87: The water from melting icebergs is the warmest.

Wednesday afternoon,

the backstage of the auditorium was a mess, like a supermarket that had just been ransacked.

The screeching feedback from the sound check and the chaotic footsteps of the dance team,

mixed with the hoarse shouts of the Student Council officials holding walkie-talkies, creating a headache-inducing cacophony.

Lin Que held the “recitation script” with only a few lines written on it,

and was just about to find a quiet corner when a figure blocked his path.

"Lin Que, where are you going?"

Li Ze wore a "Chief Director" badge on his chest,

holding a program list rolled into a tube, his brow furrowed enough to kill a fly.

"Back to the classroom."

Lin Que pointed outside.

"It's too noisy here; it affects my emotional buildup."

"Stop right there!"

Li Ze slapped the program list against his hand.

"Everyone else is rehearsing, why are you special? Get on stage immediately, run through the routine. I need to check the duration and light coordination."

Lin Que sighed and spread his hands helplessly:

"Chairman Li, mine is a poetry recitation.

Go up, stand still, open mouth, finish reading, bow, walk off stage.

It's less than five minutes total, it doesn't need a light show,

and it doesn't need backup dancers. Just save me a microphone."

"Absolutely not."

Li Ze refused to yield, even stepping forward, adopting an official, businesslike stance.

"I am the Chief Director of this gala, and I have the right to control the quality of every performance.

What if you get stage fright up there?

What if the content of your script violates regulations? You must rehearse!"

Several girls from the dance team who were stretching stopped their movements and covered their mouths, watching the spectacle.

"Li Ze is just looking for trouble, isn't he?"

"Lin Que stole his thunder. I heard the city leaders are coming specifically for Lin Que, the first prize winner."

Lin Que listened to the surrounding whispers but wasn't annoyed; he just looked lazily at Li Ze:

"Director Li, if I recite it now,

and the surprise is ruined later, will you take responsibility?"

"Stop using 'surprise' as a shield!"

Li Ze was about to erupt.

"What is going on?"

A cool, clear voice cut in.

Shen Qingqiu walked over, wearing high heels.

She was carrying her lesson plans, clearly having come straight from class.

As soon as Li Ze saw the teacher, his arrogance immediately subsided somewhat, but he still stuck out his neck and complained:

"Teacher Shen, Lin Que refuses to cooperate with the rehearsal.

The gala is a major school event. If he acts so disorganized and undisciplined and something goes wrong..."

"That's enough."

Shen Qingqiu interrupted him, her gaze sweeping between the two before settling on Lin Que.

"His performance is quite unique; it truly isn't suitable for public rehearsal."

"But..."

Li Ze still wanted to argue.

"If there are any problems, I will take responsibility."

Shen Qingqiu's tone was calm, yet carried authority.

"I am his supervising teacher, and I will review his script.

Li Ze, go handle other things. Just make sure the lights and sound system are ready for Lin Que."

Li Ze's face cycled between green and white,

finally giving Lin Que a fierce glare before turning and walking away in a huff.

Lin Que whistled at Li Ze's retreating back, then turned to Teacher Shen, smiling brightly:

"Only Teacher Shen has such power and authority."

"Stop fooling around."

Shen Qingqiu gave him an annoyed look and turned toward the lounge.

"Come with me.

You don't have to rehearse, but you still need to let me see what tricks you have up your sleeve.

This is what we agreed upon earlier."

The lounge was much quieter.

Lin Que handed over the crumpled script paper.

Shen Qingqiu took it, originally expecting to see passionate parallel sentences or emotional, flowery language.

But there was only a short passage on the paper, titled:

Coco.

"This is a concept I saw in a movie; I thought it was very interesting."

Lin Que leaned against the table, his voice lowered, lacking his usual flippancy.

"A person experiences three deaths in a lifetime."

Shen Qingqiu looked up at him.

The lounge was so quiet that only the ticking of the wall clock could be heard.

Shen Qingqiu's fingers tightened slightly around the script paper.

She was a Chinese Language Teacher; she had read countless articles about life and death,

but this theory of “three deaths” was like a fine needle,

accurately piercing the softest part of her heart.

