On the first day after the National Day holiday in 2019, Bai Yang returned to school for the semester’s first monthly exam.

As usual, the first subject was Chinese.

The preparation bell rang, and the proctor entered the classroom with the test papers, standing at the podium to open them.

“We’re about to begin the exam. Please don’t chat or look around. If you brought phones, please place them on the podium.”

Bai Yang sat in his seat, holding a black gel pen. He slowly pushed the cap up with his thumb, then let it fall back down. Though in the exam room, his mind was elsewhere.

He was thinking about that time capsule.

Would the plan succeed?

Would BG4MSR find the time capsule?

The proctor walked down the aisle distributing papers and placing the Chinese test and answer sheet on Bai Yang’s desk. Her slender yet strong fingers pressed lightly on the paper’s edge to prevent it from being blown away, then moved on to the next student. Bai Yang stared blankly, noticing white chalk dust on the teacher’s fingertips and the faint smell of ink from the papers.

Students who received their papers began reading the questions, except for Bai Yang who remained lost in thought.

After finishing distribution, the teacher stepped onto the podium and cleared her throat as the class bell rang:

“Students, you may begin!”

At these words, the rustle of turning pages filled the exam room. Bai Yang’s wandering thoughts returned to his body. He instinctively flipped his pen over and began reading the questions.

But the black characters on the paper hit his retina and flew out the top of his head—he couldn’t grasp them no matter how he tried. Bai Yang thought: in this state, won’t I fail the exam? He tried forcing himself to concentrate, reading the test header several times, but only remembered the phrases “Nanjing City,” “Grade 12,” and “Learning Assessment.”

Were there other flaws in his plan?

Would the time capsule face interference?

These questions kept popping up in his mind uncontrollably, like a game of whack-a-mole—press down one, another pops up.

Yesterday afternoon he had Sister Yan help hide the capsule in Crescent Lake—BG4MSR had said Crescent Lake Park remained well-preserved, its landscape undamaged on a large scale, so the probability of a stainless steel capsule surviving twenty years hidden in the lake should be quite high.

If this attempt failed too, he truly had no other options.

For an ordinary high school student like Bai Yang, even the most perfect plan could only go this far.

Bai Yang turned to look out the window. A row of pigeons perched on the distant teaching building’s roof. The sky was azure blue without a cloud. At this moment, what was that girl doing?

—That girl was running.

Ban Xia had never run so fast before. The ground seemed to burn her feet—her toes barely touched before springing up again. After breakfast, she sprinted straight to Crescent Lake without even changing clothes, still in her white nightgown. Since Crescent Lake was too far and it was unsafe to leave the residential area at night, Ban Xia couldn’t come yesterday evening. She could only set out early the next morning.

The girl stopped breathlessly in front of the Night Shanghai Hotel Banquet Hall ruins, bending over to wipe sweat and pick grass and leaves from her hair and clothes.

Where was that capsule?

Ban Xia dropped her backpack, took off her shoes, and went into the lake. She hadn’t expected BG4MXH to hide the time capsule here, under the Night Shanghai Hotel Banquet Hall ruins. This surprised her somewhat, as she was very familiar with this spot—she often dug for lotus roots and water chestnuts here.

The pillar.

Third pillar from the inside out!

The girl bent her knees, her calves and knees submerged in lake water, slowly feeling her way forward.

In recent years, Crescent Lake’s water has been gradually drying up. Today’s lake was certainly shallower than twenty years ago. Ban Xia estimated that when BG4MXH buried the time capsule, the water under the banquet hall platform would have reached the thigh, but now it only came up to below the knee.

Shallow water was good.

Shallow water means more turtles and no shortage of food…

Pah.

Shallow water makes it easier to find the capsule.

Both of Ban Xia’s hands were buried in the mud, digging forward bit by bit, but she had some doubts.

The waters around the banquet hall ruins weren’t unfamiliar to her. This area had many lotus flowers and seed pods—Ban Xia often foraged here, even having her own designated entry point on the shore.

But having come so many times, why had she never discovered the time capsule?

After feeling around the designated pillar thoroughly, digging deep down without finding the time capsule, the girl moved to other pillars, searching one by one, crawling under the platform until she grew tired, her back and waist aching. She emerged from the other side of the platform, straightened up, and stretched her joints with her hands on her hips.

The girl brushed aside the hair near her ear, wiped the sweat from her cheeks, and gazed at the lake surface before her.

Why was this happening?

“The sunset glow flies with lonely ducks in fellowship, autumn waters merge with the long sky in one color.”

“Fishing boats sing in the evening, echoes reaching Pengli’s shores; wild geese startle at the cold, their calls breaking off at Hengyang’s banks.”

The classical Chinese section was testing “Preface to the Prince of Teng’s Pavilion” again.

Bai Yang picked up his pen without thinking and then forgot the character.

Damn.

How do you write the “main” character in “Qiong ti mian yu zhong tian”?

The exam room was silent except for occasional coughs and rustling papers. The Chinese test had been going for ninety minutes out of two and a half hours. By now most students had finished the basic questions and were starting to tackle the essay.

This exam’s essay topic was “The Time That Accidentally Fell Asleep.”

Bai Yang frowned.

He struggled with essays. These prompted compositions always made him furrow his brow.

“On the path of growth, perhaps you occasionally take a nap and miss many beautiful things. What’s more disappointing is when you didn’t mean to sleep—you were just pretending, or only meant to rest your eyes for a moment, yet truly fell asleep…”

Bai Yang silently read the essay prompt. The scratching of pens from students writing furiously in front and behind made him nervous. In an exam, it’s not the passing of time that’s scary—it’s others writing quickly.

But with essays, the more anxious you get, the harder it is to produce anything, like constipation.

When would he be able to have ideas flowing like a bursting dam, like his classmates?

