They say a stumble teaches wisdom—you’d think one experience would arm you with a solution.

But not Xia Jiuli.

Two weeks ago at this hour, heavy rain lashed Xiangzhou.

Roads turned treacherous as her parents rushed to her school award ceremony.

It wasn’t a grand prize—just first place in the city poetry recitation contest—but she clutched that certificate, eyes desperately scanning for her longed-for parents.

Their seats waited reserved: center of the third row, perfectly aligned with her spot onstage.

She never saw them.

She never would.

Thirty minutes—from hearing the news to collapsing in the morgue, sobbing into her hands.

Last week, she tried to “find them.” Her aunt stopped her.

This week, she was meant to slit her wrists in the bathtub.

Two shallow cuts already made.

As she raised the blade for the third—her aunt should’ve found her. *Should’ve.* So… what now?

Absurd.

Waves lapped gently at her ankles, urging her back.

Eyes closed—fragments of her past life flashed:

A hollow existence. High school endured. Days dragged. Her final escape: fleeing Xiangzhou.

Her aunt offered to move in as guardian, fearing another attempt.

But Xia Jiuli insisted she was fine—friends, even a boyfriend.

Her aunt demanded to meet him. “Someday,” Xia Jiuli always said.

Chen Dao? Just a fake boyfriend from an online game.

Truth was, she used him: a shield against campus small talk, proof she was “thriving.”

Chen Dao knew. Didn’t care.

After graduation, she returned to care for her maternal grandparents.

Everyone had their own families. With parents gone, she chose to honor her mother’s parents.

Ten years later, they too would leave.

At twenty-seven, Xia Jiuli would stand utterly alone. Truly alone.

Her aunt urged her to move in—but it was *their* home. How could she impose?

No hobbies. No dreams. No drive. She saw no end to this drifting numbness.

In the end… only this path remained.

Even foreseeing it all offered no comfort to a grieving heart.

Sea breeze slapped her cheeks, urging surrender. Sand tickled between her toes.

She wiggled them, catching footsteps woven into the wind-and-wave debate.

Unhidden. Unhurried.

“So vast… You know, Xiangzhou has no sea.”

The sea she’d dreamed of held no wonder.

Water tinged yellow-gray; waves churned violently, wind bit sharp. Nothing like the serene seas in books or idyllic paintings.

“Hiss… Then don’t pick the sea. Choose something else.”

Chen Dao’s voice—eerily like her own, shivering on that cold rooftop years ago.

Xia Jiuli blinked. *He’s not here to talk me down?*

Right. He always scoffed at “savior complexes.”

“You’re not here to stop me?”

“Here to collect the body. While it’s fresh—so skip the sea. Wrinkled corpses aren’t pretty.”

*While it’s fresh?*

Her mind snapped to her own body.

“Disgusting.”

The icy words sent a jolt of warmth through Chen Dao.

He nearly panicked—*weird fetish?*—then remembered: the hand warmer kicked in.

“Thanks for the compliment.”

“I’d even guard your house as a ghost… guess that’s off the table.”

Xia Jiuli smiled, forgiving his crudeness.

Honestly? She never feared he’d take advantage. College offered countless chances—he never let base instincts rule.

This was just a delaying tactic. She knew it.

Chen Dao hated being called “gentleman” or “noble.” Refused that epitaph.

“Tsk. Ingrate? I’ll be prime suspect—and you’re already squatting in my house? Pah!”

He spat. Sea wind had flung grit straight into his mouth.

Xia Jiuli shrugged. Pivoting on her right heel, she spun half a turn, hands buried in pockets, leaning forward to reveal her flushed face.

“I’m dying. Cut me some slack?”

Eyes hollow. A stiff, dry smile frozen in place.

Just like their college first meeting—that precise angle, the eerie hollow of a smile that never reached her eyes.

Without the faint blush on cheeks and nose, she’d look already dead.

Chen Dao stepped toward her gaze. She retreated instantly—a silent warning: *One more step and I restart at triple speed.*

Skipping the plotline entirely.

Great. Classic Qidian protagonist template—your “system” just skips scenes and restarts, huh?

“Write a suicide note first. Clear my name.”

Chen Dao sniffled, rummaging out Gu Lian’s pen and a crumpled sticky note.

Gu Lian never dreamed she’d be “involved.”

Only one note available. Front side: Gu Lian’s handwriting—*“Are you two dating?”*

“Hmph…”

A faint nose twitch. Good. Only this way could she die guilt-free.

She’d meant to leave quietly… yet burdened Chen Dao again.

This palm-sized paper couldn’t hold her apology. Couldn’t capture *them*.

“Too small?”

“Write you loved me. Call it lovers’ suicide.”

“Trying to take advantage?”

Her hand reached out—then retreated deep into her pocket.

She recalled a classmate’s jab: *“If a sewage truck passed the gate, he’d scrape some off to taste the salt.”* Mocking his “stinginess.”

Truth? He was generous—just never wasted coin on hollow social debts.

“Nope. Zero guilt… while it’s fresh.”

“Want it that badly? I’ll die tomorrow. Satisfy you first.”

“Can’t. I’d want it daily.”

Xia Jiuli lowered her head, toes wiggling. After a long pause:

“Pervert.”

Two syllables—half disappointment, a quarter coyness, a quarter disgust. Disappointment he’d come to chain her to a meaningless life.

“Do you like me?”

Eyes downcast. Words frostbitten.

“Romance? Not even dogs would bother.”