Chapter 1: Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The boy pressed the top of the ballpoint pen in his hand. After a fifteen-minute battle, the tip finally received the signal to retreat, sliding back into the barrel and leaving nothing on the desk except neat equations—proof of its hard-fought campaign.

He flipped the white answer sheet and the header appeared:

Yuanyue International High-School Spring Entrance Examination

Subject: Mathematics

Duration: 120 minutes

Below the printed heading, black characters spelled out the examinee's name:

Yan Huan.

It was the kind of spring afternoon when the sunlight poured through the second-floor windows like liquid gold, outlining the handsome profile of the boy who had just finished the test. Beneath slightly over-grown, wavy black bangs, his dark eyes reflected the scarlet-streaked green field outside—the track now painted by the setting sun.

On the running loop, students in track suits circled again and again, looking like Kua Fu racing the falling sun. In Yan Huan's mind, the mythical giant had always been a strong, youthful figure, because only the young could chase something so blindly, so tirelessly. It was the sort of thing teenagers did—and the privilege that made adults envy them.

Fortunately, this parallel world still told the tale of Kua Fu, so he could slip the reference into his essays.

Everyone else was still hunched over their papers, but Yan Huan set the warm pen down and rested his chin on his hand. He exchanged a brief look with the bald, middle-aged math teacher at the podium, then they both looked away.

This kid's finished already?

Zhou Bin, your scalp's shining again.

The thought brushed past like wind; neither guessed what the other was thinking.

"Read the questions carefully. Check your work."

That was Zhou Bin—his math teacher from last semester and owner of a name that always made Yan Huan picture Japanese imported cola. Bored, Yan Huan listened to the frantic scratching of pens around him and let his mind drift.

Was my reincarnation missing a little...fantasy?

He stared blankly at the ceiling, suddenly gloomy.

No implanted golden-finger system, no fox-spirit girlfriend who repaid kindness at night, no foreign foodie hiding in the storeroom asking, "Art thou my Master?"

Nothing.

He'd simply worked himself to death at his desk, then woken up as a baby in an unfamiliar, apparently parallel world. He'd lived a disciplined life for sixteen years, and this spring he'd finally stepped back into youth.

Truth be told, Yan Huan had once hoped—on his sixth birthday he'd wished for a dash of the fantastic in his new life. But contentment was a virtue. Coming back from death was already more than anyone could ask—why demand a bicycle too?

If Kobe could respawn in another world, he probably wouldn't care about the endless meme-storm either.

With that philosophical shrug, Yan Huan decided to follow Teacher Zhou's advice and "check his work." He picked up the paper and pen again, and spent the remaining time staring at formulas while his thoughts wandered elsewhere.

Soon the final stretch arrived.

"There are twenty-five minutes left. Double-check your name, ID number, and answer sheets."

Tick...tick...tick...

On this ordinary afternoon, the measured clicks sounded through the hushed classroom, a metronome of urgency. But a second later, Yan Huan frowned. Wait—wasn't the clock electronic?

He glanced at the whiteboard. The countdown flickered silently.

Then, as if by hallucination, a lark-like female voice slid into his ear.

"Hello? Can the students in Exam Room One hear me?"

Yan Huan froze mid-turn. Inside his skull, a child's shrill scream detonated:

[Don't answer! Don't answer! Don't answer!]

What—are the Trisolarans invading? Why now and not in my last life?

Clapping his hands over his ears, Yan Huan caught a glimpse of motion at the open doorway. A small head peeked in—glossy black bangs, white hand cupped like a megaphone. The voice had come from her.

She was beautiful enough to stop traffic: lashes so long they cast shadows, eyes shining like starlight, brows curved like angels' wings. On the chest of her gray school blazer, a badge read:

Year 1 Class B, Bai Yi.

Well, at least it's not an alien.

[Your life is about to end. Worldline emergency intervention commencing!]

[Revision plan has begun. Maintain your posture. Any sign that you've noticed the Modifier will trigger severe consequences.]

[Details to follow—please allow me to explain.]

Worldline? Modifier? Life ending?

The words hit harder than the scream. Every muscle locked.

Yan Huan obeyed the voice in his head and didn't move a muscle. Out of the corner of his eye, he tracked the girl. And then his pulse spiked—Bai Yi was translucent, as though cut out of the world.

Like a ghost, she stepped into the rows of students bent over their papers. She waved a hand in front of Zhou Bin, then in front of the front-row students. No one reacted.

"Hmm-hmm-hmm~"

She hummed a tune he didn't know, hands clasped behind her back, strolling along the podium like an inspecting officer. Then her brow knitted; she scowled at Zhou Bin. Whatever she was looking for, she found it—a marker.

With dark intent, she uncapped the marker and tiptoed toward the teacher. Yan Huan's eyes widened as she drew a huge black X across Zhou Bin's face, then scrawled random lines—graffiti on living canvas.

