"It’s about the protagonist saving a kind ghost. To help it find peace, he must fulfill its final wish. This gentle spirit was once a homeless man—his only hope was for a kind stranger to share a meal with him."

Somehow, the topic drifted to Lu Li’s script from yesterday.

Chu Jingyi beamed like an overeager salesperson, her little leather shoes kicking Lu Li’s chair repeatedly under the table. Lu Li could only sigh in resignation, again and again.

An Baili leaned in with genuine curiosity. “And then?”

“Then the protagonist invites him home for the night. That evening, after setting everything up, he opens the door. Humans can’t see ghosts, so he only feels a cold draft brush past before closing it. But soon, strange things happen: the single portion of food vanishes in seconds; footsteps echo from both the bathroom and bedroom at once; and if the player hides under the bed at night, they see four or five pairs of legs standing perfectly still beside it.”

Chu Jingyi was a terrible storyteller—An Baili must have had remarkable patience to sit through it.

The last potato disappeared. Lu Li was about to slip away when Chu Jingyi wrapped up: “So that’s Lu Li’s script! Scary, right?”

She looked absurdly proud, as if she’d written it herself.

Only then did An Baili reveal her real intent: “I play a few instruments too. Can I join you? I don’t need payment…”

Chu Jingyi clasped her hands joyfully. “Yes! We’re short on members. Right, Lu Li?”

*Since when did she drop “classmate” and go straight to “Lu Li”?*

Did Lu Li agree? Absolutely not. He’d rather keep a hundred-meter distance from An Baili.

“But you’re already handling the music…”

“More hands make light work!”

“Mm-hmm.”

Lu Li gave a vague, half-hearted nod. *Clever move*, he thought. *Using Chu Jingyi to get close to me—some high-school version of a business dinner?* Chu Jingyi, clearly charmed by An Baili’s “modest and sensible” act, was already deep in the haze.

He left the cafeteria, ignoring the girls’ calls behind him, and climbed to the rooftop terrace.

Solitude at this height felt intoxicating. The sky stretched like blue fabric; white clouds traced its gentle folds. He used to imagine cloud shapes—a Pegasus here, a menacing gargoyle there… *Huh. Still looks like one.* Now he preferred this vast, quiet stillness: no Chu Jingyi, no An Baili—especially the latter.

Dusty cigarette butts littered the ledge—some rule-breaker’s secret spot. On the stairwell wall, someone had scrawled: *“This humble blade has shattered ten thousand armies!”* Cringey. Had the writer even graduated? *Perfect wedding slideshow material.*

Below, a couple sneaked through the garden like thieves. Honestly, Chuanhai No.1 High School was loaded—four gardens? A student council member with a red armband marched toward them. *Hope they don’t get caught.*

Just as Lu Li observed campus life unfolding, soft footsteps approached from behind.

How well did he know An Baili? He recognized her by the hesitant shuffle, the light pressure of each step. Only she walked like that—timid, shrinking.

An Baili stood alone. Chu Jingyi hadn’t followed.

“Classmate?” Lu Li kept up the act.

“Li.” Her voice was soft. “You came back too, didn’t you?”

No panic flickered in his eyes. He turned slowly, pretending not to hear. An Baili wasn’t naive like Chu Jingyi. Hearing a script so wildly different from their past life—how could she not suspect? When lies unravel, the best mask is a smile.

So he smiled. “What are you talking about?”

Smiling, playing dumb, staying silent—the classic trio. (The fourth: *“Work drained me, let’s rest.”*) Lu Li had mastered the first three flawlessly.

“I felt it that day near the phone shop,” An Baili murmured, removing her deliberately plain glasses as she stepped closer. “You came back too, didn’t you?”

Her delicate features, paired with that pitiful expression, made Lu Li glance away. “So what if I did?”

*Ugh. Confessed without being pressed.*

*Lu Li, when will you stop being so weak?*

An Baili surged forward two steps, then hesitated and retreated half a step. “I’m happy… and sad.”

“Happy you’re still *you*, still holding our precious memories.”

“Sad I can’t make you love me again.”

“Don’t be angry. Don’t leave me. Okay?”

Like a puppy wagging its tail, begging.

“Let’s restart. I’ll change anything you say—until you’re satisfied…”

“Enough, An Baili.” Lu Li dropped the act. “Haven’t you caused enough trouble?”

“…”

“The moment you lit that lighter, the last trace of my affection vanished.” His voice turned icy. An Baili instinctively covered her ears—she couldn’t bear such cold words.

“Our lives restarted. Why cling to the past? Like I once said…”

An Baili cut in softly: “The past is unchangeable. The future hasn’t come. We only have the present, right?”

“You remember well.” His throat felt hoarse. “Let’s part ways. You live your life. I’ll live mine. Isn’t peace better?”

Every sentence had been rehearsed. He tread carefully—her instability was no secret. He’d never rekindle things with someone harboring violent tendencies. Modern ethics drew clear lines: revenge was frowned upon; homicidal inclinations meant “antisocial personality disorder.” A man shaped by modern values couldn’t accept that in her.

She could be spoiled, dramatic, childish—but her character had to be sound.

Tears shimmered in her eyes. “My past is worthless. My future is buried. All I have… is you.”

“You need dreams. Hobbies. A life beyond love.”

“…Li. Only you. Only you.”

Just as Lu Li braced for another outburst, An Baili stepped back. “I’ll make you love me again. Once. A hundred times. I don’t care.”

*No. I never will. You’ll never understand.* Lu Li sighed inwardly.

Words exhausted, he turned to leave. Passing her, he heard a trembling whisper: “Li… can you hold me? Just once… one second…”

Lu Li said nothing. Did nothing.

Anything spoken or done now would be wrong. She’d sunk into her own world. Best to retreat—she was a drowning soul clinging to the nearest lifeline. The old Lu Li had tried saving her. Only to be dragged under.

“Please… just a second…” Her voice cracked, tears imminent.

*An Baili, you really are impossible.*

He sighed, then slowly wrapped his arms around her warm, soft frame. A faint floral scent rose from her—laundry detergent, yet it still stirred old memories. He used to bury his face in the crook of her neck.

He was soft-hearted.

He wished he could be the cold, unshakable man who, at sixty, boasts in his memoir of iron discipline—as if that alone unlocks success. But he wasn’t.

Soft toward women, children, elders, the struggling… a flaw. In his past life, once secure, he built schools, sponsored students, championed the vulnerable with his own hands.

An Baili’s voice melted against his shoulder: “Lu Li… I love you so much.” She breathed him in greedily—even detergent scent felt like home.

“This is the last time.”

Lu Li released her and walked away without looking back. Halfway down the stairs, he lightly slapped his own cheek.