I hurriedly asked my final two questions, my gaze fixed unwaveringly on the man across from me.
His expression suddenly turned somber.
"I brought you to this world," he began. "You'll understand my purpose in time. Rest assured, I am not your enemy. You may call me He Yu, and I promise no harm will come to you. Bringing you here wasn't without reason—there's unfinished business. Shen Jia, you will eventually leave this place. Your time here is limited, and you must uncover the truth beyond the mist as soon as possible. When that moment comes, everything will become clear."
With that, he seemed ready to leave. Before departing, he handed me a piece of paper, which I clenched tightly in my hand. I wanted to call out to him, but at that moment, the world imposed its restraints on me—I couldn't move.
He vanished before my eyes.
I stepped out of the café, only to find myself standing before a red wall. The café had disappeared, as had he, leaving no trace behind, as though neither had ever existed.
The paper in my hand remained, a tangible proof that this wasn't some absurd yet vivid dream.
I returned home, dazed and lost. Perhaps it was the surreal nature of these events, but no matter how I mulled over them, I couldn't make sense of anything.
Did He Yu mean that, in the end, I would return to 2028?
The thought lingered, and with it, a strange unfamiliarity began to seep into my surroundings.
This place, where I had lived for decades, and these people, my closest kin, suddenly felt distant, their outlines growing indistinct. Only then did it dawn on me: none of this belonged to me—not this world, nor the me who came from another.
A sharp ache welled up in my chest, tears stinging my eyes as they spilled uncontrollably. My thoughts unraveled like a flood, an overwhelming torrent. I let the tears fall unchecked, carving silent trails down my face.
After a time, I wiped the remnants from the corners of my eyes and turned my focus to He Yu's note on the table. I picked it up and unfolded it.
The words written there read:
"In this world, my role is to guide the progression of events between you, Chu Qingci, and the broader narrative of this realm. Remember, Shen Jia, you can only rely on yourself here. In crucial moments, we won't be able to help you at all. Step forward, uncover the truth—the rest is up to you.
When the time comes, I will send you a message with all my strength. You must listen carefully when that moment arrives.
Also, from today onward, apart from the time you share with Chu Qingci, all other interactions you have will be fleeting. Time will accelerate drastically, like the fleeting bloom of an epiphyllum.
Your time in this world is running out, Shen Jia."
And with that, the message ended.
That phrase again—"time is running out."
But what kind of world is this, where time speeds by for everyone but Chu Qingci and me?
At the time, I didn't fully grasp the meaning of those words.
It wasn't until I returned to school that the truth struck me.
Whenever I interacted with others, time seemed nonexistent, slipping away in an instant. Only when I was with Chu Qingci did time move at its usual, steady pace.
The past two days with Chu Qingci had been harmonious, even tranquil.
Before I knew it, the 17th had arrived in a flash.
That day felt unusually fast, yet Chu Qingci didn't appear.
Throughout the morning, I couldn't find an opportunity to ask for leave. It wasn't until the midday break that I decided to explain my situation to the teacher.
However, the homeroom teacher had gone to lunch.
I waited in the office, watching the clock on the wall tick away the minutes.
Around 1:00 p.m., the teacher finally returned.
Surprised to see me, he asked, "Shen Jia, do you need something?"
He approached his desk, eyeing me with curiosity.
I hastily made up an excuse, saying something urgent had come up at home.
Understanding my family's circumstances, the teacher quickly approved my leave slip.
Thanking him, I rushed out and headed toward the bus stop outside the school. Checking my phone, I saw it was nearly 1:30 p.m. The bus would arrive in ten minutes.
From here to Yunhai Station was about a 40-minute ride.
Recalling He Yu's words—that I must arrive after 3:00 p.m.—I realized I still had time.
The bus stop was quiet, with only a few people waiting. An autumn breeze swept by, dislodging yellowed leaves from the trees. They spiraled down, landing gently on the ground, only to be crushed into fragments by passing vehicles.
At last, the 227 bus pulled in on schedule.
I boarded and watched as the cityscape passed by in a blur. Time ticked away, bringing 3:00 p.m. ever closer. My anxiety grew with every passing moment.
When the bus reached the stop before Yunhai Road, it was already 2:50 p.m.
Five minutes later, the bus came to a halt at Yunhai Road.
The alley I was looking for—I didn't know its exact location. I had only seen glimpses of it in visions.
Stepping off the bus, I took in my surroundings, an uneasy mix of unfamiliarity and déjà vu.
It felt as though something unseen was guiding me. The images in my mind grew vivid, and my feet moved forward as if compelled by an invisible force.