Honestly, the thought of returning home without seeing Xia Jiuli felt a little sad.

But the very next second, her call came through—and just like that, his mood lifted.

Gu Lian had just been about to check if Chen Dao’s geometry homework was done right.

He turned his head—only to see Chen Dao bolt off in a flash, vanishing without a trace.

"Hello?"

Chen Dao strode toward a quiet corner, pressed the phone to his ear, and answered quickly:

"Hello?"

Silence from the other end. Puzzled, he waited a beat. Worried about the bill, he nudged:

"Say your lines!"

"Lines."

"Say the script!"

"Script."

It should’ve been a perfect mimicry—but a barely suppressed giggle slipped through.

*Little rascal. Teasing me now?*

Chen Dao didn’t feel annoyed at all. In fact, a quiet joy bloomed. He’d been worried she’d feel down returning home.

He gazed up at the dusky sky. Crimson-tinged clouds rolled slowly in the distance. Birds darted past rooftops, chirping crisply as they vanished into the horizon—tumbling, frolicking, utterly carefree.

"When do you think you’ll get home?"

Chen Dao guessed she was close, but wasn’t sure. He worried the familiar sights of Xiangzhou might stir old sadness. If she cried, he couldn’t rush there.

*Definitely don’t want headlines like "Chen Dao Carries a Train Overnight to Xiangzhou."*

"Around seven. Almost there."

Her voice held barely contained joy, carefully restrained.

She’d arrived with nothing but the clothes on her back. Now, heading home, she’d picked out cute outfits—with Chen Dao. Well, *according to Chen Dao’s taste*.

She’d come to unwind; returning disheveled wouldn’t do.

Aunt Xia Baixiao had called eight times in two days insisting on picking her up. Xia Jiuli refused every time.

People back home cared. But she’d never dared lean on them. They had their own families. She was, after all, an outsider.

Living under someone else’s roof—even with kindness—never felt right.

So she’d choose solitude, just like Chen Dao.

"Good! Tell Auntie to cook you some noodles!"

Chen Dao said it without hesitation—as if Xia Baixiao were *his* aunt.

"Sure. I’ll say my good friend Chen Dao insisted—"

"Will she rush over and serve you *my noodles*?"

"Are *your noodles* even tasty?"

"Nonsense! My—uh, uh, uh?!"

The conversation froze. Both caught the double meaning. Neither dared continue.

Chen Dao was still on campus; Xia Jiuli at Xiangzhou Station. Too risky to go further.

"I suddenly feel… out of place."

Her voice carried a faint trace of melancholy—nothing like the aloof "ice sculpture beauty" she once was.

*Without the accident… would she have been brighter?* Chen Dao wondered.

"Same. Sleeping in a real bed feels weird."

"You’re clearly happy."

Xia Jiuli wasn’t great at reading faces—but she knew his joy. He was laughing. Not that forced, hollow smile from their past life.

"Caught me?"

"Ah! You should probably wash the sheets…"

She remembered rolling on his bed that morning. And finally realizing what *"called you"* really meant—face burning crimson in the waiting hall, drawing concerned glances from passing aunties. Now? Shy all over again.

"Huh? You’re not even in Xinchi anymore. What can you do?"

Chen Dao’s voice turned smug. He theatrically licked his lips and cackled: "Hehehe!"

"I’ll sniff! I’ll damn well sniff hard! Sniff upside down!"

He took an exaggerated, deep inhale.

Just joking—but the line went silent.

After a pause, her soft complaint came:

"I’m embarrassed. Please stop."

*Called you. Noodles. Sniffing.*

All playful teasing from a safe distance—and sweet relief: no more tiptoeing around Xia Jiuli.

Before, he’d feared his nominal ex might hurt herself. Now? She was healing. He had no "abstract" friends left. Only her—the one who’d reincarnated with him from ten years ahead.

Four college years hadn’t bridged their distance. He was the heartbroken simp with a concrete-sealed heart; she, the campus beauty ready to "restart." Neither cared.

But in five days? They’d become confidants. Free. Easy.

*Still… risqué jokes aren’t cool.* Chen Dao resolved: *Quit.*

*Lust and wine are messing with me! Quitting drinking!*

…Though the heat skipped his gut and rushed straight to his cheeks. A warm flush crept up his skin, settling deep in his chest.

When she said "I’m shy," her voice so flustered and sweet—even eight hundred miles away—he could picture her perfectly.

*So cute. Absolutely adorable.*

*Screw it! Starting today: Saint Jiuli! I’ve been stanning you since before I was born!*

"You… why aren’t you talking?"

"I’m shy too."

"Don’t copy me!"

"Don’t copy me!"

"Are you a parrot?"

They fell back into banter—playful, familiar. Every bicker felt precious.

Xia Jiuli watched the cityscape bloom beyond the train window, chatting aimlessly with Chen Dao, who fussed over the phone to hide his blush.

Her reflection in the glass showed slightly flushed cheeks, a faint dimple. Even the ache of nearing home softened.

This moment was theirs alone—a gift to the only pair of souls who shared this rebirth.

Only Chen Dao understood her. Only she understood him.

"Chen Dao…"

"What’s up?"

"See you next time."