Сhaptеr 2: Аt Тhis Rаtе, We’ll Miss the Funеrаl Feast, Wоn’t We?
Jiang Еr соuldn’t tеll hоw lоng she hаd bееn walking in thе darknеss.
Vague sоunds еchоed in hеr еаrs from timе tо time, аs if drifting frоm thе shоrе intо thе deрths of wаtеr—buzzing, indistinct.
—She hadn’t evеn finished аttending hеr оwn funеrаl when she wаs suddenly drаggеd hеrе, unablе to find hеr way оut nо mаttеr hоw far shе walked.
“At this rаtе, wе’ll miss thе funеral feast, wоn’t wе?” shе thought аnxiоusly.
Suddenlу, а fаint glimmеr of light aррearеd aheаd. Неr sрirits lifted, аnd shе rushed toward it with all her might.
“I don’t want tо sit with him!”
Thе mоmеnt shе сhargеd into the light, it felt аs if she hаd shattеred sоme invisible barrier. With a soft “pop,” the sounds around Jiang Er abruptly became clear.
“No way, you drew the short straw—we all agreed, no one backs out!”
“Exactly! Who’d want to sit with a deaf guy like him anyway?”
“We’re all classmates, don’t say things like that. We should be more united…”
“Easy for you to say when it’s not you, huh? If you’re so united, why don’t you sit with Fu Tinghan?”
Who? Who was talking?
Her eyelids felt as heavy as lead. After a long struggle, Jiang Er finally managed to pry them open a crack.
Instantly, overwhelmingly bright light flooded in, forcing her to instinctively turn her head away.
“Move, don’t block the way.”
Someone bumped into her, and her already unsteady body instantly lost its balance.
Just before she fell, she reflexively reached out and, in her panic, grabbed onto a slender arm nearby.
A sharp scream pierced her ears:
“What are you doing?!”
The high-pitched shriek sent a small jolt through Jiang Er, snapping her awake. Staggering, she steadied herself, forced her eyes open bit by bit, and gasped for breath.
Cold sweat beaded on her forehead.
The person yelled again, “Class monitor! Come quick, look at Jiang Er! She looks like she’s dying!”
The argument nearby stopped immediately. Soon, someone rushed over like the wind:
“What’s wrong? Did you get heatstroke?”
It took a few seconds for Jiang Er’s darkened vision to fully return to normal.
She rubbed her eyes and saw a fair, chubby boy standing in front of her, around sixteen or seventeen years old—a completely unfamiliar face.
Right now, he was looking at her with deep concern.
Wait, he could see her?
And just now, she seemed to have touched something…
Jiang Er was dazed, turning her head blankly to scan her surroundings.
Midsummer, cicadas chirping, lush greenery outside clean glass windows, a classroom door on the right with a metal nameplate, the tidy corridor of a school building, and students passing by with arms slung over each other’s shoulders.
Everything was utterly different from that pale, cold winter.
This was…
School?
Jiang Er stared intently at the metal nameplate.
It read—
【Class 6, Grade 11】
The class she had once attended.
Jiang Er’s heart skipped a heavy beat. Stiffly, she turned her head bit by bit, her gaze returning to the inside of the classroom.
Before her were rows of unfamiliar faces, each with different expressions.
And—
“Fu Tinghan?!”
In the last row of the classroom, a boy in a blue-and-white school uniform sat upright in his chair.
While the atmosphere around him was restless, he remained indifferent, his eyes fixed on the paper beneath his pen.
Sunlight streamed through the glass window, casting a thin, golden glow over him. His handsome face stood out vividly, like a freshly painted oil painting.
He looked about seventy to eighty percent similar to the Fu Tinghan Jiang Er knew.
Only, there was a youthful innocence she had never seen before.
“…Fu Tinghan, is that you?”
Jiang Er walked step by step to his side, calling out tentatively.
He showed no reaction at all, his pen scratching across the paper as he left behind line after line of sharp, forceful handwriting.
Jiang Er cautiously reached out and gently patted his shoulder. Just like before, the touch felt real under her hand—no longer an empty void.
