The afternoon sunlight slanted through the massive glass window, casting bright spots of light on the wooden desks of the lecture hall.
Tiny dust particles floated in the air, mixed with the smell of chalk dust.
Yan Yu wasn’t particularly early.
When she pushed her wheelchair into the classroom, quite a few people were already seated in the first few rows.
Some raised their heads, their eyes lingering on her briefly before quickly looking away.
In this highly inclusive university, students attending class in wheelchairs, though uncommon, were not considered strange either.
She looked around, searching for a spot near the back, as it would be more convenient for entering and exiting.
That’s when her gaze was drawn to a figure in the front row of the classroom.
It was a young girl, sitting alone by the window. The sunlight happened to fall on her, coating her in a soft, fuzzy golden edge.
The girl wore a light blue shirt, her long hair loosely tied back, with a few stray strands hanging down by her cheeks.
She tilted her head slightly, looking out the window. The lines of her profile were as graceful as a classical sculpture, her eyelashes long.
It was Bai Yan’er.
Yan Yu silently whispered this name in her heart.
Bai Yan’er was truly stunning.
Just sitting there quietly, she seemed out of place amidst the noisy, lively students around her.
Several boys and girls had already tried to strike up a conversation, either asking if the seat next to her was taken or directly handing over their contact information.
But Bai Yan’er just shook her head lightly, her gaze barely drawn back from the window. The corners of her lips held a polite yet distant curve, silently rejecting all approaches.
Until her gaze inadvertently swept across the door and landed on Yan Yu.
Almost instantly, those eyes, usually covered in a thin mist and appearing somewhat cold, lit up.
She even unconsciously straightened up a little and waved in Yan Yu’s direction.
The few people still trying to chat were stunned. Following her gaze to the doorway, they saw Yan Yu in the wheelchair and their faces showed a mix of surprise.
Yan Yu smiled at her, pushed her wheelchair, and slowly made her way over along the specially reserved accessible path.
“Sister, here.” Bai Yan’er’s voice was light. She pointed to the spot she had deliberately saved beside her. “Sit here.”
“Thanks.”
Yan Yu parked her wheelchair, locked the brakes, then carefully placed the few thick art theory books and notebooks from her lap onto the table.
The corners of the books were a bit worn, showing they were often read.
Bai Yan’er naturally moved her canvas bag, which had been on the empty seat beside her, to make more room for Yan Yu.
While Yan Yu was sorting her books and adjusting her sitting position, Bai Yan’er subtly shifted her body closer to Yan Yu.
Close enough that Yan Yu could even smell the gardenia scent from her, mixed with a hint of oil paint.
“Sister,” Bai Yan’er turned her head, leaning close to Yan Yu’s ear, and whispered in a voice only the two of them could hear, “I heard the teacher for this class is really strict. You have to listen carefully, okay?”
Then, she lowered her voice even more and quickly added, with a hint of small pride and intimacy: “Of course, if there’s something you don’t understand, you can secretly ask me.”
Yan Yu was amused by her cute demeanor.
“Got it, got it,” she nodded, pulling out the textbook for this class, Western Modern Art Theory and Criticism, and opening it to where they had left off last time. “I’ll listen well, so I don’t let our Yan Er, the top student, down with your ‘inside information.'”
Bai Yan’er pursed her lips and smiled, her eyes curving into beautiful crescent moons.
She didn’t say anything more, just took out her own book and notes, but her body remained tilted slightly toward Yan Yu.
This class was Special Topic: Modern and Postmodern Art Theory. The professor, Xie Ke, was known across the department as a strict teacher with high academic standards, a fast-paced class, and often tricky assignments.
Today’s lecture would delve into a relatively niche art movement from the mid-twentieth century.
The Situationist International and its core theories: Dérive and Détournement.
“Last class, I assigned you to gather preliminary information on the Situationist theory of détournement and use that theoretical framework to briefly analyze a contemporary cultural phenomenon you’re familiar with. The medium is unrestricted—advertisements, movie clips, pop songs, even internet memes are all acceptable.”
He paused, opened the class roster software, and continued:
“Now, I’ll randomly pick a few student numbers to see everyone’s preliminary understanding and thoughts. The students whose numbers are called, please briefly state your analysis target and train of thought.”
As soon as he finished, a faint wave of sighs and whispers rippled through the room.
Yan Yu heard students in the back rows quietly complaining: “This assignment is way too hard… There’s almost no information online, and even if I try to find the original texts, I can’t read them…”
“Exactly, and then we have to analyze contemporary phenomena—how are we supposed to combine that?”
“Old Man Xie really doesn’t give us a break…”
Yan Yu frowned slightly and opened her notebook, ready to record something.
She had looked up some materials before and had a vague concept of “détournement” theory. It involved appropriating, altering, and recombining existing mainstream cultural products to expose the ideological manipulation behind them or to create new, subversive meanings.
But the theory itself was quite obscure, and applying it to analyze specific contemporary cultural phenomena was indeed a challenge.
As she was deep in thought, she suddenly felt a warmth on the back of her hand.
Looking down, she saw Bai Yan’er’s hand gently resting on top of hers.
Her sister’s hand was very beautiful—long fingers, well-defined knuckles, neatly trimmed nails. At the moment, that hand, with a hint of tentative coolness, was covering Yan Yu’s hand.
Yan Yu turned her head, asking with her eyes.
“The air conditioning is a bit cold, Sister,” Bai Yan’er pouted slightly, putting on a somewhat aggrieved expression. “My hands are a little cold… Can I warm them with yours?”
Yan Yu found it both funny and helpless.
The air conditioning in the classroom was indeed set a bit low, but definitely not to the point of freezing one’s hands. She knew Bai Yan’er had a naturally cold constitution, but this girl was definitely up to some little trick again.
Still, as her sister, looking at those big, watery eyes, she couldn’t bring herself to refuse.
“Just for a little while.”
Yan Yu indulged her with a smile and didn’t pull her hand back.
“You’re the best, Sister!”
Bai Yan’er immediately grinned, pushing her luck as she slipped her fingers between Yan Yu’s and gently held them.
Then, seemingly unsatisfied, she began to use her fingertips to trace the contours of Yan Yu’s hand bones, stroking the delicate skin at the base of Yan Yu’s thumb, and then kneading the knuckles of her fingers.
Her movements were very light.
But Yan Yu felt a subtle tingle spread from the back of her hand, traveling up her nerves and all the way to her heart.
Bai Yan’er lowered her head, focusing intently on their intertwined hands.
Yan Yu’s hand was about the same size as hers, very fair and clean.
Looking at those hands, Bai Yan’er couldn’t help but let her imagination run wild.
‘Sister’s hands are so slender and fair… they feel so soft and nice to touch…’
‘If only these hands could caress me gently, how happy that would be…’
She couldn’t help but sigh silently in her heart, her movements becoming even more careful, even carrying a hint of reluctance and enjoyment.