Prologue – Early Autumn Primrose

If memory could be manipulated,

then the new memories lodging in an old body—

are they the lonely kind of happiness,

or the party kind of sorrow?

—I leave uncultivated today

Death is life’s death, yet death’s life.

—was precisely yesterday perishes tomorrow which person of the body implored.

The idle, wasted day I’m living through today

is the tomorrow that the dead of yesterday once longed for.

Rebirth, or freedom—

it’s no more than an ant’s heading,

yet also the compass of an ark.

—Rebirth, or freedom…?

“This flight will arrive at Kansai International Airport in Japan in twenty minutes. The local temperature is twenty‑seven degrees, with forty percent humidity.”

The flight attendant’s standard Mandarin came over the PA, then was repeated in Japanese and English.

Japanese and Minnan weren’t the same language, but in a lot of ways they were oddly similar. For Minnan speakers, picking up Japanese came with a built‑in advantage.

Born with northern blood but raised in the south, what kind of life would Chongzong end up living in Kyoto?

His thoughts scattered in all directions, muddling his head.

Even so—

This might be the last time I hear Chinese for a while.

That faint regret and reluctance mixed with the drone of the engines, almost enough to make Chongzong lose himself.

He looked out the window. Pure white clouds stretched out, merging into a splendid ocean.

Even if he wanted to go back, it wouldn’t be as simple as a year or two. His sigh rippled through his chest, and as the waves spread, he realized his mood was heading somewhere he didn’t like. He forced his gaze away, letting it wander around the cabin, trying to distract himself.

The hanging LCD screen showed the local temperature in Kansai. The numbers meandered through the folds of his brain for a while, then settled into one clear perception: hot.

Even in autumn, Japan stayed pretty hot. The dense crowds and buildings made the heat‑island effect especially obvious. But Kyoto was different. Kyoto was a laid‑back place to live, slow and unhurried like Xiamen. Once you settled there, it changed you. Life got so comfortable even your walking pace would slow down.

From Hong Kong, Chongzong had taken All Nippon Airways to Kansai. Because of air‑traffic control, the flight had been delayed a bit. It had taken him the whole morning to drag himself across the border.

He was only fifteen. At this moment of leaving home behind, his heart felt as unsettled as the turbulence brushing past the airplane window.

Fifteen minutes until landing. Chongzong opened his carry‑on and pulled out a wrinkled copy of Guiguzi. It was one of the books he’d brought to Kyoto, already quite old. He hadn’t taken it out to read; just holding it was enough to calm his restless heart a little.

It was a book that looked obedient and by‑the‑book at first glance, but to him it was actually weird and unruly—a ghostly text. Only Chongzong would think of it that way.

“Excuse me, are you by yourself?”

The cabin always smelled a bit like air freshener. But that was before “she” sat down next to him. He’d thought they’d go the whole flight without interacting, so when she suddenly spoke up, he was honestly a little flattered and thrown off.

“Eh~ May I have a look at your book?”

She took his silence as consent and asked again in very fluent English, poised and polite. Her English didn’t have a hint of Japanese accent, which really surprised Chongzong, who’d been so sure she was Japanese.

Why had he decided she was Japanese? Because she’d been chatting in natural, smooth Japanese with the elderly lady next to her, about little everyday things. With that as a first impression, his brain had just slotted her into the “Japanese” box.

It wasn’t like he meant to eavesdrop. There were just too many factors beyond his control. Anyone would understand. So, while he kept turning over those irrelevant details, he forgot her request and instead started wondering why, when they looked like the same ethnicity, her first choice was English and not Japanese.

The culprit was probably the “international atmosphere” of the international flight.

“Sumimasen, sono hon o misete moratte yoroshii deshou ka?” (Excuse me, could you let me see that book?)

He’d spaced out a bit too long, so she assumed he hadn’t understood and repeated herself in Japanese, apparently deciding he was Japanese.

Looks like the outside world thinks my countrymen are pretty good at English, huh?

“Yes, please.”

Amused by his own snarky thought, he answered her in English first.

“Thank you.”

She replied politely in English as well.

“It’s all right.”

“Soshite, ore Nihonjin ja nai.” (Also, I’m not Japanese.)

Then he told her in Japanese that he wasn’t Japanese.

That whole little exchange he’d lined up in his head left her utterly shocked. She just sat there, holding his book, staring wide‑eyed at him for a few seconds.

Don’t look at me like that. I’ll get embarrassed.

“Moushiwake arimasen!” (I’m so sorry!)

