“Why’s Aunt so late today…”

Xia Jiuli checked her watch. The hour hand had just struck six. A flicker of worry crossed her mind—why hadn’t her aunt shown up yet?

Her aunt always arrived early at the school gate, never wanting Jiuli to wait even a moment.

Even though her job with husband Ren Yi wasn’t easy, she stuck close to Jiuli—determined to prevent any chance of her vanishing or… hurting herself again.

Jiuli never took that kindness for granted. But Xia Baixiao, always punctual, was missing now. *Could she have been in an accident?*

In her previous life, Jiuli avoided cars entirely. Even trudging through biting wind and heavy snow felt safer than stepping into that metal box—the very one that had trapped her parents.

After returning to Xiangzhou, with her aunt’s help, she settled her parents’ funeral affairs. But that day, standing vigil, holding the white condolence envelope… tears nearly spilled over.

She’d come back last Friday. With Saturday and Sunday free, she wrapped up loose ends: the funeral, visiting grandparents in the countryside.

She knew they’d pass a decade later—but she just smiled, hugged them tight, and promised weekly visits. *She’d cook for them.*

Now, last week’s chaos in Xinchi felt unreal, like a bad dream.

And she still hadn’t had a proper talk with Chen Dao.

Staying at her aunt’s these days, she decided: time to go home. *This time—no matter how Aunt cries, I won’t soften. Never.*

Might as well pack tonight. Tomorrow’s Saturday—perfect for Aunt to drive her back.

She gently flicked the shell bracelet on her wrist. A soft smile touched her lips.

“Ooooh~”

A voice dripping with mock jealousy came from behind. Jiuli turned. Yu Xin and another girl rolled their eyes, clicking their tongues.

*Exactly like that GIF meme she’d used in her past life.*

“Still staring at your boyfriend’s gift, huh?”

Yu Xin slung an arm over Jiuli’s shoulder. The other girl mirrored her. Flanking Jiuli at the gate, they “captured” her with playful grins.

“No way…” Jiuli murmured, cheeks flushing slightly, voice low—as if hoping no one else would hear.

*How she wished the denial sounded weaker.* But truth was, Chen Dao had given zero confirmation about them.

Besides… he barely had energy for school.

Their texts these days were simple, yet more frequent than when they dated in her past life.

At her aunt’s, Jiuli avoided her phone—afraid she’d get lost chatting, or get caught. School banned phones. Only brief moments before bed remained… yet those chats felt deeply fulfilling.

From his messages, Chen Dao wasn’t having it easy either.

Labeled “failed young love,” “vandalism,” “theft,” he’d become homeroom teacher Mr. Zhu’s prime focus.

Jiuli often smiled reading his complaints.

He mentioned a top student helping him: dawn recitations, bedtime dictations. He was solving problems on his own now.

*Though…* this kind-hearted tutor used Spartan methods. No wonder he grumbled.

It only made Jiuli curious.

At Changli, she didn’t need help. Room for error existed. Unlike Chen Dao, she wasn’t fearing a score crash.

Yu Xin and the class monitor had been tutoring her too. Most importantly—Jiuli was sharp.

“Come on,” the class monitor pushed up her glasses, mischief in her eyes. “Five school days this week. Your only two activities? Studying… and staring at that bracelet. Deny it?”

She didn’t believe a girl like Jiuli had no crush—or would fall for just anyone.

Top students weren’t bookworms. Life wasn’t just grinding pages.

So the class pieced it together: Jiuli’s swift return, her renewed spirit—it all tied to that shell bracelet.

Boys wept, girls swooned—but scratch that: *girls were shipping hard, boys were weeping.*

Girls dreamed of prince-charming rescues. Seeing Jiuli rise from shadows? They believed she’d met someone wonderful—a sweet story.

Boys groaned someone got there first. Regret simmered.

Yet all thoughts turned to quiet blessings. Nothing mattered more than Jiuli healing.

“Th-this is just pretty…” Jiuli stammered, face burning crimson.

“Pretty?” Yu Xin pointed at the shell, glancing at the monitor.

The monitor leaned close, adjusted her glasses. A glint flashed across the lenses—*she saw right through it.*

“Average,” she declared. “But the meaning? Anything but.”

“Oho~ I heard shells mean *pursuit*! And this is only half… could the other half be with—*hehehe!*”

Yu Xin and the monitor locked eyes, bursting into giggles. Jiuli stood flustered.

“Stop making things up… How do you brain these scenarios?!”

She shrugged them off, stepped forward—and they trailed right behind.

Truthfully, she didn’t mind the teasing. Each jab brought back seaside memories… and a genuine smile bloomed.

“Hehehe! Brains stuffed with terrifying formulas need sweet gossip to recharge!” they chimed in unison.

Jiuli smiled at their antics. Then—instinctively glancing toward her aunt’s usual spot—she froze.

Under the giant banyan tree nearby… a familiar figure stood.

No second thought. She shook off her friends and sprinted, oblivious to onlookers.

Like a traveler finally home—she longed only to throw herself into his arms.