The mechanical voice of the announcement echoed around my ears. I stood up and stepped off the vehicle. Just as I disembarked, the driver called out to me.
I turned to look at him—it was the same taxi driver from that day.
He approached me and spoke in a calm yet commanding tone.
"It seems you're adapting well. Remember, in this world, you cannot interfere with anything without my permission. You can only watch as events unfold according to their destined course."
"In a week, at this exact time, I'll come to find you. I will reveal certain truths you need to know and lift some of the restrictions placed on you so you can carry out what you're meant to do."
"Now, go."
I stood on the steps of the bus stop, unsure of how I had even gotten off the vehicle. His words echoed in my mind, leaving no room for other thoughts.
A gust of cold wind blew past, sending a chill through me. I pulled my clothes tighter around me and began walking home.
"The weather's changing," I muttered under my breath.
The bus stop was only a ten-minute walk from my house. Upon reaching home, I greeted my parents and went straight to my room.
Once inside, I began to ponder his words. The mysteries that had once baffled me suddenly started to make sense. His appearance explained why, during our first meeting, he had told me to tread carefully. He had known all along that I would end up in this world.
But what was his true purpose in doing this? I wanted to ask, yet for some inexplicable reason, whenever he spoke to me, I could only listen. I was unable to question him.
It seemed I could only wait for him to reveal more when the time came.
When dinnertime arrived, my mother called me to eat. Putting away my thoughts, I quickly left the room. The events of the day had been overwhelming. At dinner, I saw my parents as they were ten years ago—youthful and vibrant.
Seeing them like this reminded me of how much they had aged in the past decade. The realization struck me harder than expected, and my eyes began to well up, but I forced back the tears.
Their voices filled the room, warm and familiar, urging me to eat more meat. I nodded, following my mother's advice, and placed a few pieces into my bowl.
After finishing the meal, I returned to my room.
Walking over to the window, I gazed at the moon hanging high in the sky. Tonight, its light draped the vast expanse of the earth like silk. Outside my window stood a locust tree, its leaves tinged with yellow as autumn set in. The wind stirred them gently, sending some fluttering to the ground.
The moonlight streamed through the gaps in the leaves, falling upon me and gradually spreading to my ears, whispering secrets in a language I couldn't comprehend.
Under the moon's serene glow, I drifted into slumber.
The next day, I adjusted my mindset before heading to school. When it came to Chu Qingci, I knew I had to approach with caution.
Yet, when I saw him, I momentarily lost control of my expression.
A fresh wound marked his forehead as he walked in my direction. As he passed by my seat, he cast a deep, searching glance at me.
I met his gaze, but he quickly averted his eyes. I lowered my head, replaying that look in my mind—it seemed to hold some hidden meaning.
The bell signaling the start of class rang, but my mind remained unfocused, barely absorbing a word. The lesson ended as quickly as it began, leaving me with nothing but scattered thoughts.
I debated how to ask Chu Qingci about his injury when a familiar buzzing sound began to fill my ears again.
Another vision appeared in my mind—a narrow alley, where a tall man was shouting furiously. Before him stood Chu Qingci in his school uniform, his forehead still bearing that same wound.
Half hidden in the shadows, Chu Qingci's expression was unreadable, perhaps due to the lack of light. I watched as he raised his head and said something to the man, whose rage instantly exploded. He charged forward, grabbing Chu Qingci by the collar and raining punches and kicks upon him.
Chu Qingci's reaction baffled me. He simply endured the man's fury without resisting, allowing himself to be beaten. An overwhelming urge to protect him surged within me.
I wanted to intervene, to stop the man, but then I realized—I didn't exist in this vision.
Suddenly, the scene shifted. I was now in a dim, damp room. A weak yellow light cast shadows over the cramped space. Lying on the bed was Chu Qingci.
Moments later, he sat up and retrieved a first-aid kit from the bedside table.
I watched as he removed his shirt, leaving his upper body exposed to the cool air.
Instinctively, I wanted to avert my eyes, but when his body came into view, all thoughts of embarrassment vanished, replaced by shock.
His torso was a canvas of scars—purple bruises, faded old wounds, and, most striking of all, a ten-centimeter-long scar snaking across his chest like a coiled dragon.
I watched in silence as he methodically applied medicinal alcohol to the bruised areas.
The vision froze at that moment, and I was abruptly pulled back to reality.