The rooftop of the comprehensive building was mostly off-limits, secured only by a small black U-shaped lock—easy to grip in one hand.

A rust-streaked door bolt held the center.

"Xia Jiuli? You okay?"

He slapped the iron sheet. A dull *thud* echoed back.

Xia Jiuli wasn’t wearing anything.

Why? Chen Dao didn’t know. Didn’t care. On his way past the first-floor infirmary, he’d grabbed a red tracksuit—still faintly warm, roughly his size.

But he wouldn’t let her wear clothes of unknown origin.

So he put the tracksuit on himself and left his own school uniform for her.

"Chen Dao? Is it really you?"

Her voice drifted through the metal door—youthful, tender, utterly unlike her past self. A flicker of surprise crossed his mind.

Yet it trembled slightly from the cold. Chen Dao made his choice.

"Step back from the door! Don’t stand near it!"

He retreated a few steps, sprinted, and kicked hard.

*CRASH!* The rusted iron door flew open, swung left, and slammed against the wall.

Rain-puddled concrete, crude railings, exposed AC units. The space was large enough for a band—but grimy, abandoned. *How did she even get up here?*

"Close your eyes!"

A whisper from the right. Chen Dao tensed, then obediently shut his eyes.

The school uniform in his arms was gently pulled away. Fabric rustled; her breathing hitched, flustered. She dressed in a hurry, not bothering to check what lay beneath.

"Done..."

Chen Dao opened his eyes slowly. The girl before him was strikingly different from memory.

Eyes bright as flowing water, skin fair and smooth—only her lips pale from cold. Soft features, a hint of youthful innocence. The mole by her eye harmonized with the sorrow in her almond-shaped gaze; her delicate lips already hinted at budding allure.

Not yet the enchantress she’d become, but already surpassing mere cuteness—outshining even Bai Qiaoqiao.

Her bangs fluttered in the wind. She hugged herself, shivered, sneezed.

Rubbing her doll-like nose with a fingertip, she shook her head lightly.

Huddled in the uniform, she felt its lingering warmth, its familiar scent.

She stole a glance at him. *So it really was him down there...*

Ten minutes earlier—after the crash—Xia Jiuli had woken here: cold, unfamiliar.

Clutched in her hand: a decade-old phone, screen cracked.

The chat log showed messages with her late father.

The date read December 2013. Ten years before the accident.

The second week after her parents’ deaths.

*Am I losing my mind?*

This time was seared into her soul—painful, burning, unforgettable.

Then she remembered. She flipped the camera. Saw the ligature marks on her neck.

First week after their death: attempted hanging at home, stopped by her aunt.

This week: supposed to be in the bathtub, wrists slit, sending one last message...

Only this phone crossed into rebirth. Of course—she’d been lying completely naked in the tub, waiting to die.

Three cuts on her wrist: one too shallow, one misplaced, one already healing.

Now her gaze lifted—from the scars—to the boy before her.

No words came.

This Chen Dao seemed brighter, more earnest. Nothing like the freeloader she’d known. Strange.

To him, though, beyond slight youthfulness, she carried the same aloof, distant aura as before.

"Mm..."

She lowered her eyes. A trace of sorrow flickered.

Chen Dao saw the shadow cross her face. Wanted to comfort her—but how?

It was December 2013. Her parents had just died.

An outsider’s misstep could trigger landmines. Another rebirth?

*What a mess.*

"Where’s your place? I’ll take you—"

He meant to shift focus. At least get her changed.

But the words barely left his lips before regret hit.

Her almond eyes clouded. Brow furrowed. Teeth gently bit her lower lip—a troubled look.

Her home was in Xiangzhou. Over 800 kilometers from Xinchi.

How could his beat-up 400-yuan bicycle possibly get her there?

"Can’t go back..."