"Because you..."
Being gazed upon by those peach-blossom eyes, Zhang Shutong felt even his breathing slow by half a beat.
Then, the girl suddenly tilted her head, puzzled as she completed the second half of her sentence:
"Because you said that everything must follow your command, and no matter what happens, I should stay hidden."
Her tone was so earnest, like a penguin that had arduously swum ashore, only to discover in confusion that a giant white bear was passing by.
"Or did I misunderstand?"
Zhang Shutong choked. He seemed to have actually said something like that, but who could have known you were this good at fighting?
He bit down on the soft flesh inside his mouth:
"At the time, it wasn't..."
But before he could finish, Zhang Shutong was surprised to discover that Lu Qinglian's perpetually expressionless face suddenly came alive a little—though truly just a little.
He saw her delicate lips curve slightly upward, forming a subtle arc that vanished in an instant.
When he looked again, the girl had already resumed her faint expression and turned to leave directly, as if the scene just now had been merely an illusion born of exhaustion.
Zhang Shutong watched her retreating figure. Even when walking, she kept her back perfectly straight, but not like ordinary girls who walk with their hands clasped behind their backs, taking the most carefree steps in the most youthful years of their lives.
Because girls who walk that way are usually wearing pretty little dresses and tight jeans, radiating upward vitality with every gesture.
But Lu Qinglian had none of these things. Zhang Shutong had only ever seen her wearing her school uniform or the green robe.
The impression she gave seemed to forever hover between these two.
But Zhang Shutong also recalled the strawberry-flavored milk, the cream-filled Oreo cookies, the fish swimming happily in the bucket—each scene piecing together to sketch the contours of an iceberg hidden beneath the sea's surface.
They soon reached the foot of the mountain.
The mountain rose majestically. Every few steps revealed withered trees, faint mist lingering around them. Zhang Shutong escorted Lu Qinglian to the mountain path entrance.
The snow at the entrance had yet to melt, reflecting silver cold light under the moonlight. The cold light shallowly illuminated the mountain path, which twisted and turned, its winding depths pitch black, making it impossible to see the road ahead.
In the night, it seemed like an entrance to another world.
All was silent. Zhang Shutong handed her his flashlight, but the girl shook her head in refusal.
So they said goodbye.
And parted ways.
...
He arrived home close to nine o'clock.
First, he reported to his close friends that he was safe.
He locked up his bicycle, examining the gray-white walls of the dormitory building—still the same as in his memory.
Zhang Shutong recognized houses. Others at most recognized beds, but he even had to familiarize himself with houses. Only this way would he know where he was when he opened his eyes each day.
Voice-activated lights were installed in the stairwell, lighting up with a cough. Zhang Shutong thought Gu Qiumian's father must have some romanticism in him—otherwise, why install warm yellow light bulbs?
The concrete stairway handrail had been freshly painted. The faint smell of iron and paint drilled into his nostrils. Zhang Shutong had originally found this smell annoying, but now he took a few extra sniffs. From a scientific perspective, it probably released some aromatic hydrocarbons—some people liked it, some hated it—but he felt this matter had no reason.
Rather, human memory is partially sealed by scent. You've long forgotten what happened where on what day of which month in which year, but one day you smell a certain scent, and it suddenly connects your nerves, so clearly.
The smell of home was somewhat cold.
He pushed open the door and turned on the light. Of course no one was inside. His parents were usually too busy to be home, certainly unable to imagine what had happened to their son, but Zhang Shutong was long accustomed to this.
He casually turned on the small color TV at home, holding the remote for a long time before finally aiming it at the receiver. The characters on screen immediately began jabbering their lines noisily. He didn't actually watch TV; he just felt the living room was a bit livelier.
His phone buzzed. Opening the group chat, he saw it was Ruoping. She'd sent a picture—a bowl on the dining table containing sweet porridge with red dates and white fungus. She said there was no other meaning, just showing off her mom's cooking to make them jealous.
Qingyi said he was reading in his room, but his dad was watching TV outside, and it was a famous terrible movie, making a terrible racket.
Du Kang's parents ran a restaurant, so he never lacked food. His dad had packed home a jar of fish porridge, along with stir-fried river snails and braised beef. Ruoping's attempt to show off her meal backfired, and she muted Du Kang.
Zhang Shutong also felt hungry watching this. He went to the kitchen to rummage around. His family's refrigerator always smelled refreshingly clean, never storing any leftovers, but Zhang Shutong wished there were some leftovers to eat. After searching for a long time, he finally found half a torn-open steamed bun in the cold light, then boiled water to cook an egg, adding a few drops of vinegar to the pot.
