After the world warped, that sunset-soaked campus surfaced again, red as spilled wine across stone.

No laughter, no horseplay, only a hush like a sealed tomb; the boy still swung at ping-pong, a puppet without a soul.

In that dead stillness, Ouyang looked at the sinking sun and sighed, the light cooling like a spent ember.

“Man… I can feel the strangeness here, but I still don’t get what my time-crossing means,” he thought, eyes on clouds bruised by dusk.

The world wore amber like an old man’s coat, its life-flame flickering, ready to wink out at any breath of wind.

Ouyang could tell this place wasn’t fixed; the first time, dusk wasn’t so withered, like a garden before frost.

Maybe next time he steps in, the whole sky will fall into night, a lid closing over water.

He felt lost but didn’t flinch; his gut beat like a drum, telling him a mission waits in the past.

He had three entries left; maybe the next crossing would sketch the meaning in light, like ink in rain.

He waited, bathed in sunset that held almost no heat, thin as winter silk on skin.

Suddenly, he heard tick-tock from a clock, and the clack of time’s gears, like teeth gnawing wood.

Without noticing, voices swelled like a tide, and people flowed like a river; morning rinsed the campus bright.

He scanned the scene and found the boy; a year later, he stood taller, like a sapling after spring.

Ouyang drifted over, light as smoke. “Hey, we meet again…”

The boy walked with his head down; at the greeting, he lifted it, then dropped his gaze and tapped his phone like a sparrow pecking grain.

“Kid, we only get this once a year. Why sit through class? Let’s ditch; I’ll keep watch like a guard dog.”

The boy kept quiet until they reached a thin stream of people, then said, “Hell no. If I skip, my sis cuts my allowance.”

“You gonna pay me?” He tossed the words like stones.

Compared to a year ago, the boy felt livelier; two years back, he wouldn’t have thrown a “hell no” like a firecracker.

“Is money all your world has left?” Ouyang, long above mortal dust, couldn’t grasp the boy’s weather of thought.

All the way, no matter how Ouyang coaxed, the boy stood like iron, unmoved by wind or honeyed rain.

Ouyang wondered what that old incident had changed; now the boy treated Ouyang’s words like empty air, snow that wouldn’t stick.

Then a girl rushed past, urgent as a flame eating paper; morning’s big clock on the building read just past seven.

Students spilled from the cafeteria to class, a stream with lunch-steam still rising.

Suddenly, the boy pivoted and stared where the girl vanished, eyes fixed like a compass needle.

“Yo, spotted someone you like?” Ouyang smelled mischief, a cat’s grin; that dazed look screamed secret crush.

“If you like her, go chase her; class is a dusty room,” he said, tossing the dare like a bright kite.

“You’re right!” The boy cut him a look; his eyes struck sparks like flint on steel.

Crap. Ouyang almost swore; he’d teased, not fired a starter pistol.

If his sister found out, storms would roll in; she’s a siscon guarding treasure like a dragon.

Worse, the boy moved because Ouyang lit the match; blame curled back like smoke to its maker.

Round and round, it was Ouyang’s mess again, a thread knotting his own wrist.

“Damn, did I time-travel just to plant disasters for future-me?” His head throbbed, a hive buzzing.

Was that brat staging it so Ouyang carried the pot, a fox laying tracks in fresh snow?

While Ouyang suspected slyness, the boy sprinted after the girl, arrow-swift down the path.

“You really went after her?” Ouyang followed, helpless as a leaf riding a current.

The girl hadn’t gone far, so the boy kept her in sight, breath ragged like bellows.

His shoelace trailed like a pale snake; he didn’t see the coil waiting to trip him.

“Hey, Xuan, forget the girl for a second. Check your shoe; step on that lace, you’ll eat dirt.”

Finally, the boy stopped; maybe he feared a fall, maybe a messy scene under her gaze.

He crouched and tied the knot, small and tight, like anchoring a boat to a post.

“Why push this hard?” Ouyang’s voice held rain; his mind couldn’t match the boy’s fire.

Skip class just to chase a girl? It didn’t fit his memory, a portrait smeared by new color.

