Qin Su swept as usual that morning. The edge of the floor cloth moved slowly over the cold tiles, absorbing dust and the faint traces of time.
Li Yuan sat in the corner, as he always did. Silent. Not reading, not writing, just sitting like water that never chooses its own place.
When Qin Su finished sweeping the corridor and was about to return, Li Yuan stood up.
He reached into the pocket of his thin shirt and pulled out a small coin. Its metal was worn, not shiny, but not dirty either — as if it belonged nowhere and had never truly been spent.
He held it out gently.
Qin Su looked at him. "What is this for?"
Li Yuan simply said, "For the place I stay."
Qin Su laughed softly, though her voice did not rise. "I told you, you can stay. I don't need payment."
Li Yuan still held out the coin, not insisting, but not withdrawing it either.
Qin Su stepped closer, looking at the coin with slight discomfort. "I'm not the owner of this building. I just clean it. You owe me nothing."
Li Yuan looked at her. His gaze did not press, did not plead, but could not be avoided either. Like the surface of a river — you can look away, but your reflection will still remain.
"Then," he said quietly, "consider it not my payment to you, but my respect for your time."
Qin Su fell silent.
Time.
She had been cleaning this building for eight years. No one had ever spoken that word to her. No one had ever honored her time.
She accepted the coin, not because she wanted it, but because she felt, for the first time, that it wasn't about money.
The coin felt heavy in her hand. Not because of its metal — but because of something unnamed. Like a silence that had stayed too long in an empty room.
"Thank you," she said at last. But the words came out softly — not directed at Li Yuan, but at something farther away. Toward a quiet space inside her that had long gone untouched.
Li Yuan nodded and returned to his seat.
The morning breeze slipped in through the window gap. Softly. As if bearing witness to something not meant to be recorded, but never to be forgotten.
Qin Su kept the coin in her pocket. She didn't know why she didn't just place it in the drawer where she usually kept the small wages given by the building supervisor.
Her steps were light as she walked down the stairs. But in her chest, something did not descend with her.
**
That day, she cleaned more slowly. Her hands moved as always, but her thoughts had lingered behind.
She tried to ignore it. But the coin — though it made no sound — seemed to still rest in her palm. Leaving a mark without shape.
Between the second and third floor, she stopped. The air on that stairwell was usually stuffy, slightly damp due to the lack of windows. But that morning, something felt different.
Silent. But not an empty silence.
More like... something was listening.
She looked upward. The space remained the same. No one was there. But in her chest, it felt as if she had just said something she didn't realize, and someone had heard it.
**
That evening, after finishing her work, she didn't go home right away.
She sat in the upper corridor, a few meters from where Li Yuan usually sat. She didn't greet him. Nor did she look directly at him. She just sat, gazing down at the floor, as if trying to see something hidden between the tiles.
Li Yuan remained silent. Still. But his presence felt like the ripple of water gently brushing against the feet of someone who didn't realize they stood by a river.
"I used to want to be a teacher," Qin Su said suddenly.
There was no reply.
She smiled faintly. "Funny, isn't it? I didn't even pass the first exam. Then I just worked wherever I could to have a place to live."
She looked in Li Yuan's direction, though not directly into his eyes. "You know... I've never felt like I was on the wrong path. But I've also never felt right."
Li Yuan didn't respond. But the air around them seemed to take in her words and settle them into the ground.
Qin Su slowly stood. She said nothing more. But before she descended the stairs, she touched her pocket, making sure the coin was still there.
She didn't know why, but she didn't want to let it go.
**
That night, in her small room, Qin Su sat at the edge of her bed. The oil lamp burned low. On the small wooden table, she placed the coin and stared at it for a long time.
Around her, there was no sound. But the silence was not like usual.
This silence felt... honest.
And for the first time in years, Qin Su cried — without knowing why.
Her tears fell not from pain, but because a space within her that had long been closed had slowly begun to open.
She didn't know where this path would take her. But she knew, since that morning, she had begun to walk.
With no teacher. No scripture. No promise of salvation.
Only a coin. A gesture of respect for time.
And a man with gray eyes who never taught, but made people begin to ask.