After a moment she snapped out of it, bowing her head and apologizing very earnestly in Japanese. Looked like she wasn’t completely back to normal yet.

“Ki ni shinaide.” (Don’t worry about it.)

She gave a slightly nervous smile and started reading his book with elegant posture. Which was good—otherwise they might’ve gotten stuck in an endless loop of apologies.

Ah, my Guiguzi is being “handled in a very sensitive way” by a girl’s hands… whatever. If it’s someone this graceful, it’s fine.

He gave his loaned‑out book a complicated look, then turned his eyes back to the window. A cloud shaped suspiciously like “that super sensitive thing” made him blink and nearly laugh out loud.

But that little bit of lightness let a few thoughts he didn’t want exposed slip out from the dark corners of his heart.

To be honest, he really didn’t mind being mistaken for Japanese. They were all Asian, all from East Asia. Of course they looked similar. But because of his obsessive‑compulsive principal—that war‑scarred old soldier who somehow still hadn’t managed to get himself killed—and the man’s near brainwashing style of education, the word “Japanese” definitely didn’t count as a “compliment” in Chongzong’s mind.

Then again, no group of people should be tied to words like “compliment” or “insult” in the first place. Same goes for countries.

And that was a topic that couldn’t be dug into too deep. After fulfilling her small request, Chongzong shifted in his seat, bored eyes roaming around.

The “she” he kept thinking about was the Japanese girl (probably) sitting beside him. Long, straight black hair spilled down her back. Her skin was pale, her eyes a little on the brown side, and her features were proper and refined. She looked like a child from a well‑off family, well educated, with a distinct Yamato‑nadeshiko air about her.

With nothing better to do, he hit the call button, waved over a flight attendant, and asked for a copy of Ta Kung Pao. On one of the front pages he saw a headline: “Fifteen‑Year‑Old Boy Makes Off With Fifteen Million in Cash From Tycoon, Flees Abroad. Identity of Teen Still Unknown.”

This guy’s a genius.

Noticing the boy was his age, Chongzong couldn’t help feeling a bit of admiration, even though he knew it was a crime. The report specifically mentioned that the teen had very likely taken an international flight to Japan early this morning. After a quick mental check of how many flights there were from Hong Kong’s Chek Lap Kok to Japan that morning—not many—he realized there was a decent chance the kid was on this exact plane. The thought made his heart start racing.

The middle‑aged man living in his chest grew restless.

“Excuse me.”

He signaled that he needed to get out, and “she” obediently drew in her calf—smooth and slender like a little porcelain vase—and turned her body to give him room. As he squeezed past, she still brushed against him, whether on purpose or not. He didn’t think anything of it, but the slim hand holding his book’s spine suddenly trembled. It was such a brief motion that, with his mind full of the runaway teen, he didn’t notice her odd reaction at all.

Using the bathroom as an excuse, he checked the passengers behind his seat. Then, claiming he was looking for someone, he checked the ones in front. The results weren’t great.

There were five boys around fifteen, but they all looked harmless, like they wouldn’t hurt a fly. A half‑baked investigation like this was never going to produce instant results, especially under bad conditions like a plane mid‑flight. Feeling the sting of failure, he slunk back to his seat. His strange behavior had definitely earned him a few wary looks from the flight attendants.

Luckily, he’d moved fast, and once he was seated again, no one paid him further attention.

This sort of spur‑of‑the‑moment enthusiasm usually ends in nothing. I’ll shelve it for now.

When he returned, she was still reading his Guiguzi, completely absorbed.

Read all you want… but can she even read Chinese?

From takeoff until now, she seemed to be on her own. Aside from chatting with the elderly lady beside her, it felt like the distant friendliness of two strangers from the same hometown. So, she was probably traveling alone on vacation… Having temporarily graduated from the “teen criminal case,” Chongzong started idly guessing at the girl’s background.

Ten‑odd minutes later, the plane reached the skies above Kansai Airport, circled a bit, then touched down smoothly.

When the seatbelt sign went off, the PA chimed to life again.

“Thank you for flying with us. Please remain seated until the plane has come to a complete stop…”

Scanning the airport through the window, Chongzong felt it looked pretty much like a domestic one. He didn’t see anything that felt especially advanced. Maybe the difference showed up deeper inside, in the details. It wasn’t like they could build some ultra‑futuristic airport out of nowhere.

“Here’s your book. Thank you.”

She handed the book back with perfect courtesy. He took it just as naturally.

“You’re welcome.”

He hadn’t noticed at first, but right after he answered her, something hit him like a jump scare.

…Mandarin?

“Eh?”