Maybe that Internet café incident opened a door, and the boy stepped into a bigger sky.

“Lan Yan… she often brings me food. On weekends she goes home, she brings me tasty things.”

The boy spoke like a warm pot; Ouyang smiled, sharp as a reed. “You fool with no standards.”

“She feeds you a little and steals your heart, stomach first, then soul.”

The boy didn’t argue; he shadowed her quietly, a stray cat trailing moonlight on stone.

“That look on her face says trouble, clouds gathering; maybe I can help,” he said, voice steady as a lamp.

They followed her to a lawn tucked away like a cove, where patrols seldom touched the grass.

She sat on the ground, knees drawn up, arms wrapped, chin resting on her knees like a folded leaf.

Ouyang heard soft sobs, threads of rain under leaves; she was crying, salt in the morning light.

He studied her and finally saw why the boy liked her; not flawless by his taste, no cut-glass shine.

But her long black hair flowed like a night river, giving her quiet grace, a lantern’s halo.

In Ouyang’s memory, the boy was loyal to long straight black hair, a devotee of that simple line.

Well, not quite; for now he was clearly the long-black-hair type, a compass pointing true.

How he’d later turn into a lolita-obsessed gremlin, Ouyang had no clue, fog over a road.

“Lan Yan…” While Ouyang tangled with labels like knotted string, the boy simply stepped forward and spoke.

She hadn’t expected to be seen; she startled like a deer, head lifting quick from shadow.

Her fine features held tear-bright petals; her eyes were swollen red, spring blossoms in rain. “You… you are…”

“Heh, it’s me… You always bring me food. You look in trouble; is there anything I can do?”

His words held a steady warmth, a lantern offered into wind.

Faced with earnest light, the girl tried to dodge; her gaze skittered away like minnows.

That evasive glance made Ouyang frown, a wrinkle like a ripple in calm water.

“Xuan… Classmate Xuan, thank you… I…” Her voice trembled like a reed by a stream.

Lan Yan bit her lip, caught on a thorn of hesitation; her eyes kept ducking like swallows avoiding rain.

“Don’t be shy. You help me so much; it’s my turn to help you,” he said, laying a bridge plank.

“I…” A ringtone rang, bright as a silver bell; she pulled out her phone, pale as paper.

“Sorry, I… I need to take this.” She stepped away; the other side was a closed door of sound.

She barely spoke until the end, when she said, “I understand,” a thread pulled taut.

She slid the phone into her bag and wiped her tears, dew brushed off leaves.

“Classmate Xuan… um… can you help me with something?” Her words hovered like a timid moth.

“Help? If it’s within my reach, I’ll help,” he said, hand steady like a raft.

“Mm… you’re… such a good person.” The card landed like a soft feather.

Ouyang’s face twisted; the good-person card was a cold coin, rarely traded for love.

“Here’s the thing…” Lan Yan sketched it in short strokes, lines quick as charcoal.

“You mean… you want me to pretend to be your boyfriend?” Joy hit him like a sudden spring shower.

If your secret crush asks you to pretend, your heart drums like thunder under a tent.

Simply put, her parents set a childhood betrothal, an old red thread knotted between families.

They wanted her to meet her ‘fiancé’ now, a stranger drawn by others’ hands.

Lan Yan disliked the unseen face, so she lied and said she already had a boyfriend, a paper shield.

She wanted the boy to impersonate him and meet her parents at home, a play staged in bright daylight.

After hearing it all, the boy looked awkward, foot testing thin ice over dark water.

“Is that… really okay?” His voice was a candle wick, waiting for flame.

“It’s fine, Classmate Xuan. As long as my parents give up, that’s all that matters,” she said, cutting a thread.

In the end, the boy agreed, blood beating warm like drums in a festival street.

“Then we shouldn’t wait. Let’s go now. I just told my parents I’d bring my boyfriend home.”

Lan Yan sounded urgent, a kite yanked by a sudden wind; even a stand-in needs props and costume.

To Ouyang, the girl named Lan Yan felt too rushed, like smoke whipped thin by a gust.