everything a straight romance can have, right?

Even if it's not talked about much, even if society doesn't always see it—it's not sick, and it's not wrong, is it?

And for some reason, she felt like something inside her had ignited. A flickering flame, growing stronger and stronger until it became a roaring fire, burning through all the doubts and confusion, lighting her heart and making it thunder in her chest.

After lunch, while Chen Zhi and Tang Mo were still sipping their soup, Lin Xian couldn’t hold it in anymore. Tentatively, she asked, “Hey… do you guys read novels?” Her tone was as casual as she could make it.

Chen Zhi nodded lazily. “If I have time, yeah. Lately I’ve been following a few online serials every night.”

“I’m the same,” Tang Mo chimed in. “Though I’m kind of out of stuff to read now.”

Before Lin Xian could probe further, the two of them had already left Lin Xian out of the conversation, chatting away back and forth. Tang Mo asked Chen Zhi if she had any book recommendations, and Chen Zhi responded by asking what kind of novels Tang Mo liked.

Without hesitation, Tang Mo replied to Chen Zhi, “Straight romance, and danmei—anything good, I’ll read it.”

Chen Zhi exclaimed in surprise, “Wow, you go! I used to only read straight romance, but then, once I fell into the fujoshi (female fans of male-male romance in fiction) rabbit hole, there’s just no going back to straight romance for me.”

Lin Xian had been silently eavesdropping the whole time, ears perked. At the word danmei, she instinctively sat up straighter, her hands nervously rubbing together. Then, suddenly, she broke into the conversation, blurting out, “Danmei—is that, like, about love between two guys? Is that… is that kind of love normal?”

Both girls froze at the word normal. What even was normal? But when they looked at Lin Xian, all they saw was a sincere curiosity in her eyes—clean, clear, and completely without malice.

Chen Zhi softened. “Of course it’s normal. What’s not normal about it? It’s the twenty-first century. People can marry whoever they love in so many countries now. It’s just that over here, things are still a little conservative. Honestly, I didn’t expect you, Lin Xian, to be this traditional.”

Lin Xian didn’t know why, but there was a curve of a smile at the corner of her lips that she just couldn’t suppress. She waved her hands quickly, explaining, “No, no—I didn’t mean that. I’m just kind of dumb, that’s all. I didn’t know better and got misled by some unqualified teachers.”

Strangely, something in her heart felt light—delightfully free, like fresh wind rushing through an open window.

A flash of Xiao Wanqing’s face brushed across her mind, but Lin Xian quickly pressed it down. She told herself she was probably just happy for Shi Man and Xia Zhijin—happy that their love had finally been recognized.

Later that afternoon during class, Lin Xian gradually forgot the whole thing.

She had thought that this topic—this idea—would just end there. She understood it now, she got it, but that was all. Nothing more would come of it.

Yet when school ended and she returned home, the moment she saw Xiao Wanqing’s elegant face, Lin Xian suddenly realized—

She didn’t know herself as well as she thought.

As usual, she walked in, dropped her backpack onto the sofa, and headed straight to the kitchen to find Xiao Wanqing. Sure enough, just like always, Xiao Wanqing was there—apron tied neatly, her long hair pinned up, standing gracefully in front of the stove.

Lin Xian padded over quickly, rubbing her chin affectionately against Xiao Wanqing’s arm like a cat. “Mmm, smells so good! Auntie Xiao, what are you cooking?”

It was an ordinary moment, a scene that had played out countless times before. The same actions, the same words.

But the next second—when Xiao Wanqing tilted her head and looked down at her with that gentle scolding smile and softly called her, “You little greedy kitten”—something felt… different.

Lin Xian froze, staring up into Xiao Wanqing’s face, her gentle smile just inches away, her warm eyes so close.

And then—whoosh—as if a blaze ignited inside her, heat surged through her whole body.

She could suddenly hear her own heartbeat pounding like thunder. And as Xiao Wanqing’s soft, teasing “greedy kitten” echoed in her ears, her heart began to race wildly.

Flustered, Lin Xian let go of Xiao Wanqing’s arm, her mind thrown into chaos. She didn’t dare look at her again.

She muttered a quick, “Auntie Xiao, I’m gonna take a shower!” and bolted.

Xiao Wanqing stood there in stunned silence, watching the girl’s retreating back. Her brows furrowed slightly. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and turned off the stove, her thoughts spinning.

Today, Lin Xian was acting a little strange. Was it something that happened at school? Or… because of me?

But all I said was something perfectly normal…

No matter how she tried, Xiao Wanqing couldn’t guess that Lin Xian’s odd behavior was because—at the very moment she had looked up and seen Xiao Wanqing’s lowered gaze and enchanting smile—her mind had suddenly been flooded with a thought:

Girls can fall in love with girls…

So then—could I, too…?

No, no—that’s not it. That’s impossible.

Lin Xian, in a daze, took two cold showers, just to cool off the inexplicable heat boiling inside her. She sternly reminded herself: This has nothing to do with you. It ends here. You are not allowed to think about this anymore.

