After Crossing Over to the Republic of China, I've Become a Heartthrob Chapter 43C

Han Pu

---

I was lying on the hospital bed, looking at the snow-white ceiling, when I turned my head and saw someone lying on the next bed.

It was none other than Han Pu.

It turned out that everything I experienced was not a dream, not a fantasy.

The plot of the story is very cliche.

On my first day of school as an English teacher, I was hit by a car in front of my alma mater, A City Foreign Language School, due to a thunderstorm.

The man who hit me was none other than Han Pu.

The old Han Pu is dead, and the new Han Pu is the Han Pu from the Republic of China, the Han Pu I know.

Han Pu here is a professor, the dean of the School of Humanities at A City Normal University, a doctoral supervisor, a master's supervisor, a visiting scholar at the University of Cambridge, and the chief guest of the Centre for the Study of World and Comparative Literature.

In order to get closer to him, I took the exam and became Professor Han's disciple.

While teaching in a foreign language school, I studied in the School of Humanities at A City Normal University, switching back and forth between my dual roles as a teacher and a student.

When Han Pu first came here, he was not accustomed to modern life. For example, he didn't know how to use a smartphone, a computer, order takeout, or use social networking software.

When I was teaching him, I teased him and said, "Professor Han, you are my mentor. Now you're my student, huh?"

But Han Pu said: "When you walk along with others, they may serve me as your teachers, so naturally, you can be my teacher.”

I can't stand it when they're so educated and they talk like that. I say, "Professor, you're talking too much, and I'm so bad at languages I don't understand you."

"Tomorrow I have a class at the college, 'Outline of Chinese Culture', if you're interested...."

"I don't want a big class!" I interrupted, "I want private tutoring from my teacher."

Han Pu's eyes changed a little, and his voice was deep: "Okay."

"So I'll come to you in the middle of the night?"

"Why the middle of the night?" He said, "Right after class."

"Don't you think midnight is exciting?" I deliberately provoked him by saying: "It's a dark and windy night, in the quiet School of Humanities at A City Normal University, the highly respected Professor Han meets his students privately in the middle of the night."

Han Pu immediately reddened his ears: "Shi..."

"Okay, I'm not going to tease you, I know you have your own principles." I said to him: "I respect you."

Professor Han's moral standards are too high, and he is determined not to cross the line with his students, even though we live and eat together, his office is practically my exclusive study room, and his house is practically my house.

It's always fascinating to see how he suppresses his feelings even when he's clearly in love.

Han Pu and I have a lot in common, and we always had a lot to talk about.

We're more than just mentors and friends, we're soul mates.

We go to museums and art galleries together, discussing Taoist philosophy, Wei Jin style, transcendentalism, and postmodernism.

We attend reading salons in libraries, write poems for each other, and do translations together.

We support public welfare together and fight for the rights of feminism, sexual minorities and disadvantaged groups in society.

The most romantic thing we can think of in the academic world is to do research together and put each other's names on it. Professor Han took me with him to publish CSSCI; he took me with him to do national projects and publish textbooks and monographs.

He and I don't like online social networking, and we are surprisingly consistent in our aesthetics and preferences.

I don't have a Weibo account, and neither does he.

I never play on Douyin, Shutterbug or Xiaohongshu, and neither does he.

I have never had any online social software, only Zhihu. He downloaded Zhihu for me, and we are each other's only follower.

In our spare time, we travel together and visit famous mountains and historical sites both at home and abroad.

He teaches me lower script and guqin.

Whenever he teaches me calligraphy, I can't help but steal a kiss from him as I write.

Whenever I sit in the study and listen to his music, I want to kiss him.

Professor Han has no choice but to tolerate my disobedient behaviour.

On the night of my master's graduation, he bought a bottle of red wine to celebrate my graduation.

I'm a terrible drinker.

In all the time I've known Han Pu, I've never seen him drink, so I assumed he wasn't much of a drinker either.

What I didn't realise was that Professor Han was a man who could hold his liquor without changing his countenance. 

When I was drunk and dizzy, he could still look at me clearly and say, "I wonder if Zhou's dream is for Hu Die and Hu Die's dream is for Zhou."

'Zhuangzi' is my favourite ancient prose, I answered: "Zhou and Hu Die must have their own differences."

Han Pu says, "It doesn't necessarily matter."

"How do you know?"

"Life is a dream." He said to me, "'Shi Yao, am I dreaming right now?"

"No." I say to him, "I am."

Han Pu kisses me lightly on the forehead.

He says, "My dream has come true."

I say, "Your dream has come true."

Han Pu wraps his arms around me, I sit on his lap, wrap my arms around his neck, and touch his lips, "Teacher, I've graduated."

The flavour of alcohol spread between our lips, and the pleasure of blending our bodies and minds sent shivers down our spines.

I traced his silhouette in the dark, running my fingers through his hair and wrapping them tightly around his colliding body.

I was thinking that I would have to persuade him to grow his hair long.

Professor Han's long-haired costume look, just thinking about it makes me excited.

I'm thinking I'll have to unlock some new locations with him, like the lecture theatre and the library.

But that's a bit immoral, and Professor Han's thin skin will definitely not agree to it. 

So let's do it in his study.

We'll walk through these years together, with grey hair, and the smell of tea in our books.

———

Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments. Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove.

O no! it is an ever-fixed mark

That looks on tempests and is never shaken;

It is the star to every wand'ring bark,

Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

Within his bending sickle's compass come;

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

If this be error and upon me prov'd,

I never writ, nor no man ever lov'd.

(Sonnet 116, William Shakespeare)

‿︵‿︵ʚ˚̣̣̣͙ɞ・❉・ ʚ˚̣̣̣͙ɞ‿︵‿︵

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Translator Notes

Please feel free to comment any mistakes I made so I can improve and do better as I go through the book.

Translated: July 15, 2023