"Because of you..."
As her almond-shaped eyes stared into his, Zhang Shutong felt his breath catch.
Then, the girl suddenly tilted her head and finished her sentence in confusion.
"Because you said we were to follow your command, and that no matter what happened, we had to stay hidden."
Her tone was so sincere, like a penguin that had struggled its way onto the ice only to watch in confusion as a giant polar bear ambled by.
"Or did I misunderstand?"
Zhang Shutong was speechless. He supposed he had said something along those lines, but who knew she could fight like that?
"But at the time..."
But before he could finish, Zhang Shutong was surprised to see Lu Qinglian's eternally blank face suddenly come alive for an instant; but it was truly just an instant.
Her small lips curled slightly into a subtle, fleeting arc.
When he looked again, the girl's expression was once more placid. She turned and walked away, as if the image from a moment ago had just been a trick of his tired mind.
Zhang Shutong watched her retreat. She walked with her back ramrod straight, but not like other girls her age, who might walk with their hands behind their backs, their steps full of the innocent joy of youth.
Girls who walked like that usually wore cute little skirts or tight jeans, their every movement exuding a vibrant energy.
But Lu Qinglian had none of that. Zhang Shutong had only ever seen her in her school uniform or her cyan robe.
The impression she gave seemed to always hover somewhere between the two.
But then he remembered the strawberry milk, the Oreos with their cream filling, the happy fish in the bucket. The images came together, sketching out the shape of the iceberg that lay hidden beneath the water's surface.
They soon reached the foot of the mountain.
The mountain loomed large. Withered trees appeared every few steps, and a thin mist clung to them. Zhang Shutong escorted Lu Qinglian to the start of the mountain path.
The snow at the entrance hadn't melted, and it cast a cold, silver gleam in the moonlight. The faint light illuminated a winding, rugged path, which disappeared into pitch-blackness where the terrain grew rough, obscuring the way ahead.
In the night, it looked like an entrance to another world.
All was silent. Zhang Shutong offered her his flashlight, but the girl refused with a shake of her head.
So they said their goodbyes.
And parted.
……
It was nearly nine o'clock when he got home.
He first sent a message to his friends to let them know he was safe.
He locked up his bike and studied the greyish walls of his dorm building. It was exactly as he remembered.
Zhang Shutong was the type of person who needed to feel familiar with a house. Others might need their own bed to feel comfortable, but for him, it was the entire building. Only then, upon waking each day, would he know where he was.
The stairwell had voice-activated lights that would turn on with a cough. Zhang Shutong figured Gu Qiumian's dad must be something of a romantic; why else install warm, yellow-toned bulbs?
The railing of the concrete staircase was freshly painted. The faint smell of iron and lacquer filled his nostrils. He used to find the scent annoying, but now he inhaled it a few more times.
Scientifically speaking, it was probably just the emission of some aromatic hydrocarbon, which some people love and others hate. But to him, his reaction felt baseless.
It's more that memories can be sealed by a scent. You might have long forgotten what happened on a certain day in a certain place, but then one day, you catch a whiff of a particular smell, and it suddenly fires up your neurons, bringing it all back with such clarity.
The smell of home was a bit cold.
He pushed open the door and turned on the lights. Of course, no one was inside. His parents were usually too busy to be home and would certainly never imagine what had happened to their son, but Zhang Shutong was long used to it.
He casually turned on the small color TV, spending a good while aiming the remote at the sensor before it worked. The characters on screen immediately started squawking their lines. He didn't watch it; he just wanted the living room to feel a little less empty.
His phone buzzed. He opened the group chat and saw it was Ruoping. She had sent a picture of a bowl on a dinner table, filled with a sweet porridge of red dates and white fungus. She said she didn't mean anything by it, just wanted to show off her mom's cooking and make them all jealous.
Qingyi said he was in his room reading, but his dad was watching a famously bad movie in the living room, and it was incredibly loud.
Du Kang's parents ran a restaurant, so he was never lacking for food. His dad had brought home a container of fish porridge, some stir-fried river snails, and spiced beef. Ruoping's food-flex had completely backfired, and she'd muted Du Kang in the chat.
Zhang Shutong's mouth watered. He rummaged through the kitchen. His family's refrigerator always smelled fresh, as it never contained leftovers, but he was desperately hoping for some. After a long search, all he could find in the cold interior light was half a steamed bun. He put some water on to boil for an egg, adding a few drops of vinegar to the pot.
