# Do Male Teachers Have Romantic Thoughts About Female Students?

Not a high school teacher. I teach C++.
Second-tier university, Computer Science department.
Not many female students. Even fewer who like my classes.
Ten years. I could count them on both hands.
That girl was the exception.
The only female student who actively interrupted me in class to ask questions.
She reminded me of my wife.
Not in appearance, but in her overall presence.
The way she spoke, her tone, her little physical gestures.
Sometimes listening to her talk, I would zone out.
Class of 2015, Software Engineering.
2011. She was 19. I was 30.
She joked about my name's homophone in class.
The whole class laughed. I told her to call me that from then on.
Inside I thought: let's see if you fail this course.
I teach C and C++.
Different teaching methods. Play games first, then lecture.
Games I made myself. They attracted the male students.
Most female students weren't interested.
She was the exception. After watching for a few minutes, she wanted to try.
Late 2010, I decided to move back to Beijing.
The department chair persuaded me to stay, to see the graduating class through.
I knew he feared I'd leave the students without spiritual support.
A Guizhou person's kindness. Moral coercion on the surface, warmth inside.
The real reason I stayed:
Running into that girl before class one day.
She asked me why I came to Guizhou.
I told her the truth: for my wife, to help develop my hometown.
She gave me a thumbs up and said in a Guizhou accent:
"Teacher, you're fucking awesome, man."
From her eyes, I believed she believed me.
I saw a rainbow.
In that moment, my eyes blurred with tears.
I realized I had never let my wife see a rainbow in my eyes.
So I decided to stay, like an unspoken agreement.
After class she asked me: can you learn programming without being good at English?
Her college entrance exam score in English was in the 40s. She hated English.
Because in middle school a teacher mocked her pronunciation, said it sounded like an American farmer herding cattle.
She was proud. She refused to study English after that.
Eventually I admitted: programming has nothing to do with English proficiency.
I recognized she was a prodigy because of one lab session.
Printing odd and even numbers. Others wrote a few lines of code.
She wrote an entire screen. She didn't know about the modulo operator.
She compared integer division with floating-point division to implement it.
Over a dozen lines of code for one line of functionality. The result was still correct.
Her graduation thesis: 70,000 words. Plagiarism rate: 0.3%.
2012. She wanted to buy a laptop.
Budget under 2,500. Could only afford secondhand.
I saw her disappointment. Guilt consumed me.
I told her I had an old computer. I'd sell it for 1,500.
Actually I went to the computer market and bought a new one. Made it look old.
Scraped off labels. Applied dust. Changed the system time.
She didn't believe me. Said it felt new.
I harshly criticized one brand, lavishly praised another. Got through it.
She took the computer. Profusely grateful.
Later she found out that computer was worth over 5,000.
Alone in the office, she pulled out a thick stack of cash.
She wanted to give me 4,000 to make up the difference.
We were at an impasse for a long time. Finally I took it.
She found a way to save face. Said the broken label meant she owed me 500 less.
I took it with a clear conscience.
Christmas Eve. She gave me an elaborately wrapped apple.
And a Christmas card.
In the middle of the card was a large handwritten section of C++ code.
After the code, one sentence:
"Teacher Wu, I hope we can be your medicine."
My name is Yuzhì. In Guizhou pronunciation it sounds like "yóuzhì."
She once demonstrated publicly: say it faster, doesn't it sound like "wúyàozhì"—incurable?
She said since I was incurable, they would come be the medicine.
In that moment I couldn't hold back. I cried.
The taxi driver thought I'd been rejected. He tried to comfort me.
Actually my defenses had been broken. I felt like I'd put armor back on.
Spring Festival 2013. She brought sausage and cured meat from home.
She worked two jobs. Restaurant. Night market. KFC.
Sitting until 6:30 AM to catch the bus back to school.
She said the world wasn't as bad as she'd imagined.
She wanted me to think she struggling, to show how capable she was.
I gave her a thumbs up: awesome.
Her father thought his daughter was a money sink.
The day he got her acceptance letter, he cursed her.
She refused my financial support. Money was never what she lacked.
Junior year. She wanted to take my Java elective.
The course-grabbing software bugged out. She couldn't get in. Got assigned to ping-pong class.
She cried and complained. My heart softened.
I contacted the PE teacher. Got her a passing grade.
She came to my class. But had no official grade.
Every single time she sat in the front row. Not once did she tie up her hair.
Last meeting before graduation.
She asked: how should I choose between C++ and Java?
I couldn't make the decision for her.
Afraid she'd curse me out later during late-night work.
She said if she couldn't get food, she could come find me for a meal.
I said you can't starve a person digging and building.
Before she left, she asked the same question again.
I thought for a long time. Finally didn't answer.
She went to Beijing. Became a Java backend development engineer.
I'm still in Guiyang. Still a C++ teacher.
She reminded me of my wife.
But my wife encouraged me for years—something I couldn't swallow, bitter melon.
On my first meal with her, I swallowed a huge handful.
Her brows furrowed tight. Teeth clenched. She said it was genuinely delicious.
Sometimes writing Java code, I zone out.
Because it's so similar to C++.
Just like she's so similar to my wife.
In the end she became an excellent engineer.
I became a competent teacher.
Do male teachers have romantic thoughts about female students?
Some thoughts. Nothing to do with lust.
Just that in those dark days,
she really did become my medicine.