In his first year of middle school, he'd figured out a trick for how to make boiled eggs not have that chicken shit smell. He'd once been quite proud of this trick, but later discovered other classmates didn't eat boiled eggs at all—they ate fried eggs, scrambled eggs, and braised eggs made by their mothers.
Zhang Shutong knew nothing about those three methods. After all these years, he still ate plain boiled eggs—simple and convenient. His technique for boiling eggs had reached perfection.
The water hadn't boiled yet. He took this opportunity to return to his room to change clothes.
His room was quite small, with minimal furnishings—just a bed, a wardrobe, and a desk.
No particular style or color scheme to speak of. He didn't have the habit boys his age had of putting posters on walls. Rather, the color of his room was whatever color this week's bed sheets happened to be.
The house had heating. Just an undershirt was enough. His face, frozen cold, transmitted a faint burning sensation. Holding his toothbrush in his mouth and hugging his clothes, he went to the balcony.
In winter, you have to wring clothes out hard. By this time, the egg was about cooked. Lifting the pot lid, white steam rushed at his face, making him feel somewhat cheerful.
He swallowed the egg in a few bites, munching on the cold steamed bun as he came to the sofa. He actually quite liked the taste of cold steamed buns, eating while watching TV.
Actually, the habit of watching TV was long gone, but there was no computer at home, and current phone screens were so small—browsing information on that 3.5-inch piece of glass was simply self-torture.
Only then did he realize the TV was playing a cartoon—
A bespectacled kid crouched behind the sofa, lifting the bow-tie voice changer on his chest, sneaking around.
He could already guess the plot. Probably the elementary student originally called Kudo Shinichi went somewhere with his friends, encountered some danger, someone died, then some idiot jumped out to do the three-suspect routine.
Then the great detective had a flash of inspiration, and the truth came to light.
Clichéd, but Zhang Shutong watched with great interest.
Although he started watching from the middle and didn't understand this episode's ins and outs at all, that wasn't what he cared about. Rather, Zhang Shutong discovered he could suddenly understand this anime.
—Not that this work was so obscure and difficult that his younger self couldn't comprehend it, but staring at the TV screen at this moment gave him a strong sense of déjà vu.
Wasn't this situation just like his own?
One was drugged and knocked out by some organization in black, his body shrinking as he began getting involved in case after case to investigate the truth.
One was suddenly stabbed at a classmate's funeral, his body also shrinking in a sense—returning to eight years ago—similarly getting involved in case after case to find the culprit.
Edogawa Conan had three friends, two boys and one girl. On TV they were solving cases.
Zhang Shutong also had three close friends, two boys and one girl. Tonight they'd already finished solving their case.
This feeling was truly eerie—but Zhang Shutong was actually seeing documentary meaning in an animated show.
However, watching further, Zhang Shutong noticed the differences:
A cold-faced girl with tea-brown short hair pulled the boy aside by his ear. Among a group of children and idiots, the two whispered privately, speaking words beyond their age, maintaining tacit understanding while being incompatible with their peers.
This guy actually had a comrade-in-arms to weather the storm with.
Of course, childhood sweethearts, pretty girls and such weren't important... well, actually they were quite important too.
But most important was having someone to huddle together for warmth.
Huddling for warmth was so important—like how only cookies held together by cream filling could be called Oreos. Otherwise, it was just an ordinary chocolate cookie. Could you name a chocolate cookie brand in ten seconds?
Zhang Shutong couldn't anyway.
This showed that one lonely cookie could only spark with another lonely cookie when together. Before that, they were nothing—thrown on the ground and trampled into crumbs, they'd still be treated like dirt stuck to shoe soles.
The more Zhang Shutong thought about it, the more philosophical it seemed. He prepared to name this inference the Cookie Theory, and share it with the other cookie whenever he met one someday.
But in reality, it was impossible.
He felt he was quite like a chocolate cookie. He could meet cheese crackers, soda crackers, or butter cookies. Everyone could be the best of friends in the cookie army, but you could never become an Oreo... just like Ruoping, Qingyi, and Du Kang.
Being with his close friends, he wouldn't be lonely. They'd just fought side by side tonight. But could he tell them what had happened to him?
Perhaps it was the adrenaline wearing off on the way home. Now sinking into the sofa, with TV screen light and shadow reflecting on his face, the BGM playing, the protagonist speaking his lines and making a cool entrance—he could hear it was a mishearing of "there is only one truth"—but investigating the truth was never like playing house.
The man with the gun, the situation spiraling out of control—his heart still lingered with fear. Both poachers had ended up like that, so who was the real culprit? Would it be more dangerous in the future? No one could say.
Zhang Shutong didn't want to implicate the three of them. Since there was nothing to say, he could only bear it himself.