This time, he was the one who froze.

“We’re getting off the plane now.”

He had to be reminded. Embarrassing.

It wasn’t until her second sentence of Mandarin—so natural it felt unnatural—that he snapped into motion, flustered and scrambling to pack up his stuff. Being stuck in the window seat really was a pain; it made moving around a hassle…

Sorry! I wasn’t blaming you. It’s not the window seat’s fault, I just panicked.

While he was in a rush, she had already disembarked and disappeared into the crowd.

Got bitten back instead, huh.

Losing that little skirmish left him a bit deflated, but he still had to get off the plane. There were a lot of people, but everything was orderly. Before long, he’d stepped out through the jet bridge.

The document check at the gate was stricter than usual, obviously because of that teenage thief. Chongzong secretly hoped to see some commotion, to catch a glimpse of the boy’s face. But everything passed calmly, without a ripple.

Soon after, in the arrivals hall, a huge transit map stood in front of him.

In the end, I still came. Whatever happens, I did this to myself.

His name was Chongzong, fifteen years old, male, single, no engagement.

A boy who firmly believed he had the heart of a middle‑aged man.

That last line probably needed to be in bold.

From as far back as Chongzong could remember, he’d already been living with the paranoid director. Before his memories started, though, he’d supposedly been a perfectly normal kid with perfectly normal parents. They were from the northeast, yet for some reason he’d been born down south. Before he even turned one, his parents died in a traffic accident on their way to work together. With no other relatives, he had no choice but to grow up in an orphanage.

Everything from before his memories came from the paranoid director’s mouth.

As for whether it was true or not, he preferred to believe him. After all, a life once lived was better than no life at all.

The director also said his parents had only left him two things: a photo album from their honeymoon, and an inheritance of three hundred thousand yuan. Of course, he couldn’t touch the money until he turned eighteen, so for now it was frozen in the bank. That wasn’t a legal requirement; it was the paranoid director’s restriction. In return, until Chongzong got adopted, the director would cover all his expenses.

Because his parents had died before he formed any memories, he didn’t feel especially sad when, after he grew old enough to understand, he was told the truth. He’d never really experienced parental love, so when he was told he had “lost” it, that kind of sorrow felt unreal to him.

—It was more like that feeling when you see other kids with toys, and you don’t have any.

And that kind of feeling could be erased easily, as long as something else could take the place of those toys.

When he was six, a Japanese couple visited the paranoid director’s orphanage. Their family name was Uesugi.

They were traveling when they ran into Chongzong playing outside the orphanage. In his memory, the wife just suddenly scooped him into her arms, like she’d fallen for him at first sight.

—Guess I must’ve been stupidly handsome when I was still a shota. Irresistible. Total housewife killer.

Sadly, whatever “handsome” he’d had back then seemed completely gone now.

A promising child doesn’t always grow into a promising adult.

That kind of feeling?

—Ah, my heart. That stab really hurt.

Anyway, they clearly took a strong liking to him. After some discussion, they decided to adopt him. But due to all sorts of complications, they couldn’t take him away right then. Instead, they signed an agreement with the orphanage: when he turned fifteen, they’d bring him over to live with them.

Back then, what he felt was: I get to leave this place before I turn eighteen.

—A new life, or freedom…?

Of course, that didn’t mean he disliked the orphanage. In fact, he liked it a lot. The adults working there were all very good to them. As for the paranoid director—though Chongzong always called him that—he was actually the man Chongzong respected most.

He just didn’t like relying on welfare funded by taxpayers to live. Even if being adopted was just another form of living under someone else’s roof, at least he’d get a different kind of freedom out of it.

That was what he thought at the time. Plus, with the Uesugis’ sincere kindness, he chose to let them adopt him.

When he told the director his decision, the paranoid old man was pretty surprised. Still, he respected it, and the adoption was settled.

What came next was the director’s “re-education.”

It sounded scary, but it was really just patching up everything he’d need to survive studying abroad. Thanks to him, the current Chongzong felt zero pressure about going to Kyoto for school… The only thing that annoyed him was how the paranoid director never missed a chance to lecture him about “learning from the foreigners to deal with the foreigners.”

—He obviously wants me to go conquer those “censored sensitive words.”

—Too bad there’s only one of me, you know. Just one. A normal guy with a battle power of five.

And so those nine not-so-easy years flashed by. Honestly, surviving the director’s “re-education” without actually getting brainwashed—just pretending to be—was kind of a miracle.

Nine years. One year of clueless childhood, six years of elementary school, two years of junior high’s “quality education.” Then Chongzong set off on his journey to Kyoto, Japan.