In his first year of junior high, he had figured out a trick to keep boiled eggs from having that chicken-manure smell and had been quite pleased with himself. But he later discovered that none of his classmates ate plain boiled eggs; they ate the fried, scrambled, and soy-marinated eggs their mothers made.
Zhang Shutong knew nothing about the other three methods. After all these years, he still ate plain boiled eggs. They were simple and convenient, and his egg-boiling technique had reached the pinnacle of perfection.
While the water was heating up, he took the opportunity to go to his room and change.
His room was quite small, with little furniture: just a bed, a wardrobe, and a desk.
There was no particular style or color scheme to speak of. He didn't have the habit of putting up posters like other boys his age. The color of his room was basically just whatever color his bedsheets were that week.
The apartment had heating, so a single layer of long underwear was enough. The skin on his frozen face had a faint burning sensation. He then went out onto the balcony, toothbrush in his mouth, clothes in his arms.
In the winter, you had to wring out the clothes with all your might. By this time, the egg was about done. Lifting the lid, a cloud of white steam billowed out, bringing a small sense of pleasure.
He downed the egg in a few bites and, chewing on the cold steamed bun, went to the sofa. He actually quite liked the taste of cold buns. He ate while watching TV.
He had actually kicked the habit of watching TV long ago, but there was no computer at home, and the phone screens back then were tiny. Trying to browse anything on a 3.5-inch piece of glass was pure torture.
He then realized an anime was playing on TV—
A kid with glasses, crouching furtively behind a sofa and fiddling with the voice-changing bowtie at his neck.
He could already guess the plot: the elementary schooler who was actually Shinichi Kudo goes somewhere with his friends, they run into trouble, someone ends up dead, then some moron detective pops up and narrows it down to three suspects.
And then, the great detective has a flash of inspiration, and the truth comes to light.
Cliché, but Zhang Shutong watched with great interest.
Even though he'd started in the middle and didn't have a clue what was going on, that wasn't the point. The point was, he suddenly realized he could now truly understand this show.
—It wasn't that the work was so profound that his past self couldn't have grasped it. It was that watching it right now, in this moment, was giving him an intense sense of déjà vu.
How was this situation so similar to his own?
One was drugged by some organization in black, his body shrank, and he became embroiled in case after case in order to investigate the truth.
The other was suddenly stabbed at a classmate's funeral, his body also shrinking in a sense—reverting to eight years prior—and was also getting caught up in one event after another to find a killer.
Conan Edogawa had three friends, two boys and one girl, and on the TV, they were solving a case.
Zhang Shutong also had three best friends, two boys and one girl, and tonight, they had already solved a case.
The feeling was surreal—he was somehow watching a cartoon and seeing a documentary.
But as he watched, Zhang Shutong noticed something different.
A cool-faced girl with short brown hair was pulling the boy aside by the ear. Surrounded by a group of kids and fools, the two whispered to each other, speaking with a maturity beyond their apparent years, perfectly in sync in their alienation from their peers.
That kid actually had a comrade-in-arms to share his boat.
Of course, having a beautiful female confidante isn't important... okay, actually, it's pretty important.
But the most important thing was that he had someone to stick together with for support.
Having someone to stick with is so important. A cookie only becomes an Oreo when it's stuck to another with a cream filling; otherwise, it's just a plain chocolate cookie. Can you even name another brand of plain chocolate cookie in ten seconds?
Zhang Shutong, at least, couldn't.
Thus, it was obvious that a lone cookie could only create a spark when joined with another lone cookie. Before that, they were nothing. Thrown on the ground and crushed, they'd just be mistaken for mud on the sole of a shoe.
The more Zhang Shutong thought about it, the more philosophical it seemed. He decided to name this deduction the "Cookie Theory," and if he ever met his other cookie, he would share it with them.
But in reality, that was impossible.
He felt like he was a single chocolate cookie. He could meet cheese crackers, saltines, or shortbread cookies, and they could all be the best of friends in the grand army of biscuits, but he could never become an Oreo... just like with Ruoping, Qingyi, and Du Kang.
You aren't lonely when you're with your best friends, and they had just fought side-by-side tonight. But could he tell them what had happened to him?
Perhaps it was the adrenaline from the ride home finally wearing off. Now, sunk deep into the sofa with the TV's light flickering on his face, he heard the background music swell as the main character made a cool entrance and delivered his catchphrase. He could make out the misheard lyrics of "There is only one truth," but uncovering the truth was never a child's game.
The man with the rifle, the loss of control—the fear still lingered. If two mere poachers were this much trouble, who was the real murderer? Would things get even more dangerous later on? There was no way to know.