Zhang Shutong shook his head, feeling he was getting a bit obsessed. Why was he so fixated on being an Oreo?
Just then, Conan finished playing. He turned off the TV, and the living room returned to its cold and quiet appearance.
In the group chat, everyone was discussing Lu Qinglian. Probably at the time they'd only felt the girl could really fight, but after going home and collecting themselves, they realized that wasn't just ordinarily good at fighting, and became even more curious.
Qingyi had even looked up a bunch of information, saying the Green Snake Temple had existed since before Liberation, with a long history, and Lu Qinglian's grandmother had also been the temple keeper when she was young. After chatting for a while, the three of them belatedly began discussing another question—what had Lu Qinglian come for tonight?
Zhang Shutong had already lost interest in this question.
It reminded him of something else though. On the way escorting her back, the two had exchanged a few words. At the time, Lu Qinglian had suddenly spoken up, saying she had one last question to ask.
"I think I didn't return the history notes I borrowed from you last week. I need to use them when I get back."
But he had absolutely no recollection of this matter. After all, eight years had passed.
And it wasn't like borrowing her gloves to sweep snow—though he'd forgotten that too, at least when reminded, he could vaguely remember.
But he couldn't show that he didn't remember, so he could only nod and say I'll look for them when I get home tonight.
This incident told him a truth—
He'd thought his relationship with Lu Qinglian wasn't good enough to borrow notes, but since it had actually happened, it meant human memory wasn't necessarily reliable.
Since he'd returned, he shouldn't always interact with people based on past impressions, as that would only bind himself.
Today was December 5th, the first day after regression. Before sleeping, he'd gained a golden insight. Zhang Shutong said goodnight to everyone in the group and turned off the lights to sleep.
He slept, but the other three were still chatting enthusiastically.
Zhang Shutong: Good night
Du Kang: Going to sleep already?
Du Kang: Really asleep? You there?
Qingyi: You forgot he mutes his phone when sleeping
Ruoping: We'll see each other at school tomorrow anyway
Ruoping: @Qingyi So what do you think of my suggestion just now? Should we actively talk to Qinglian tomorrow?
Qingyi: Up to you
Ruoping: Then what should we say?
Qingyi: Exchange about studying. She's first place anyway, ask about a wrong problem, borrow some notes
Du Kang: I advise you two to give up early. I've already tried this method
Ruoping: Why?
Du Kang: She doesn't take notes
...
The mountain path was very difficult to traverse.
Pitch darkness surrounded her, not even a hand visible before one's face.
The road surface was icy, the mountain rocks steep, withered shrub branches crisscrossing. Yet the solitary figure walking the mountain path didn't watch her feet.
Her steps were light and quick, walking with practiced familiarity.
Tonight's night sky had no stars, only cold moonlight dripping down bit by bit, blocked entirely by cloud layers. Occasionally something leaked through, falling on that pale face, and at those times her eyes were like the only stars, shining with points of light in the darkness.
Only the girl's face consistently showed no expression.
The temperature grew lower and lower.
Reaching mid-mountain, she seemed to see lamplight from the courtyard in the distance—that was the temple called the Green Snake Temple.
At that moment, a black shadow suddenly darted out—
The shadow was quite short—it was a fox. The fox wasn't afraid of people either, coming to the girl's leg, gently rubbing its head against her robe, making whimpering sounds.
The fox's arrival was like a small pebble dropped into an ancient well, rippling the water's surface.
The mysterious and beautiful sixteen-year-old girl was like a descended fairy, crouching on the winter mountain path. The snow covering beneath her feet was solidified clouds. She gently stroked the top of the fox's head.
The fox only whimpered and cried.
In the past, there had been five of these fluffy creatures. They always frolicked in groups through the mountains and fields, liking to follow by the girl's legs, paw pads treading mountain paths, snouts sniffing the fragrance of plants and trees, carefree, as if nothing was ever frightening.
Now only one remained.
That fox's ear was torn, a piece ripped away. The dried blood at the wound soon rubbed onto the girl's robe.
"I'm sorry." After a long while, she finally said quietly.
The fox seemed to understand her meaning, whimpering as it ran away.
The girl stood up, waiting until the fox's figure disappeared from sight before continuing on her way.
The temple drew closer and closer. The moment the lantern hanging on the courtyard wall extinguished—
Finally, she pushed open the heavy courtyard gate.
The temple wasn't very large. From the courtyard gate to the temple entrance was merely dozens of steps.
She walked step by step, untying the ponytail bound at the back of her head. Countless black strands spilled out, and her aura changed accordingly.