But when dinnertime came—she completely betrayed herself.

Xiao Wanqing, ever calm and composed, served Lin Xian food and soup with her usual grace. But today, her eyes lingered just a little longer on the girl—subtly, quietly observing.

It didn’t take long to notice: Lin Xian kept sneaking glances at her.

But every time Xiao Wanqing caught her, the girl would immediately dart her gaze away, pretending nothing happened.

If Xiao Wanqing hadn’t gone to the mirror earlier—just to make sure her makeup and outfit were both perfectly normal—she would’ve thought there was something wrong with her face.

Xiao Wanqing had always been someone who disliked overthinking and guessing. In her relationships, she preferred honesty—say what can be said, and stay silent on what cannot.

But now, watching Lin Xian, something unsettled her.

She wasn’t trying to pry or invade the girl’s privacy—she was just worried. Worried that Lin Xian might be struggling with something she didn’t know how to talk about.

After a moment’s hesitation, Xiao Wanqing decided to ask directly.

“Xianxian,” she said, her voice gentle. “Did something happen today?”

Lin Xian’s chopsticks paused. She responded reflexively, “No, nothing happened!”

She looked up—right into Xiao Wanqing’s eyes.

Those bright, soft eyes held concern, worry. And in that instant, Lin Xian’s heart skipped again. That familiar erratic beat.

And she couldn’t help it.

She blurted, “Auntie Xiao… do you think being gay is normal? Is it… right?”

When she’d asked Chen Zhi and Tang Mo earlier, she’d been nervous—but calm.

Now, facing Xiao Wanqing, her voice trembled ever so slightly.

She didn’t dare meet her gaze again. Her heart felt like it was going to leap out of her chest.

And so, she missed it.

She missed the flash of surprise, panic, and sorrow in Xiao Wanqing’s eyes.

She missed how, as she asked the question, Xiao Wanqing’s hands—resting on the edge of the bowl—tightened and then loosened again, ever so faintly trembling.

It was a long moment before Lin Xian finally heard Xiao Wanqing’s voice—soft, warm, and composed.

She didn’t answer. She asked a question instead: “Why do you ask me that all of a sudden?”

Lin Xian answered without thinking. “Because we were talking about novels in class today, and somehow the topic came up.”

The flustered look on Xiao Wanqing’s face eased a little.

She let out a quiet sigh of relief, then carefully said, “In my eyes, yes—being gay is normal. And love… there’s no such thing as right or wrong when it comes to love.”

Lin Xian felt a strange sense of relief. She looked up at Xiao Wanqing, delighted.

Then she heard her add, gently, “But… love like that—while it shouldn’t hurt anyone—often ends up hurting people anyway.”

There was something in Xiao Wanqing’s expression—something heavy, unreadable. Lin Xian couldn’t quite grasp it.

She hesitated. Then she asked softly, “But… for you, Auntie Xiao… you think it’s okay? You’re not against it, right?”

Xiao Wanqing’s eyes darkened, as deep and distant as an ancient well. There was a layer of mist over them that Lin Xian couldn’t see through.

Her smile was faint. Her voice light.

“I think it’s okay.”

She lowered her head slightly, and her soft hair fell forward, hiding her beautiful face.

Lin Xian couldn’t see her expression anymore.

Her voice—it was as if she were speaking to Lin Xian. Or maybe… to herself.

Something warm and wild bloomed in Lin Xian’s chest, and she couldn’t hold back her excitement. She let out a bell-like laugh, crisp and clear, filling the softly lit room.

“I think so too!” she echoed brightly. “That teacher was so wrong! People shouldn’t talk nonsense if they don’t understand! They’ll mislead others!”

Xiao Wanqing suddenly let out a gentle sigh, a soft and pleasant breath of sound. “Heh…” She rose to her feet to tidy the dishes, then reached out and ruffled Lin Xian’s soft hair, murmuring with a wistful smile, “I wonder if your mom would want to hit me if she knew I said all that to you.”

Lin Xian was completely at ease now. Though there was still a trace of unplaceable restlessness within her, she was entirely enjoying Xiao Wanqing’s closeness. Like a little puppy being lovingly stroked, she tilted her head slightly and nuzzled into Xiao Wanqing’s delicate hand. With a sunny smile, she replied confidently, “She wouldn’t. What you said was right. My mom knows it too. She’s not that kind of conservative person.”

Xiao Wanqing lowered her gaze, eyes falling on Lin Xian’s youthful, unworldly smile. She pressed her lips together and said nothing. Her eyes, however, dimmed—quiet, unreadable.

But then again, weren't my parents always the least bit traditional?

In the end, Xiao Wanqing simply stroked Lin Xian’s delicate cheek with a soft, lingering touch. And deep in her heart, she earnestly hoped and prayed:

Lin Xian, if it can be avoided, I hope you never have to confront this kind of issue.

Though I will always support you and have your back—

I can’t honestly say I’ve never had regrets.