Right before he left, the paranoid director repeated the same line he’d told him countless times.

“Chongzong, don’t bother bringing me any local specialties. I’ve already got plenty.”

Leaving Kansai Airport, he had three options.

Train – JR Express “HARUKA,” 73 minutes

Bus – Airport bus, about 95–135 minutes

Taxi – About 120 minutes

He checked his watch. To make the afternoon registration, he decided on the train. After some twists and turns, he arrived in Kyoto—the city he’d be living in.

Kyoto was an ancient city, one of the rare quiet places among Japan’s noisy metropolises. Compared to Tokyo, with its nearly ten million cars, Kyoto had very few. It felt leisurely, wide-open, calm.

The first thing to catch his attention was the sky.

The sky over Kyoto was unexpectedly clear. It was so beautiful it was almost shocking. Maybe because Kyoto was a tourist city, not an industrial one. That pure, deep blue sky made him think of the place he’d just left not long ago: Xiamen.

A sky as clean and clear as blue glazed glass.

—Not a bad start.

He still had plenty of time, so he wandered Kyoto while following his route.

Along the way, he’d occasionally stop to chat with old ladies minding small shops. Sometimes he’d write the school’s address down and ask about faster shortcuts. His handwriting was beautiful—neat, forceful regular script—enough to make the grannies gasp in admiration. They took quite a liking to this fifteen-year-old boy and were happy to point him in the right direction.

Traveling like that made him feel like he was on a carefree solo trip—pure bliss.

This place was so laid-back, it felt like it didn’t belong to this world.

But compared to back home, Kyoto’s housing looked a bit chaotic. There were very few residential complexes. Instead, there were tons of standalone apartment buildings and little two-story wooden houses, one per family. Supposedly the government didn’t do unified planning here. Citizens just built as they pleased within their rights.

—What a bizarre place.

Everything that entered his vision stirred some idle thought in him.

Following the road on his map, he was now only two blocks away from Donhon Public Middle School.

Donhon Public Middle School was where he was supposed to report before afternoon classes. He’d be joining as a transfer student in the third year.

But on his wrist, the second hand kept ticking, mercilessly stripping away what little time he had left.

He’d been too busy sightseeing and had made a small mistake.

—Am I not gonna make it?

He really didn’t want to be late on his first day. After carefully checking the map again, he picked a suspicious-looking narrow alley and took off at a run.

—If this goes well, I can still make it fifteen minutes before class.

Running, he used the scale on the map to roughly estimate the distance. That let him breathe a little easier.

The alley wasn’t as bad as he’d imagined. Garbage bags were stacked neatly, and the pavement was clean. Just like he’d imagined, Japan really was a place obsessed with cleanliness.

Without noticing, he’d already gotten close enough to see what he guessed was Donhon Public Middle School’s teaching building in the distance. But the exit of the alley was blocked by a few figures in uniforms.

“…”

He unconsciously slowed down.

Their dark uniforms had the crest of Ribay Industrial High School. According to his prior research, that school had a terrible reputation in this area, with low advancement rates and students and teachers who’d basically given up on themselves.

—What now…

Making sure they hadn’t noticed him, he carefully observed the situation.

There were three of them, surrounding a cat and taking turns kicking it. Twisted smiles hung on their faces, like they were savoring the thrill of violence.

“…”

Terrifying. Kids here were doing stuff like this out in the open. He tightened his grip on his luggage. A sense of justice was one of the essential virtues of a citizen of the Celestial Empire.

—But being on time is a pretty important virtue too.

—And, y’know, “your body, your hair, all from your parents, don’t go damaging it lightly” and all that…

That second reason was basically just an excuse for not wanting to get hurt.

Right now, he clearly had two options.

One: climb over the wall, make a tiny detour, and he could definitely get to school on time.

Two: stop them. If nothing happened, he could still make it… But if things went south (which was honestly the more realistic assumption), it’d be three against one, high schoolers versus a middle schooler, and he had no weapons. He’d definitely lose, and definitely be late. And that was the conservative estimate.

Watching the weakly crying cat, his heartbeat sped up. Reason and instinct tangled with each other, while the clock’s ticking urged him on.

Worth mentioning: his instinct told him to detour, and his reason told him to step in. Apparently his education had gone pretty well.

Luckily, besides instinct and reason, he also had this thing called logical thinking.

Hiding himself carefully behind a utility pole, he held his breath.

At the end of August, the sky was high and almost cloudless, full of a crisp, airy feeling.

Most people would be napping after lunch at this hour, which made the streets feel a bit empty.