Certain qualities unique to a young girl dissipated. Her posture hadn't changed—she still wore that robe—but in those short dozens of steps, it was as if she'd shed her entire disguise. Now with her long hair falling over her shoulders, she seemed like a mature woman.
All things seemed to submit to her arrival—
The howling night wind whispered around her body.
The wild weeds bowed their heads beneath her feet.
Even that faint moonlight completely extinguished.
She lightly tossed her long hair, revealing that face devoid of any emotional fluctuation. In the utter darkness, her eyes couldn't be seen clearly.
When she reached the temple entrance and pushed open the lacquer-peeled wooden door, weak candlelight illuminated her face. The already pitifully faint emotion in her eyes had also faded away, becoming as still as an ancient well, as if sealed in an old black-and-white photograph.
Lu Qinglian looked toward the altar before her.
Eight candle stands were lit on the altar, though half had already been extinguished, barely illuminating the divine statue enshrined above.
That statue was of a giant green snake sculpture, about two meters long, though only the camphor wood-carved snake body could be seen. Both head and tail were hidden in darkness.
"I'm back." Lu Qinglian said calmly toward the empty hall.
A woman's voice suddenly rang out from the side hall next to the statue:
"Where did you go tonight?"
That voice sounded like an old crone. Her voice was hoarse—when she spoke, it was like a blade scraping across glass, or a scorpion lightly shaking its tail stinger.
"I played with some children for a while."
Lu Qinglian's voice no longer had its usual clarity. Now it was as still as stagnant water, not even a trace of flow perceptible.
"What children?"
"Students from school."
"So are they children or friends?" That voice suddenly laughed, sharp and piercing, not concealing its mockery in the slightest. "Someone like you has friends?"
"Just children, not..."
"Lu Qinglian!" the old crone barked.
"...Yes."
"You really think of yourself as a student so quickly! Don't forget your duty!" The old crone's gloomy voice squeezed out bit by bit from her throat. "You. Are. The. Temple. Keeper!"
"Yes."
"...Your entire life! Apart from this mountain, apart from serving the god! Have no other thoughts! Don't do anything superfluous! Anything!"
"Yes."
The old crone had wanted to say more, but having stirred her anger, she began coughing heart-rendingly. When her breathing stabilized, her voice became low again, like a poisonous sting lurking in darkness.
Lu Qinglian merely lowered her gaze:
"You should rest."
The voice from the side hall finally disappeared.
Lu Qinglian relit the extinguished candle stands. The temple interior suddenly brightened, and the green snake's head and tail took form in the candlelight. The green snake had a flat head, gleaming with a dark golden luster in the firelight—
The entire snake body was carved from camphor wood, yet when it came to the snake's head, it was cast from brass. Over time, even the metal itself had faded somewhat.
The green snake's visage was fierce, its upper and lower jaws slightly opening and closing, revealing densely packed sharp fangs.
And on both sides of that flat snake head were two eyes inlaid with agate.
They say painting the dragon and dotting the eyes, but this applied equally to this green snake statue. Those two agate eyes made the green snake come vividly to life.
But if one observed carefully, the color of the two agates wasn't consistent—the right one was slightly dimmer.
Looking even closer, a thin layer of wax had been smeared over the snake's right eye.
Lu Qinglian picked off the solidified wax on the snake's eye with her fingernail, unsurprised.
Because she was the one who had smeared it on.
The wax fell away, bits of residue dropping onto the altar. Looking again at the snake statue's right eye, the agate had cracked.
The wax was to conceal the cracked snake eye.
But the reason the agate had cracked wasn't due to age and disrepair, nor was it an intentionally left defect from the beginning.
Rather, it was an accident that had suddenly occurred this afternoon while she was sweeping snow.
The green snake statue that had existed for over a hundred years—its right eye inlaid with agate—had cracked without any warning.
So she had gone out this afternoon to do something.
Only now returning.
Lu Qinglian stared at the cracked agate, standing before the altar for a long time.
She reached her hand into the lit candle stand, not even furrowing her brow. One finger was dyed light red. While the wax hadn't yet solidified, she faintly painted over the snake eye.
Her grandmother was always in the side hall and wouldn't come out. Even if she did, with dim old eyes, she couldn't make out the wax on the agate.
For now, only she herself knew about this matter.
Finally, Lu Qinglian took one more deep look at the green snake's right eye, then turned and left.
Night wind rushed through the temple gate. The candlelight before the altar flickered precariously.
A sentence her grandmother once said echoed in her mind.
At that time, her hair hadn't yet turned gray.
She had solemnly knelt before the divine statue, saying to her:
If one day the right eye of the Green Snake God cracks—
It means...
Someone has returned from the future.