Jing Yuan had earned a reputation as the most easygoing teacher in the entire school, though “easygoing” hardly captured the quiet mastery behind his approach. His tests were fair rather than punishing, his lessons flowed with an almost unhurried rhythm, and once students completed their work, he allowed the room to breathe. Conversations would bloom in soft clusters, the occasional glow of a phone screen flickering like fireflies under desks. Yet somehow, despite the relaxed atmosphere, his students learned. They always did.

It wasn’t surprising that he had won over so many hearts.

Now, in the lull of break time, the classroom felt like a pocket of stillness tucked away from the livelier corridors outside. Jing Yuan sat at his desk, a porcelain cup of tea cradled in one hand, its faint steam curling upward in delicate spirals. With the other, he turned pages of student assignments, his eyes scanning them with patient attention rather than hurried obligation.

Beyond the windows and door, distant laughter and footsteps drifted in like echoes from another world, softened by the quiet sanctuary he maintained within these walls.

He seemed entirely at ease in the silence.

Only when a gentle knock broke through the calm did he stir. His gaze lifted unhurriedly, as if surfacing from a tranquil lake, and a subtle smile touched his lips, warm and welcoming without effort.

“Come in.”