Driven by an inexplicable curiosity and a strange, pulling force, Qiao Xin stepped into the dilapidated room.
Inside, a teenager lay on the bed. His eyes were tightly shut, his forehead beaded with large drops of sweat, and his cheeks flushed with a feverish red. His lips were dry and cracked, and he seemed to be whispering something in his delirium.
A sudden pang of heartache struck Qiao Xin. Looking at the boy, she saw that his features were remarkably similar to those of Lin Qing when they were young—an eight or nine-tenths resemblance. Unable to help herself, she leaned forward to check on him, but her hand passed right through his body. She tried again, but her palm slipped through him once more.
Qiao Xin looked at herself, then back at the boy, bewildered. Am I dreaming? she wondered. Is it impossible to touch others in a dream? She tried to reach for an empty bowl nearby to test her theory, but she couldn’t pick it up either; her body seemed to have turned translucent.
Just then, the boy on the bed mumbled again. Qiao Xin leaned in close, straining to hear him clearly.
“Xinxin, be careful.”
Qiao Xin felt as if she had been struck by lightning. She recognized that voice—it was her husband’s. Although it sounded raspy and youthful, they had grown up together, and she could never mistake that tone. He always called her “Xinxin.” It was Lin Qing.
Her eyes widened, and her voice trembled, laced with tears. “Husband? Lin Qing? It’s me! Please, wake up!”
But the person on the bed seemed unable to hear her, continuing to mutter in his unconscious state. Qiao Xin cried out frantically, trying to wake the sleeping Lin Qing, but every attempt to touch him proved futile.
Finally realizing that this was useless but refusing to give up, she stepped back a few paces, intending to throw herself at him, hoping that might bridge the gap. She lunged toward him with all her might. Just as she was about to make contact, her body became completely transparent and vanished instantly from the room.
The boy on the bed seemed to sense something; he finally struggled to open his eyes.
“Lin Qing!”
Qiao Xin screamed as she bolted upright. She found herself standing in the familiar yet hauntingly quiet cemetery. In front of her stood Lin Qing’s headstone. The smile in his photograph felt painfully sharp. Everything that had just happened felt like nothing more than a dream.
Qiao Xin looked around. It was still early, and the cemetery was empty. She stood there in a daze, unable to decipher what she had just experienced. The boy in the photo still wore that same grin. After a long moment, she caught her breath and whispered, “Was that you in my dream?”
There was no response. She curled her lips into a bitter smile. “You’re welcome to visit often, but please don’t make yourself look so wretched. It breaks my heart to see you like that.”
By noon, Qiao Xin returned to the city. She ate a bowl of clear noodle soup downstairs before heading back to her apartment.
Lin Qing’s funeral had been handled with the help of their colleagues and friends. Unable to face work, she submitted her resignation. Competition in C-City was fierce, so the company, unwilling to keep a position vacant for long, accepted it readily. HR informed her that her final month’s salary would be deposited in a week, so she didn’t even need to go into the office.
Out of humanitarian concern, Lin Qing’s company had offered three months’ salary as compensation, along with the bonuses from the last project he had been working on—a total of over 320,000 yuan, though the exact figure was a blur to her.
They lived in a rented two-bedroom apartment, which had been perfectly sized for the two of them. Back home, Qiao Xin finally felt a shred of energy return. After a long, hot shower, she began to contemplate her future.
She no longer wanted to buy a home in C-City. If she could find a place to seclude herself, she simply wanted to live out the rest of her days in peace.
Perhaps because she hadn’t slept enough the night before, as she sat on the sofa, a wave of drowsiness washed over her. She lay down and closed her eyes.
In her haze, Qiao Xin saw that dilapidated courtyard again. The teenage Lin Qing was dragging his body toward the well. Qiao Xin rushed to his side in a panic. “Lin Qing! Lin Qing, it’s me! It’s Xinxin!”
The boy felt an inexplicable presence beside him, but when he looked around, the courtyard was empty—not even a mouse was in sight. I must be imagining things, he thought, moving his heavy legs toward the well once more.
With all his remaining strength, he managed to draw half a bucket of water. The water was murky, but he didn’t care. He dipped his head into the bucket, trying desperately to soothe the feverish heat radiating from his body.
He was running a high fever. In this backward, ancient era, a fever could be fatal. With no medicine in the house, his only option was to use the well water to cool down. He would submerge his head, hold his breath for a minute, lift it up to gasp for air, and then submerge himself all over again.
Qiao Xin paced anxiously by his side. She knew he was feverish, but she was utterly powerless. Worse, Lin Qing couldn’t even see her; she could only watch in helpless desperation.
After about twenty minutes, the boy lifted his head and poured the remaining half-bucket of water over his own body. He then simply collapsed onto the ground, waiting for the sun to come around and dry his clothes.
Qiao Xin wanted to make him get up—lying on the cold ground like that was terrible for him—but the boy couldn’t hear her, and her hands passed right through him time and again. Everything was in vain.
Before long, her body turned transparent once more, and she vanished from the courtyard.
The boy seemed to sense something. He sat up, staring at the empty yard, and murmured, “Xinxin?” He then reached up and patted his own cheeks. How could Xinxin be here? he thought. I must be delirious from the fever.
Qiao Xin jolted awake. As she regained her bearings, she realized this couldn’t be a mere hallucination. Her heart told her that the boy was undeniably her husband, Lin Qing. But where was that place? How had Lin Qing returned to his youth? If she were to find him, the age gap would be impossible.
Her mind was a chaotic mess. Suddenly, it struck her: Lin Qing had died in a car accident in the modern world. Had he transmigrated? Looking at his clothes, that place had to be ancient times. Had Lin Qing truly traveled through time?
The thought shocked her. Were they in different dimensions? Was it actually possible to transmigrate after death?
If I die, will I be able to travel to him? But what if I can’t? What if I end up somewhere else entirely?
But I saw him, she argued with herself. Fate wouldn’t just let me watch him from afar, would it?
What do I do? What am I supposed to do?
She slumped onto the sofa. Is the universe trying to tell me I have to die, too?
Suddenly, a powerful suction force pulled at her. Qiao Xin felt the world spin, and her vision went black.
After what felt like an eternity, she regained her senses and slowly opened her eyes. Before her lay a vast expanse of dark, fertile soil. In the distance, lush, green mountains stretched as far as the eye could see—a vibrant, thriving landscape. There was no sun in the sky, yet the world was bathed in a clear, brilliant light.
Not far below the mountains, a winding stream flowed silently toward the horizon.
The air was incredibly fresh; even breathing it in felt deeply rejuvenating. Qiao Xin looked at the scene in awe. Have I transmigrated? she wondered. But this didn’t look like the world where Lin Qing was; that place had been barren and withered, a landscape of decay.
Qiao Xin turned around and saw three small wooden huts behind her. She walked up to them and called out, “Is anyone here?”
There was no response. It was only then that she noticed how deathly quiet the place was—not a sound to be heard. She looked toward the mountains again; there wasn’t even the chirp of a bird.
She stepped forward and gently pushed the wooden door. It gave way easily.
The interior was sparse: a long desk, a single chair, and a wooden bed. There was no other furniture. On the desk lay a jade slip. As Qiao Xin looked at it, the object seemed to come alive, shimmering with tiny, star-like motes of light. It floated into mid-air, and in a heartbeat, it sank directly into her brow.
Overwhelmed by the sudden surge of energy, Qiao Xin lost consciousness once again.