In that quiet, the only sounds were the dull thuds of the industrial high kids kicking the cat. The cat’s whimpers were already fading.

“Hello, this is Officer Tsuchijo speaking.”

A low middle-aged man’s voice suddenly cut in.

“I got a report saying there are delinquents hanging around this area, is that right?”

“Ah, yes.”

The reply was a middle-aged woman’s voice, a bit quieter than the officer’s, with that faint tinny quality of coming from a phone on speaker.

“They’re always around here and causing us lots of trouble. I’ll be counting on you, officer.”

“Of course, this is our duty.”

“I also heard a really awful cat screaming just now. It’s probably them. They should be at the exit of the alley around there.”

“Thank you for your cooperation. I’ll head there right away.”

Their voices were a little muffled, but loud enough to hear clearly. The delinquents who’d been acting so fearless just a moment ago suddenly looked panicked. Then, whoever backed up first, the three of them bolted and ran.

“Phew…”

—War is the way of deception. Show strength while pretending to be weak, move while pretending to be still. When you’re near, act far; when you’re far, act near.

Stepping out from behind the pole, he wiped the sweat from his forehead and walked over to the cat they’d left on the ground.

It was barely clinging to life.

Its pure white fur was dotted with black spots. There was no collar on its neck, and nothing else on its body that could show it belonged to someone.

—A stray, or a pet that got thrown away?

He felt a faint resonance with it.

He checked its injuries. Its bones seemed fine. Its breathing and heartbeat were weak, but it shouldn’t be on the verge of death. Carefully, he picked the cat up and held it against his chest, walking toward the school while thinking of a solution.

“…”

Objectively, he didn’t have the ability to take care of it himself. But that didn’t mean he’d just give up.

People weren’t strong because of their abilities.

He decided to hand it over to a teacher. There was a nurse’s office on campus; the school nurse should be able to help. If not, a teacher could take it to a professional vet clinic.

Better than abandoning it on the roadside.

“You… don’t let yourself get caught again.”

Chongzong gently stroked its little head, wanting to offer a bit of comfort after what humans had done to it. But to his surprise, the cat slipped right out of his arms, landed lightly on the ground, then sprang up in a single leap and stopped on top of the wall.

As if nothing had happened.

—This cat… is way too strong.

It didn’t give Chongzong any time to be surprised. It meowed twice, then darted away. Its agile body showed not the slightest trace of that near-death weakness from moments ago.

So that was an act?

Or… maybe it wasn’t just some normal animal?

The strange thought flashed through Chongzong’s mind and was gone.

He checked his watch. If nothing else happened, he could still reach base safely, just like he’d planned. He slowed down to a normal walking pace, letting his heartbeat ease up, and arrived at the school gate ten minutes before class.

He gave the place a quick once-over. Donhon Public Middle School—just a normal public school, nothing particularly special.

If he had to say something stood out… it’d be that the gym looked kind of expensive…

“Expensive” meaning it looked really high-end.

Coming from an orphanage, Chongzong’s most direct concept of anything fancy, gorgeous, or luxurious was simply: it costs a lot.

So he just stood there, staring at that “expensive-looking” gym, spacing out a little.

—Probably donated by someone rich?

“Excuse me, are you Uesugi-kun?”

A man’s voice sounded behind him, pulling Chongzong back from the “expensive” world.

—He’s probably talking to me. I’m still not used to it, but from now on my last name really is Uesugi.

“Yes. I’m Uesugi Chongzong.”

He turned around. In his view appeared a middle-aged man around forty-five. Not quite rocking the full Mediterranean look yet, but definitely on the verge of going bald—hairline in critical condition. He looked like he’d be… a math teacher, maybe.

Suit, tie, and absolutely no way you could call him “cool,” but overall his first impression was that of a serious, strict teacher.

Right now, the man was staring in surprise at how fluent Chongzong’s Japanese was. Meanwhile, Chongzong calmly studied whether that subtle balding patch could reflect today’s sunlight.

“Excuse me?”

The man stayed stunned a bit too long, long enough that after finishing his research on the relationship between bald spots and sunlight reflection, Chongzong had to remind him.

“Ah… I did recognize you correctly. I’m your homeroom teacher, Katsuo Hondo.”

He snapped out of it, slipped the photo in his hand back into his pocket, and gave a simple self-introduction.

“Then, please come with me.”

“Okay, Mr. Hondo.”

Following this man who was about to join the Mediterranean forces, Chongzong stepped into Donhon Public Middle School.

—A freshman, or a free man.