Ye Chang'an had first thought the brooch was the cause. But when he placed it back on the ground, the shocking scene before his eyes remained utterly unchanged.
It was as if he’d slipped into the narrow fissure between two overlapping worlds—able to witness both the present moment and another startling vision at once.
Like that childhood candy wrapped in colorful paper: unfold the wrapper, hold it to your eyes, and the world shifts into a magically altered hue.
Back then, innocent children would feel smugly proud, believing a single candy wrapper granted them a secret world of their own.
But for Ye Chang'an now… what he saw was two entirely distinct scenes superimposed within the exact same space!
Time!
A startling realization erupted in his mind.
Same space… different time. The other scene must be a moment from the past—something that had happened right here in this classroom!
To confirm his theory, Ye Chang'an didn’t hesitate. He shouted toward Jiang Jixue, still kneeling on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably.
"Jiang Jixue! Your older sister… did she wear a single ponytail tied with a colorful hair tie—now crimson—and were the ends of her hair tinged with a light golden hue?"
A remnant of dyed hair, surely.
Jiang Jixue’s head snapped up. Her disbelieving stare locked onto Ye Chang'an—proof his words had struck true.
His vision unfolded in two layers.
Layer One: the present. Ashes of the spent spirit-summoning array on the floor. Torn school uniform. Crumpled pleated skirt. The brooch resting where he’d placed it. Jiang Jixue weeping in despair. Dusty, spiderweb-draped desks piled together. The faded "2019" scrawled on the blackboard.
Layer Two: utterly different.
Neatly arranged desks. Drawn curtains filtering a soft sunset glow onto clean floors. Faint chalk marks on the blackboard—remnants of the homeroom teacher’s exam reminders. Tidily stacked cleaning supplies. An intact blackboard drawing at the rear, not yet defaced.
Every detail whispered of the classroom’s former self—a time when Jiang Jixue’s older sister still walked this world.
Ye Chang'an stood slightly right of center. He reached for the nearby desk—his fingers met only emptiness.
He’d already suspected this. Jiang Jixue’s current position overlapped perfectly with that very desk.
He could do nothing. Merely… a belated spectator.
An observer forced to witness the past, powerless to intervene.
At the front of the classroom, a chilling… "assault"—Ye Chang'an could only call it that—was unfolding.
Two figures. One: Jiang Jixue’s older sister, cornered, nowhere to run.
The other: a middle-aged woman in office attire, face caked in makeup that looked not elegant but unnervingly sinister, heels clicking sharply.
Jiang Jixue’s stunned expression confirmed Ye Chang'an’s suspicion—the girl was indeed her sister…
And he… was on the verge of uncovering the truth behind her suicide.
In a way he never imagined.
Observing a scene imprinted upon this very space.
Ye Chang'an didn’t know how he’d done it. Only this: Jiang Jixue’s sister had taken her life… within those five years. The very years he had vanished.
But now—no time to think. Only to watch, helpless, as tragedy replayed.
The girl pressed against the wall. The woman posing as a teacher.
She struck the girl’s palms, then her face, with a ruler.
Hurled degrading words. Stripped away the clean uniform.
Yanked at the pleated skirt the girl clutched desperately, pleading through tears not to have it removed.
Even the most private parts…
One hand clamped around her neck, watching her cry with sickening delight.
—"Please… let me go, teacher…"
—"Let you go? Don’t you like teacher? Teacher adores you~"
"So warm. So obedient. Like the sun. I like that… enough to feel jealous."
"By the way… I prefer cloudy days~"
—"No…"
Her choked sobs wove into a waking nightmare.
Ye Chang'an bit his lip until it stung, unable to watch further.
Yet the scene played on, indifferent.
He shut his eyes. Covered his ears.
A flame ignited deep within.
He finally understood.
Why the truth lay buried.
Why injustice festered even after her death.
People trust common sense. No one suspects a respected teacher.
No one imagines sexual assault could happen between people of the same sex.
Even as reports rise, many still dismiss it as rumor—refusing to see, to act, to protect the victims…
But he had seen it.
And having seen it… he would never, ever look away.
