It had been quite a while since he had been with her, including the period before her cycle, it had been almost half a month. Occasionally, like today, they would meet in the elevator. The proud little peacock wouldn’t look back, at most raising her eyebrows at him in a teasing or challenging way through the mirror on the opposite side, looking quite provocative.

This time, she had even given out her contact information. Zhou Tingzhao’s indescribable emotions all transformed into bedroom tactics, used repeatedly on her.

He held Sang Ru in his arms until late in the night. She would sometimes pass out from his ministrations and then wake up again. Perhaps truly not clearheaded, she said some things he didn’t quite understand.

She looked too tired to open her eyes. Satisfied, Zhou Tingzhao finally drew her into his embrace, and they fell into deep sleep together.

This sleep seemed to last only a moment, yet also felt like a long time.

When he opened his eyes again, a dizziness worse than a hangover surged up. Zhou Tingzhao closed his eyes to recover for a while. Once the dizziness had mostly subsided, he finally had the energy to notice the difference in his surroundings.

Before him was an extremely familiar desk, neatly stacked with various test papers. On the upper shelf were extracurricular books, with “The Wealth of Nations” marked with a bookmark, placed to the side.

This was a book he had read in high school…

After being stunned for quite a while, he realized his hand had been pressing down on several sheets of white paper. Picking them up to look, the handwriting was familiar—it was his own.

Only a few lines were written, an unfinished letter.

“Sang Ru:

Have you ever thought about what the universe is like at sixteen?

The universe’s existence spans billions of years. In its long life cycle, sixteen is just a small branch. And regardless of what it was like then, at this moment, no one would deny its magnificence.

You are the same.”

There was no continuation after this.

The letter, mistakenly thought to be a love letter, was now spread out before him again. Zhou Tingzhao’s heart trembled slightly as he folded the paper and tucked it into a page of the book.

Everything looked both strange and familiar. Even Zhou Tingzhao was momentarily stunned by the unexpectedness. Countless thoughts raced through his mind, ultimately circling between two options.

Was this a dream, or had he truly returned to ten years ago…

Suddenly, his head experienced another bout of dizziness. Some more astonishing, fragmented memories surfaced.

Zhou Tingzhao fell deeper into a quandary of self-questioning—these things had never happened before.

If it was a dream, he could touch everything so vividly. If he had truly returned to being seventeen, his memories didn’t quite match the original.

Those additional scenes that appeared later, about her, were all different from before.

Zhou Tingzhao pondered deeply for a long time but couldn’t come up with an answer. He simply got up, opened the door, and left the room.

He hadn’t taken many steps when someone called out to him: “Need something?”

It was his mother, still with the appearance of ten years ago.

…

His speech was slightly hesitant: “No… I’m going for a run.”

Jin Qing looked outside the window, slightly surprised: “This late?”

“I’ll be back soon,” Zhou Tingzhao calmed his emotions, “Go to bed early, Mom…”

Teacher Jin smiled: “Go ahead, be careful. I’m just getting some water, then I’ll finish grading these papers and go to bed too.”

Zhou Tingzhao softly responded “Mm,” but remained standing, staring at his mother’s back for a long time before turning to leave.

The nighttime track field was his secret base, had been so since before. Whenever he had a problem he couldn’t solve, something troubling him, or simply wanted to feel the breeze, he would come here.

The red track encircled a vast grassy area. Zhou Tingzhao ran several laps as countless images flashed through his mind.

The scene of his conversation with his mother just now was familiar enough, certainly an event from high school, which seemed to support his conjecture about returning to ten years ago.

But amid many familiar passages, a variable had emerged. The only variable—

How could Sang Ru have formed so many connections with him at this time?

If everything had proceeded according to its trajectory, they should still be at the stage of “mutual dislike.” Yet in his newly emerged memories, there were so many scenes of intimate contact between them.

Holding hands, embracing, kissing, he had even released in her mouth, and nearly lost control and taken her completely…

Rather than returning to seventeen, Zhou Tingzhao suddenly felt this was more like an erotic dream formed from his obsession.

…

After wandering for a long time, he finally decided to go back first. Perhaps after sleeping and waking up, everything would be different again.

To reach the faculty dormitory, he needed to pass by the teaching building. Zhou Tingzhao was still sorting through his tangled thoughts when he suddenly heard someone calling him.

His eyesight wasn’t that poor, but following his later habit, he hadn’t worn glasses when going out. At this moment, however, he suddenly wished he was wearing them, to carefully check whether the night had deceived his eyes, making him think the person he had been thinking about all along was right before him.

Perhaps he had reached the deepest level of his obsession—who knew?

She waved to him. Without time to think, he approached.

It was her.

She asked for help, her tone quite pitiful and miserable. He wanted to laugh, somewhat—how could she get locked in the teaching building? It was utterly foolish.

But he couldn’t laugh at all.

His actions were not governed by rationality. Even not knowing whether this was a dream or reality, he still unhesitatingly climbed up to her, slipped and fell in the second-floor corridor, and without pausing to recover, quickly got up to find her on the third floor.

He wanted to get her out; she was scared.

His mind was full of such thoughts.

She collided into his embrace, then checked his injuries with a face full of anxiety and concern. Later, she even proactively embraced him. He felt his heart beating so fast it might burst out of his chest.

There was moisture on his shoulder; she was crying. He became flustered, gently and slowly patting her back to comfort her, until she realized something was wrong.

Zhou Tingzhao, who was often praised for his thoroughness and meticulousness, turned out to have a day when he would be so foolish. He only realized upon hearing her question that with so many options available, he had chosen the stupidest approach that would trap himself in the same predicament.

Then they returned to the classroom.

Zhou Tingzhao hesitated to sit down. After all, they had become deskmates—a change outside his memory. Moreover, at this age, he had never been so close to her.

Her usual cleverness seemed to have disappeared somewhere, as she thought he was cold. Before he could say it wasn’t so, she had already wrapped him in her jacket.

The young girl’s embrace was filled with the fragrance of youth. Although the twenty-seven-year-old Zhou Tingzhao had long since stopped mentioning dreams, at this moment he had such a thought:

If dreams were like this, perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad not to wake up.