In the lavish private room of the Jianye International Hotel, a group of well-dressed men and women clinked glasses and drank until their faces were flushed.
"Mr. Chen, I hope you'll look after our business in the future."
"Mr. Chen, here's another toast to you. You can drink as you like; I'll finish mine."
"Mr. Chen, wishing you prosperity and great success."
…
The main figure at the table was Chen Hansheng, and most toasts and flattering words were directed at him.
"I wonder which woman is lucky enough to marry a man like Mr. Chen," said a woman with flushed cheeks, holding up her glass coquettishly.
At thirty-five, Chen Hansheng was at the peak of a man's energy, experience, and capability. His social status gave him confidence and ease, and with his eloquent speech, he often attracted the attention of women.
"Miss Zhang, you may not know, but Mr. Chen is still unmarried. He's truly an eligible bachelor," someone quickly added.
"It must be because Mr. Chen has high standards and can't be bothered with ordinary women like us," she replied with a smile, handing him her business card with a lingering gaze, saying softly, "Mr. Chen, even a successful businessman like you needs to find a balance between career and family."
Chen Hansheng accepted the card politely. When their hands touched, he felt a light tickle as Miss Zhang slid her finger across his palm and gazed at him with deep affection.
Chen Hansheng chuckled, showing no emotion as he sat back down.
When the gathering ended, most people at the table were tipsy. The beautiful woman surnamed Zhang glanced back at Chen Hansheng longingly as she left. Chen Hansheng, understanding the look, made a gesture as if to say he would call her, which made her smile brightly.
A subordinate walked over and said, "Mr. Chen, I'll drive you home."
"No need," Chen Hansheng waved it off. "I bought a new apartment in the complex across the street. I'll drive myself; it's less than 100 meters away."
After his subordinate left, Chen Hansheng slowly walked to his Range Rover and leaned back in the leather seat, a deep weariness on his face.
Every time after a social event, aside from the alcohol in his stomach, he felt an inexplicable sense of oppression and an empty void.
Life in society was beyond his control.
"Phew," Chen Hansheng let out a heavy sigh. If one measured happiness solely by wealth, he was happier than most and shouldn't complain.
He turned on the car's stereo and fastened his seatbelt, ready to start the engine when he felt a hard object in his pocket—it was the business card from the beautiful Miss Zhang.
"Zhang Mingrong, nice name," Chen Hansheng smiled and flicked the card, watching as it traced an arc in the night air before falling to the ground, crushed mercilessly by the car tire.
In the adult world of fame and fortune, it was all just acting. Only fools would take it seriously.
In the car, the melody of Five Hundred Miles played softly:
If you miss the train I'm on
You will know that I am gone
You can hear the whistle blow
A hundred miles
...
The song's lyrics had little to do with Chen Hansheng's current life, but its sentiment resonated deeply with him. Through the frequent use of numbers and repetition, it expressed the hardships of life's journey.
Throughout history and across the world, those who left their homes to seek a living, whether rich or poor, carried an inextinguishable sense of longing.
"It's been a while since I visited my parents. Maybe I should go see them tonight."
With that thought, and under the influence of the strong alcohol, Chen Hansheng subconsciously turned the steering wheel.
Suddenly, blinding white light flashed from the side, followed by a loud crash, and everything went black.
…
"Hansheng, wake up! The bus is about to reach the stop."
Drowsily, Chen Hansheng was roused by a voice. He opened his eyes to the glaring sunlight and felt the pounding headache of a hangover.
"Damn it, I'll never drink that much again," he muttered, frowning.
"Yesterday was our last high school class gathering. Everyone drank a lot, and besides, it's okay to drink when you're heartbroken," said a boy around 17 or 18, chubby and dark-skinned. He grinned, "I told you not to confess to Xiao Rongyu, but you insisted on trying after the exams. So, how did it go?"
"Plenty of people like her; you're just another love-struck fool," the boy added gleefully. He noticed Chen Hansheng staring at him and frowned. "Are you mad because I said something about Xiao Rongyu?"
"We've been best friends since we were kids, and you were only classmates with her for three years. My advice: let last night's events become a memory and let it go."
Chen Hansheng couldn't take the rambling anymore. "Who are you?"
"Me!?" The boy's face shifted from surprise to anger. As the bus reached the stop, he yanked the unsteady Chen Hansheng up and shouted, "Heartbreak doesn't mean amnesia! I'm your good buddy, Wang Zibo. Have you forgotten your own name is Chen Hansheng?"
"Wang Zibo?" Chen Hansheng did have a friend named Wang Zibo, but he wasn't in the country.
"Isn't Wang Zibo in Iraq?"
"You bastard, are you cursing me to die young?"
This time, Chen Hansheng said nothing, staring in shock at the reflection on the bus station's glass panel. The image staring back was that of a young man, familiar yet strange, with a hint of fuzz on his upper lip.
The sky was clear and blue, the road was still dirt, and dust particles were visible in the sunlight. Loudspeakers at a nearby barbershop blared music:
"Let me take you to see shooting stars falling on this Earth, and let your tears fall on my shoulder…"
With the scene and the music from the streets, Chen Hansheng's head spun. This cliché twist was happening to him. Suddenly, his stomach churned, and he rushed to the side of the road to vomit.
Wang Zibo, unfazed, came over to pat his back and comfort him, "You'll feel better once you're done."
After emptying his stomach, Chen Hansheng's mind cleared, and Wang Zibo's appearance began to align with his memories.
"Where are we going?" Chen Hansheng asked, lifting his head with effort.
"To school, to pick up our college acceptance letters."
Wang Zibo was no longer puzzled by his friend's odd behavior, chalking it up to the incomplete confession from last night.
Chen Hansheng indeed remembered that he had gone with Wang Zibo to pick up their college acceptance letters. He had gotten into an ordinary second-tier university, while Wang Zibo had made it to a first-tier one.
This was not 2019; it was 2002.