It was simple, yet cruelly insightful.

She felt a sting in her nose and subconsciously blinked, concealing the moisture welling up in her eyes.

"The concept is excellent."

Shen Qingqiu took a deep breath, calming her emotions.

"But Lin Que..."

"Such a good concept, merely reciting it is a waste.

For the restless kids in the audience,

your story might be over before they even settle down from the noise of the previous performance.

I don't want it to be like a pebble thrown into the ocean,

only creating a small ripple before sinking into silence."

Lin Que was somewhat surprised.

He had originally thought his theory was profound enough,

and planned to rely on the depth of his soul—having lived two lives—to deliver a powerful performance.

He never expected that the first person to understand it and point out its shortcomings

would be this usually stern Chinese Language Teacher.

"In that case, what do you suggest?"

"Add something extra."

Shen Qingqiu pointed to the multimedia equipment nearby.

"Background music is essential, but it would be best to add some background images too.

Only the double impact of visual and auditory elements can amplify this emotion."

She thought for a moment and added:

"For example, photos—ones that feel aged, things that can instantly transport people back to the past."

Lin Que's eyes lit up.

He hadn't expected that "Demon Shen," who usually only focused on memorization and grammar,

would possess such sharp artistic intuition.

This suggestion was the perfect finishing touch, several times better than the effect he had anticipated.

"Teacher, that's a brilliant move!"

Lin Que sincerely gave her a thumbs-up.

"So, about these photos..."

"I'll figure it out."

Shen Qingqiu was decisive and efficient.

"The school archives should have many old photos from decades ago,

and some personal life photos teachers keep. I'll go borrow them."

"In that case... they should be black and white!"

Lin Que added.

"Preferably ones with yellowed edges, maybe even a little blurry. The more authentic, the better."

Shen Qingqiu glanced at him, instantly understanding.

"No problem."

With the matter settled, Shen Qingqiu looked at Lin Que's relaxed demeanor,

and recalling Li Ze's earlier harassment, she couldn't help but say an extra word:

"Classmate Li Ze is very ambitious, and he is the Chairman of the Student Council.

He values honor above everything else.

Don't take it to heart, and don't stoop to his level."

In Shen Qingqiu's view,

although Lin Que was brilliant, he was still just a young man,

and being targeted by a peer would inevitably make him feel uncomfortable.

Lin Que was packing his bag. Hearing this, he paused.

He turned around and looked at Shen Qingqiu.

The setting sun outside the window shone in diagonally,

coating the usually stern female teacher with a warm halo.

"Teacher."

Lin Que suddenly smiled. That smile lacked his usual teasing and held a newfound clarity.

"Actually, you don't need to comfort me.

There will be plenty of people like Li Ze once I enter society; I'm already used to it."

He slung his bag over his shoulder and walked to the door,

then stopped and looked back at Shen Qingqiu.

"It's you, though. You usually look like an iceberg, punishing anyone who misrecites even a single character."

Lin Que leaned against the doorway, looking back at her.

"But many people don't know that

the water from a melting iceberg is the warmest."

Shen Qingqiu was stunned.

"You protected me, not because you were afraid I'd cause you trouble or mess up the gala."

Lin Que smiled and pointed to the script paper in her hand.

"You also want to protect the silly, unextinguished flame in the hearts of us students.

Even if that little fire sometimes burns at an inconvenient time."

"Sometimes, Teacher Shen, you are actually more idealistic than us little kids."

Having said that, Lin Que waved his hand and strode out of the lounge,

leaving Shen Qingqiu standing there alone.

The setting sun stretched her shadow long.

Shen Qingqiu lowered her head to look at the script paper in her hand.

After a long time, the corner of her mouth curved into a helpless yet relieved smile.

"That little rascal..."

She had always thought she was guiding Lin Que, afraid he might stray.

But now it seemed this seemingly lazy student was more clear-headed than anyone.

She carefully tucked the script paper into her lesson plans.

This time, she wasn't just going to help him find photos,

she was going to help him set the stage big enough.

Because some voices truly needed to be heard by more people...