Xiao Zhan was thirty.
Tall. Broad shoulders. Strong muscles hidden under formal shirts.
Black eyes that never showed warmth.
And a deep, calm voice that made the lecture hall silent in one second.
He was the new professor of the department.
On his first day, students whispered.
"He's so strict."
"He looks scary."
"Don't talk in his class."
Xiao Zhan heard everything.
He ignored it all.
To him, students were only students.
No names. No faces. Just roll numbers.
Wang Yibo was twenty.
A simple student.
Not popular.
Not noticed.
Pimples stayed stubbornly on his face, no matter how much he washed it.
He dressed plainly.
He sat at the back bench, always.
Most professors ignored him.
Most students ignored him too.
Yibo was used to it.
He kept his head down.
Notebook open.
Pen moving quietly.
That day, Xiao Zhan entered the class.
The room went silent.
"Good morning," his deep voice said.
Some students replied.
Some stared.
Yibo froze for half a second… then looked down again.
Xiao Zhan's eyes scanned the class.
Row by row.
Face by face.
Then—
His gaze stopped.
Back bench.
A boy sitting straight, listening carefully.
Eyes focused.
Hands slightly rough, holding the pen too tightly.
Xiao Zhan frowned.
Not because the boy looked bad.
But because…
He looked lonely.
Xiao Zhan turned away immediately.
Focus, he told himself coldly.
Days passed.
Xiao Zhan taught strictly.
No jokes.
No smiles.
Students feared him.
Yibo liked his class.
Not because the professor was kind.
But because he taught clearly.
Yibo understood everything.
Still, Xiao Zhan never called his name.
Never looked at him again.
Or so Yibo thought.
One day, Xiao Zhan checked assignments.
Most were careless.
Some copied.
Then he reached one notebook.
Neat handwriting.
Clear answers.
Extra notes in the margins.
Xiao Zhan paused.
He checked the name.
Wang Yibo.
He looked up at the class.
"Wang Yibo," he called.
Yibo's heart jumped.
He slowly stood up.
"Yes, sir?" his voice was soft.
Xiao Zhan looked at him properly for the first time.
Pimples.
Simple clothes.
Eyes honest… and nervous.
"You did this yourself?" Xiao Zhan asked.
"Yes, sir."
No excuses.
No pride.
Xiao Zhan nodded once.
"Sit."
That was all.
But Yibo felt something strange in his chest.
After that day, things changed.
Very slightly.
Almost invisible.
Xiao Zhan still stayed cold.
Still strict.
But—
He noticed if Yibo was absent.
He noticed if Yibo didn't write notes.
He noticed when Yibo stayed behind to understand a topic.
He never said anything.
Because he was a professor.
And Yibo was a student.
Boundaries were walls Xiao Zhan never crossed.
One evening, rain poured heavily.
Most students left.
Yibo stayed back, solving a problem.
Xiao Zhan walked past… then stopped.
"You should go home," he said coldly.
Yibo looked up, surprised.
"I will, sir. Just five minutes."
Xiao Zhan hesitated.
Then said quietly,
"Don't catch a cold."
He walked away.
Yibo stared at his back.
That was the first time
a professor cared.
Xiao Zhan didn't understand why his chest felt tight.
Why that boy's silence bothered him.
Why those honest eyes stayed in his mind.
He clenched his jaw.
This is wrong, he thought.
Control yourself.
Coldness returned to his face.
But deep inside—
Something had already begun
The class was noisy that day.
Some students laughed.
Some talked loudly.
Xiao Zhan stood at the podium, writing on the board.
His back was straight.
His face cold as always.
Wang Yibo sat in his usual seat.
Back bench.
Quiet.
A group of students behind him whispered.
"Look at his face," one said, not even trying to lower his voice.
"So many pimples… how can someone look like that?"
"Maybe that's why no one sits with him."
Soft laughter followed.
Yibo's pen slowed.
He heard everything.
He always did.
Another voice joined.
A professor from another department had come to observe the class.
Older. Smiling casually.
He glanced at Yibo and chuckled.
"Students these days don't even take care of themselves," he said lightly.
"Presentation matters, you know."
More laughter.
It wasn't loud.
It wasn't aggressive.
But it was enough.
Yibo lowered his head.
He stared at his notebook.
The words blurred.
He was used to this.
School.
College.
Everywhere.
People laughed.
People commented.
He never replied.
Never complained.
Because complaining never changed anything.
But he was still human.
His chest tightened.
His throat burned slightly.
He swallowed hard.
It's okay, he told himself.
Just a little more time. Class will end.
His shoulders became smaller.
His back bent just a little.
Still, he kept writing.
Xiao Zhan froze.
The chalk stopped mid-word.
He had heard it.
Every word.
Slowly, he turned around.
His black eyes moved to the back bench.
He saw it.
Yibo's lowered head.
The tight grip on the pen.
The way his ears had turned red.
Something sharp twisted inside Xiao Zhan's chest.
Anger.
Cold. Controlled. Dangerous.
He looked at the laughing students.
Then at the professor.
Silence fell suddenly.
"Is my class a place for comments on appearance?" Xiao Zhan's deep voice cut through the room.
No one spoke.
"This is a university," he continued calmly.
"Not a street corner."
His eyes hardened.
"Anyone who thinks mocking a student is acceptable," he paused,
"is free to leave."
The other professor's smile vanished.
Students dropped their gaze.
Xiao Zhan looked once more at Yibo.
"Wang Yibo," he said.
Yibo flinched slightly and stood up.
"Yes, sir?"
His voice was steady. Too steady.
"Continue your work," Xiao Zhan said.
Just that.
No comfort.
No softness.
But respect.
Yibo nodded and sat down.
After class, students left quietly.
Yibo stayed behind, as always.
Xiao Zhan watched him pack his bag.
"You didn't have to tolerate that," Xiao Zhan said suddenly.
Yibo paused.
Then smiled faintly.
"I'm okay, sir."
A lie.
A practiced one.
Xiao Zhan clenched his fist behind his back.
For the first time—
His cold heart cracked.