Chapter 2: Twenty-Seven

Cen Mingchan was losing her mind again.

That was Ran Meidong’s first thought the moment she saw the message.

Meidong, I ran into my eighteen-year-old self.

Ran Meidong had just finished washing up. Out of love for her best friend, she still made a point of playing along.

How’d you run into her?

The chat box kept flashing “the other party is typing.” Ran Meidong stared at it and swore silently that if Mingchan dared say “in a dream,” she’d beat her senseless the next time they met.

In a game.

Great. Ran Meidong flopped onto her bed, finally graced with an answer.

The absurdity of that reply was on par with “in a dream.”

But she was used to Mingchan’s sporadic fits of madness by now. After a full day of work, she chose the strategic route: pacify and retreat.

Be a good girl and get some sleep, wifey. Work tomorrow.

On the other side of the screen, Cen Mingchan looked at the message and let out a helpless sigh.

Goodnight, wifey.

She hadn’t lied. She really had run into her eighteen-year-old self.

Right now, that self was sitting quietly in her friends list.

They’d not only added each other in-game—they’d swapped other contact info too, and agreed to queue up together tomorrow night.

Cen Mingchan knew how ridiculous this was. So ridiculous it felt like someone’s elaborate prank.

But when she saw the other girl’s profile picture, her screen name, her Qzone updates—she knew it wasn’t.

That was the avatar and the username she’d used at eighteen. Those were the angsty, meaningless posts she’d cranked out at eighteen, sometimes twenty-odd a day.

The latest one was complaining about the hellish evening self-study sessions at university.

She tapped open the comments. She couldn’t remember most of the names in there—probably old classmates or online friends.

At twenty-five, for certain reasons, she’d quit her job, changed every last contact method, and vanished. Apart from Ran Meidong, the friend closest to her, almost no one could find her anymore.

Naturally, that valuable Prosperous Era account of hers had been sold off too, converted to cash—she’d meant it as a final gift for Ran Meidong, the friend who’d stayed by her side for over a decade.

Thankfully, she’d crawled out of that dark stretch of her life.

Cen Mingchan felt a flicker of relief.

Lying in bed, she opened her chat history with herself. Only a few sparse lines.

She hadn’t talked much with the girl on the other side.

Because she still couldn’t quite believe the person beyond the screen really was her eighteen-year-old self.

It was so absurd it felt like a hallucination.

The next day, Cen Mingchan didn’t reach out first. Work kept her so busy her feet barely touched the ground.

By the time she finally got a hot meal in, only half an hour remained before her afternoon shift—not even enough time to finish eating and sneak in a nap.

I’m quitting tomorrow.

She said it in her head for the nth time.

Then, that afternoon, a last-minute notice for a department dinner threw her plans into disarray.

She had no choice but to open the chat.

Sweetheart, I’ve got a company dinner tonight. Can’t make our ranked match.

The reply came almost instantly.

No worries, sis. We can do it tomorrow just the same.

Cen Mingchan didn’t reply. She threw herself back into work.

By nine that night, at the second venue—a KTV—she got another message.

Has sis gone home yet?

By then she was a little tipsy. Fuzzily, she thought: So one day I’d end up being cared about by myself.

She couldn’t help but laugh under her breath as she typed back.

Still at the second stop. Won’t be able to leave for a while.

Cen Mingchan leaned against the sofa. For some reason, she added another line.

Had a bit too much to drink.

Sis, you drank? How are you getting home?

Taxi.

The other side thought for a moment.

Sis, once you’re in the cab, could you call me? I’ll keep you company.

Her answer was short.

Okay.

She couldn’t help wondering: if she got into a car accident on the way home, and her other self called the police—would any officer actually show up?

Probably not, she thought.

After all, nine whole years stretched between them.

She didn’t contact the girl as promised. Instead, it was her eighteen-year-old self who eagerly checked in again half an hour later.

Sis, are you heading back yet?

Cen Mingchan was sitting in the taxi now. Her phone read 9:37.

She chose to lie.

Just got in the cab.

The reply came with an adorable cat sticker.

Then is it okay if I call you, sis?

Cen Mingchan didn’t text back. She simply called.

The line connected, and a voice came through—faintly familiar yet strange, still sweet and lovely.

“Hey, sis.”

“Yeah.” Cen Mingchan made a sound of acknowledgment. “A little drunk.”

The other girl was impossibly well-behaved. “Sis, close your eyes and rest a bit. I won’t disturb you.”

“Okay.” Cen Mingchan shut her eyes—and heard the sounds drifting from the other end.

“Mingchan, what time are you going to sleep tonight?”

Cen Mingchan recognized it: her college roommate Shen Huan. Her closest friend during those years.

After graduation, she’d gone back to her hometown in a third-tier city, while Shen Huan headed to S City. Eventually, they’d lost touch completely.

Not just Shen Huan—she’d lost contact with basically all her college classmates after graduating.

The Mingchan on the other end seemed worried about disturbing her and lowered her voice. “Huanhuan, I’ll sleep soon. You go ahead. I’m going to the balcony to take this call.”

At the word balcony, Cen Mingchan couldn’t help cutting in. “Don’t go to the balcony—the mosquitoes will bite you out there.”

She remembered: the dorm balcony had been open-air, meant for hanging laundry, separated from the room by a glass door.

Back when she’d first arrived at school, she’d once spent ages on a call out there. Only when she got back to bed did she discover the welts scattered all over her body.

“Sis, how do you know our balcony has mosquitoes?”

Before Cen Mingchan could think up an answer, her eighteen-year-old self had already solved the mystery on her own. “Was your college balcony open-air too, sis? Let me tell you, it’s the worst—there’s always a ton of mosquitoes out there biting me.”

That last line came out sweet and soft, a little whiny, like she was acting cute.

Cen Mingchan kept her eyes closed and chuckled again.

She was more and more certain: the girl on the other end of the line was her eighteen-year-old self.

What had eighteen-year-old Cen Mingchan been like?

At that age she’d just entered university. Away from her parents’ grip, she’d cut completely loose.

She’d gotten hooked on gaming, and she’d started dating online—or rather, her circumstances only suited online romance.

She had a lovely voice, a cheerful personality, and solid game skills. Companions came easily; so did in-game partners.

She had no expectations for real-life intimacy—found it off-putting, even.

All she needed was a tool: a person who could satisfy her enormous emotional needs.

That person could be any Tom, Dick, or Harry she happened to take a liking to.

They’d be swapped out soon enough anyway.

Once she picked a target, she’d do her best to show her good side. Usually, she never failed.

Cen Mingchan knew the reason her eighteen-year-old self was being so thoughtful, so attentive, so eager on the phone right now.

She was the newest target her other self had chosen to pursue.