Stepping out of the classroom door, I was swept back to my high school days, a strange mix of nostalgia and wonder enveloping me. Watching my old classmates frolic along the corridors, some leaning over the railings to observe others playing badminton in the courtyard below, while others stood chatting idly, felt surreal.
But with class about to start, I had no time to linger. After washing my face with my friends, we hurried back to the classroom. Once inside, we found our seats and settled in. My gaze drifted to the date written on the board for the assigned homework, and I was startled to realize something significant: today was the day he transferred to our class.
My thoughts began to wander. In my previous life, though we knew each other, we were merely friends. I had never confessed my feelings to him. Back then, I couldn't muster the courage to speak, to reveal the peculiar emotions I harbored for him. I had a lingering suspicion that he was aware of my feelings, yet he never confronted me about them. However, the circumstances surrounding his death remained a mystery to me. Despite my efforts in the years that followed, I found no clues. From what little my friends recalled, they had minimal interactions with him, describing him as withdrawn, gloomy, and eccentric. Their impressions didn't match mine at all, which left me puzzled.
This time, could it be fate granting me another chance? What truly happened to Chu Qingci that summer? What secrets lay behind his untimely death? Questions raced through my mind, one after another.
The sharp ring of the school bell jolted me from my reverie. Checking the computer clock, I noticed something odd: the bell had rung five minutes late. This deviation from the timeline I remembered filled me with unease. Glancing toward the doorway, I realized that not only was the teacher delayed, but he hadn't shown up either. The divergence from my past life grew starker by the second. What was happening?
As I scanned my surroundings, everything began to blur. A shrill, piercing noise filled my ears, and pain throbbed through my head as fragmented images flooded my mind. Frame by frame, they revealed him—Chu Qingci—covered in bruises as someone beat him. Who was the assailant? Just as I strained to see their face, the vision vanished.
Another scene materialized: Chu Qingci, injured, waiting at a familiar bus stop—the one I used daily to commute to school. The sight left me shaken, but soon the dizziness subsided, and clarity returned to my senses as though it had all been an illusion.
The teacher finally arrived, stepping onto the podium. The once-bustling classroom fell silent as he apologized, "Sorry, everyone. Something came up earlier. Let's start the lesson."
It was geography, a subject I disliked. Even more so now, my mind was elsewhere, replaying the earlier visions. Why had I seen Chu Qingci being beaten? Who was that man? Why didn't he fight back? My thoughts were chaotic, and the inexplicable feeling of unease gnawed at me. Was my past life as straightforward as it had seemed? Why had Chu Qingci died so mysteriously, with no one understanding the cause, not even me? It felt as if I'd lost a vital piece of memory—one that was crucial to his death.
"Shen Jia!" The teacher's voice startled me. He had noticed my distraction and called on me to answer a question. Hastily flipping through my textbook, I couldn't find the relevant page. My friend beside me discreetly pointed it out, and I managed to give an answer. The teacher, seeing our little exchange, simply shook his head without comment and told me, "Pay attention." I nodded, trying to appear composed, though my mind remained elsewhere.
The next class break was long—twenty minutes. In my previous life, this break had seen the cancellation of a scheduled exercise drill. Would it play out the same way now? I stayed seated, quietly observing. My friends gathered around, concern evident on their faces.
"Shen Jia, are you really okay? Ever since you woke up from that nap, you've been acting strange," Zhou Zi remarked.
"I'm fine," I replied with a smile, shaking my head. "It's just that nightmare—it really got to me."
"A nightmare?" Bian Li teased with a smirk. "What kind of dream could shake you up this much?"
Their voices were lighthearted, but my heart remained heavy. The fragments of that other life, the visions of Chu Qingci's fate, and the uncertainty of what lay ahead consumed my thoughts. This time, would I uncover the truth and change the course of events? Or was I merely doomed to repeat the same tragedy?