Neither Zhou Bin nor the students noticed. Only Yan Huan saw the absurd scene.

"Hmph, serves you right for calling my mom," she said in that melodious voice, now laced with mischief.

A ghost?

No... I know her.

Now he remembered. Bai Yi—same grade, star of Yuanyue High. Signed with an international agency, hailed online as "the wife a million people are waiting to grow up." Three films, several hit songs, billboards everywhere—even on the shopping sites he browsed late at night.

And now said idol was doodling on the teacher's face while only Yan Huan watched? What slice-of-life rom-com plot was this?

A sudden gust slapped the curtains against the window. Bai Yi's form rippled behind the blue-white fabric, yet her hair and skirt remained unmoved—an exquisite ghost independent of wind.

At that moment she sensed something. Her gaze snapped toward Yan Huan.

Crap—busted.

His brain raced but his expression stayed calm, gaze fixed on her. The effect was unsettling; Bai Yi glanced down at herself, then at the settling curtains, then straight at the boy by the window.

Ah. It's you, Student Council President.

Lips pressed together, she walked toward him. Yan Huan's heartbeat drummed louder, though the pen kept twirling between his fingers.

"Can you see me?"

A faint, fresh scent—like flowers greeting the morning—drifted from the girl now standing inches away.

She leaned down slightly, her long black hair falling at an angle to brush against Yan Huan's temple—yet he felt nothing.

But Yan Huan grew more certain: she was absolutely real.

He sat perfectly still, staring straight ahead, his gaze passing through her chest as if admiring some distant view.

"."

Bai Yi, who'd gotten no response to her question, fell silent for a moment. Then the innocent idol's face blossomed into the impish grin that never appeared on stage, and she picked up the second gel pen lying on Yan Huan's desk.

Something miraculous happened. The pen she held turned translucent—more precisely, it was as if she'd pulled the pen's ghost from its physical shell.

One solid pen remained on the desk while a translucent twin rested in her hand, the world splitting into two timelines.

"That face of yours is still as hateful as ever, President."

Wait, me?

We don't even know each other. We've never met offline, have we?

But Bai Yi offered no further explanation. Her smile held no warmth as she spoke, pressing the pen's tip toward Yan Huan, apparently planning to write on him as she had on Zhou Bin.

Yan Huan's dark eyes slowly focused as the voice from earlier echoed in his mind:

[Correction plan has initiated. Maintain your current position. Do not display any behavior that might reveal you've noticed the modifier, or serious consequences will follow!]

Even so, his arm twitched, already targeting the fair wrist hidden beneath her sleeve.

At this critical moment, the girl before him emitted a clear "tick-tick-tick"—the exact same clock sound he'd heard earlier.

Then came more mysterious sounds from her direction:

[Current effect: Indifference]

[The fifteen-minute countdown is about to end. Please be aware.]

Bai Yi's movements froze. She still held Yan Huan's pen aloft, but her face was filled with resignation.

She glanced at the time, seeming reluctant to part.

"Time's up already? That was fast."

Helplessly, she returned the translucent pen to its original position, where it merged perfectly with the solid pen on the desk—two timelines converging into one.

She turned back, her gleaming eyes lingering on Yan Huan's handsome face for a long moment before she huffed and turned to leave.

"We'll have plenty of time, Yan Huan. Hmph."

Tick.

Tick.

The clock sounds returned, mechanical yet heavy as water droplets.

Yan Huan watched her figure disappear with each faint tick until she was completely gone.

Minutes passed. Everything seemed to return to normal.

Then, at some precise moment, Zhou Bin at the podium shuddered as countless invisible marker strokes suddenly itched across his face.

"Ah!"

He slapped his hands over his face with a loud smack.

The sound made the test-takers look up—and they froze.

"What are you looking at? Finished question two already? Don't want your grades? Then—"

"N-no!" A brave student raised a trembling finger toward Zhou Bin. "Teacher Zhou, your... your face!"

"My face?"

Zhou Bin froze, then pulled out his phone and opened the front camera.

The screen showed his bald head defaced with marker—JQK cards drawn on his scalp along with the words:

"Stupid teacher, stupid teacher, stupid teacher."

The handwriting was messy, like a toddler's scrawl.

The classroom fell silent except for Zhou Bin's trembling as his face turned crimson.

"WHO DID THIS?!"

A second later, his miserable howl echoed through the entire building, probably disturbing every exam room.

Only Yan Huan sat frozen in his seat—he alone knew what had just happened.

And like Zhou Bin, the spot on Yan Huan's temple that the girl's hair had touched without sensation finally began to itch faintly.

It was as if the lingering beauty she'd left behind had finally arrived, striking him between the eyes minutes later.

Arriving late, too, was the birthday wish he'd made at age six...

That touch of magic.