The pen paused for a moment. The boy looked up, his gaze devoid of warmth.
Jiang Er swallowed hard, her fingers moving upward to rest on the boy’s thin cheek.
Warm.
Dead people couldn’t feel warmth.
“Is this an illusion? Or am I dreaming?” she murmured, deliberately pinching him harder as she asked seriously, “Does it hurt?”
“…”
The boy’s eyelashes fluttered uncontrollably. He swiftly leaned back, avoiding her hand, a faint blush spreading across his pale face.
It was hard to tell whether it was from the pinch or from anger.
Seeing her dazed expression, Little Fatty strode over. “Jiang Er, are you okay?”
Jiang Er carefully surveyed her surroundings once more, her gaze falling on the identical school uniform she was wearing. Suddenly, she said:
“Hit me. Hard.”
Class Monitor Little Fatty: “Huh?”
He had never heard such a request before and said worriedly, “Has the virus already started attacking your brain?”
Jiang Er was about to speak when, suddenly, it felt as if a heavy curtain had been lifted on a stage. Countless unfamiliar yet distant memories flooded her mind—each frame a nearly forgotten fragment of her daily life at seventeen, rendered in exceptionally clear detail.
As if it had all happened just yesterday.
And in a way, it had.
She realized something, her breathing growing rapid, and the heart in her chest—which had long since stopped working—began pounding fiercely.
Maybe, probably, most likely… she had come back to life.
Not only had she come back to life, but she had also returned to seven years ago, to her time in Grade 11.
Jiang Er: “”
“Boom—”
A bolt from the blue.
Wasn’t getting run over by a tractor enough to wipe the slate clean of her past sins? Why did she have to go through high school again?!
And besides—
Jiang Er stared incredulously at the person in front of her.
Fu Tinghan??
How could she not remember ever being in the same class as him?
According to his glossy, impressive life resume, shouldn’t he be on the other side of the Pacific, swirling a glass of red wine right now?
“What are you doing here?” she asked Fu Tinghan, her tone filled with utter bewilderment.
No response.
At some point, the boy had already lowered his head again, continuing to copy the unfinished vocabulary words.
His handwriting was slightly messy.
Just as Jiang Er was wondering, a girl said impatiently:
“Stop calling him. Have you ever seen a deaf person who can hear others talking to him?”
Jiang Er: “Huh?”
Deaf?
She took a closer look at his left leg. The blue school uniform pants covered his ankles, revealing only a sliver of pale skin.
Not a prosthetic limb.
So, at seventeen, Fu Tinghan’s leg wasn’t broken, but his ears were deaf?
Jiang Er was filled with confusion.
“Move, please,” the girl snapped impatiently, shoving her aside. “This is my seat.”
With that, she walked around to the seat against the wall, looking thoroughly annoyed as she slammed her backpack onto the desk and vented her frustration at the boy sitting beside her.
“Just my luck. How did I end up drawing the short straw?”
Jiang Er was completely lost. Just as she was about to ask for clarification, the class monitor said tactfully:
“Jiang Er, you really look like you’ve been dead for three days. Maybe we should go to the infirmary.”
“I’m fine, just had low blood sugar earlier,” Jiang Er brushed it off casually.
The class monitor’s chubby face scrunched up in concern. Clearly unconvinced, he pleaded earnestly:
“I get that you just transferred here and don’t want to cause trouble, but I’m really worried you might die…”
Jiang Er declared confidently, “Don’t worry, I really won’t die. What’s this about drawing straws—”
Mid-sentence, she peacefully closed her eyes and, with a loud “clatter,” toppled over along with her chair, crashing into Fu Tinghan, who was closest to her.
As they fell, Fu Tinghan only had time to raise his hand to protect her head. He himself slammed hard onto the solid floor, letting out a muffled groan before closing his eyes to recover for a moment.
Little Fatty, witnessing the scene:
(′)？
Running away in panic!
“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh help!! Jiang Er really died!!”
“And she took Fu Tinghan down with her ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!”