Zhang Shutong didn't want to drag his three friends into it. Since there was nothing he could say, he could only bear it alone.
He shook his head, feeling he was getting a bit fixated. Why was he so obsessed with being an Oreo, anyway?
Just then, ‘Conan’ finished. He turned off the TV, and the living room returned to its cold silence.
Everyone in the group chat was talking about Lu Qinglian. At the time, they had probably just thought the girl was a good fighter, but after getting home and calming down, they realized she wasn't just "good," which only made them more curious.
Qingyi had even done some research, reporting that the Green Snake Shrine had a long history, dating back to before 1949, and that Lu Qinglian's grandmother had been the shrine keeper in her youth as well. After talking for a bit, the three of them belatedly returned to the question of why Lu Qinglian had come in the first place.
Zhang Shutong had already lost interest in that question.
It did, however, remind him of something else. On the way back, the two of them had another short conversation. Lu Qinglian had suddenly spoken up, saying she had one last question for him.
"Did I forget to return the history notes I borrowed from you last week? I need them when I get back."
But he had no memory of this at all; it had been eight years, after all.
And it wasn't like the gloves for sweeping snow; although he'd forgotten that too, a reminder had been enough to jog a vague memory.
But he couldn't let on that he didn't remember, so he just nodded and said he would look for them when he got home.
This incident taught him a lesson—
He had thought he and Lu Qinglian weren't close enough to be lending each other notes, but since it had clearly happened, it just proved that human memory isn't necessarily reliable.
Now that he had returned, he shouldn't rely on his old impressions when dealing with people; it would only tie him down.
It was December 5th, the first day since his return. Having harvested a nugget of wisdom before bed, Zhang Shutong said goodnight to the group, turned off the light, and went to sleep.
He might have gone to sleep, but the other three were still chatting up a storm.
Zhang Shutong: Goodnight
Du Kang: Going to sleep already?
Du Kang: You really asleep? You there?
Qingyi: You forgot he silences his phone when he sleeps
Ruoping: It's not like we won't see him at school tomorrow
Ruoping: @Qingyi so what do you think of my suggestion from earlier, should we go talk to Qinglian tomorrow?
Qingyi: Suit yourself
Ruoping: So what should I say?
Qingyi: Just say you want to study together. She's first in the class anyway, so you can ask her about a wrong answer or borrow her notes.
Du Kang: I advise you two to give up. I've already tried that method.
Ruoping: Why?
Du Kang: She doesn't take notes.
…..
The path up the mountain was difficult to walk.
It was pitch-black all around, so dark you couldn't see your hand in front of your face.
The path was icy and steep, crisscrossed with the withered branches of shrubs, yet the solitary figure walking it paid no mind to the ground beneath her feet.
Her steps were brisk as she navigated the familiar path with ease.
There were no stars in the sky tonight. Only a cold moonlight tried to trickle down, but it was almost entirely blocked by the clouds. When a stray beam did manage to escape and land on her pale face, her eyes would shine like the only stars in the darkness.
But the girl's face remained expressionless.
The temperature was dropping.
Reaching the mountainside, she could see the lights of a courtyard in the distance. It was the place known as the Green Snake Shrine.
Just then, a dark shadow darted out—
The shadow was short; it was a fox. Unafraid of her, it came to her side and nuzzled its head against her robe, whimpering softly.
The fox's arrival was like a small stone dropped into an old well, sending ripples across its surface.
The sixteen-year-old girl, mysterious and lovely, was like a fairy come down to earth. She knelt on the winter path, the snow beneath her feet like frozen clouds, and gently stroked the fox's head.
The fox only whimpered.
There used to be five of these furry creatures. They would always frolic through the mountains in a group, trailing at the girl's heels, their padded paws treading the mountain paths, their noses sniffing the scent of the plants, carefree, as if nothing in the world could ever frighten them.
Now, only one remained.
A piece of the fox's ear was torn, and the dried blood from the wound quickly smeared onto the girl's robe.
"I'm sorry," she said in a low voice after a long time.
The fox seemed to understand her and, with another whimper, ran off.
The girl stood up and waited until the fox's figure had disappeared before continuing on her way.
The shrine grew closer. At the moment the lantern hanging on the courtyard wall went out,
She finally pushed open the heavy courtyard gate.
The shrine wasn't large. It was only a few dozen steps from the outer gate to the entrance of the main hall.
Step by step, she walked, undoing her ponytail. As her black hair cascaded down her back, her entire demeanor shifted.
Certain traits unique to a girl her age seemed to vanish. Her posture remained the same, as did her robe, but in those few dozen steps, it was as if she had cast off a disguise. With her long hair now resting on her shoulders, she looked like a grown woman.
It was as if all of creation submitted to her arrival—
The howling night wind became a whisper around her;
The wild weeds bowed their heads at her feet;
Even the faint moonlight was extinguished.
She lightly tossed her hair, revealing a face completely devoid of emotion. In the absolute darkness, her eyes were impossible to see.
By the time she reached the main hall and pushed open the peeling wooden doors, a weak candlelight illuminated her face. The already faint trace of emotion in her eyes was now gone, leaving them as placid as an old well, as if she were a figure sealed in an old photograph.
Lu Qinglian looked at the altar before her.
Eight candlesticks stood on the altar. Half had already gone out, their remaining light barely enough to illuminate the statue enshrined there.
The idol was a massive sculpture of a green snake. It was about two meters in length, but only the body, carved from camphor wood, was visible; its head and tail were swallowed by the shadows.
"I'm back," Lu Qinglian said calmly to the empty hall.
A woman's voice suddenly sounded from a side hall next to the statue.
"Where were you tonight?"
It was the voice of an old crone, hoarse and grating, like a blade on glass or the rattle of a scorpion's tail.
"I was playing with some children for a while."
Lu Qinglian's voice was no longer crisp and cool. Now, it was perfectly still, without a single ripple.
"What children?"
"Students from school."
"So, were they children, or friends?" The voice let out a sharp, piercing laugh, thick with unconcealed ridicule.
"Someone like you has friends?"
"Just children, not..."
"Lu Qinglian!" the old woman snapped.
"...Yes."
"You're actually starting to see yourself as one of them! Don't you forget your place!" The crone's gloomy voice forced its way out of her throat.
"You. Are. The. Shrine. Keeper!"
"Yes."
"...For your entire life! Other than this mountain, other than serving the deity, you are to have no other desires! Do not do anything extraneous! Anything at all!"
"Yes."
The old woman seemed to want to say more, but her rage sent her into a violent coughing fit. When her breathing finally stabilized, her voice was a low whisper, like a stinger hidden in the dark.
Lu Qinglian simply lowered her gaze.
"You should rest.”
The voice from the side hall finally fell silent.
Lu Qinglian relit the extinguished candles, and the shrine brightened. The head and tail of the green snake emerged from the shadows. The snake had a flattened head that shone with a dull gold luster in the candlelight—
—Its entire body was carved from camphor wood, but its head was cast in brass. Over the long years, even the metal had begun to lose its color.
The snake's face was ferocious, its jaws slightly parted to reveal fine, sharp fangs.
And on either side of its flattened head were two eyes inlaid with agate.
They say adding the eyes is the finishing touch that brings a dragon to life, and the same was true for this snake; the two agate eyes made it look utterly lifelike.
But on closer inspection, the color of the two agates was not identical; the one on the right was slightly dimmer.
And if you looked even closer, you would see that a thin layer of wax had been smeared over the snake's right eye.
Lu Qinglian scraped the hardened wax off the snake's eye with her fingernail, unsurprised.
Because she was the one who had put it there.
As the wax flaked off onto the altar, she could see that the agate of the snake's right eye was cracked.
The wax had been there to conceal the crack.
But the agate hadn't cracked due to age or disrepair, nor was it an intentional flaw from the beginning.
It was an accident that had happened suddenly that afternoon, while she was sweeping the snow.
The green snake statue, which had stood for over a century, had its agate right eye crack without any warning.
So, she had gone out that afternoon to do something.
And she had only just returned.
Lu Qinglian stared at the cracked agate, standing before the altar for a long time.
She dipped her finger into the flame of a lit candle without so much as a flinch. While the molten wax on her fingertip was still soft, she carefully smoothed it over the snake's eye.
Her grandmother was in the side hall and wouldn't come out. And even if she did, with her failing eyesight, she wouldn't be able to see the wax on the agate.
For the time being, she was the only one who knew about this.
Finally, Lu Qinglian gave the green snake's right eye one last, deep look, then turned and left.
The night wind poured through the shrine doors, making the candlelight on the altar flicker precariously.
A sentence her grandmother had once said echoed in her mind.
Her hair had not yet turned gray back then.
She had been kneeling solemnly before the statue when she told her:
"If one day the Green Snake God's right eye cracks,
It means...
Someone has returned from the future.”