Bai Yang took a deep breath to calm down. He unconsciously drew an oval on his scratch paper, his pen tip continuously tracing over the existing lines. The more he stared at it, the more it looked like a time capsule.

The time capsule was round.

—Yes, the time capsule was round.

Ban Xia stood in the water, pondering.

It was a capsule, should be a round cylindrical shape.

The girl had been searching the lake for two hours, checking under every pillar of the restaurant’s foundation, digging up enough mud to build the Tower of Babel with enough left over for the Hoover Dam, yet still found nothing.

She had found plenty of garbage—empty cans, broken glass bottles, large pebbles, everything except the time capsule. Sometimes Ban Xia thought she’d found it—something round, hard, smooth-surfaced—but pulling it up revealed a skull someone had thrown to the lake bottom.

Who just tosses skulls around?

After all these years the owner hadn’t come to claim it.

How carefree.

She stood in knee-deep water covered in spots of water and mud, her white dress making her look like a black-backed egret that had landed here, looking left and right.

Had this plan failed too?

The sun grew increasingly fierce. Ban Xia had left in such a hurry she hadn’t brought a parasol. Stay out much longer and she’d get heatstroke and dehydration.

She decided to go ashore first to rest and rehydrate.

Take it slow, she’d find it. There was still time.

Ban Xia comforted herself.

“After a whole night of rain, early morning brings good weather.”

The girl hummed softly as she waded toward shore step by step.

Walking and thinking—twenty years ago the time capsule was hidden under the restaurant’s foundation. It had been there for twenty years. If no one else had taken it, why couldn’t she find it?

She often came here to gather lotus roots, seed pods, and water chestnuts. If the time capsule existed, she should have discovered it long ago…

Ban Xia pushed aside the shore weeds, pulling one foot from the mud underwater to step on land.

Had she ever seen that thing?

She planted one foot on shore, then pulled her other foot out with effort.

A round, rolling, blackish capsule?

“Dreamed of you again last night, we played happily together…”

The girl suddenly froze.

“Played happily together…”

“Played…”

A round, rolling, blackish capsule!

That was the time capsule!

She had found it.

Lightning seemed to strike through the girl’s mind, then her whole body began trembling.

She had seen it before, she had seen it before! Just last time while gathering lotus roots, Ban Xia had dug up a mud-covered cylinder from the lake bottom, but not knowing what it was at the time, she had tossed it onto the shallow shore—no, no, she was certain that wasn’t her first encounter with the time capsule. Over many past years, Ban Xia had passed by Crescent Lake hundreds and thousands of times, gone into the water for lotus roots hundreds and thousands of times, her hands searching in the mud had touched the capsule hundreds and thousands of times.

Long before Ban Xia knew BG4MXH, that time capsule had been waiting for her.

Hundreds and thousands of near misses, all for one final encounter.

“Ten minutes remaining in the exam,” the proctor looked up at the wall clock and reminded everyone. “Those who haven’t finished should hurry up.”

Bai Yang buried himself in writing the essay.

What kind of weird essay topic was this?

The time that accidentally fell asleep?

Every Chinese exam, wringing out his brain to piece together eight hundred characters was as painful as constipation for Bai Yang. He practically counted each remaining blank space on the answer sheet one by one, wishing he could use an ellipsis to count as six characters.

“In conclusion, time is precious beyond measure for each of us. As the saying goes, why sleep long in life when death brings eternal rest? We must cherish every second of life…”

Heavens, what am I writing?

Bai Yang thought to himself.

Bai’s Essay Technique Number One! Even if what you write is complete rubbish, you must elevate the essay’s theme.

Bai Yang reviewed his writing.

Not elevated enough.

This still isn’t elevated enough, it needs to go higher!

“Looking at the outstanding figures throughout history, today is what matters. In today’s world, striving hard is the main theme. As contemporary youth, we absolutely cannot sleep in—we must work tirelessly for the great rejuvenation of the Chinese nation!”

Bai’s Essay Technique Number Two! No matter what nonsense you write, you must end with “work tirelessly for the great rejuvenation of the Chinese nation!” For the sake of this sentence, the grading teacher will give you two extra points.

The bell rang.

Exam over.

Bai Yang let out a long breath, capped his pen, and waited quietly for the teacher to collect the test papers and answer sheets.

He stared at the writing on his paper, suddenly feeling a slight stirring in his heart. In all these years of Chinese exams, he had never felt like this before—wanting to write more after finishing the essay.

What did he want to write?

He wanted to write about just how powerful time’s force was, about what could resist the flow of time and years’ erosion. Like hiding a capsule at the bottom of a lake, letting this fragile paper boat drift with the currents in time’s endless river, enduring hardships, to finally dock accurately in someone’s hands—

On the cracked mudflat, the girl found the cylinder she had discarded.

It still lay quietly in place, wrapped in layers of mud-soaked plastic. Ban Xia held it to her chest, using fingers, knife, and teeth to peel away the dried plastic layers one by one, finally revealing a rust-spotted metal capsule.

The girl’s hands began shaking so much she couldn’t grip the knife handle.

Ban Xia forced herself to calm down, using the small knife to slowly clear rust from the bolts.

After soaking in water for over twenty years, this capsule had completely rusted. Even stainless steel couldn’t withstand such long years and harsh environments. With great effort, Ban Xia finally removed the first bolt.

The capsule lid had eight bolts in total. Once she unscrewed them all, Ban Xia could open the lid.

The Time Slow Delivery sealed for exactly twenty-one years would see daylight again.

Though the bolts were ruined, thankfully the rubber seal still worked—no water had entered the capsule. The originally white rubber had turned brownish-yellow, crumbling at a touch. Ban Xia poured out everything inside: a bag of medicine, a small wooden photo frame, and a letter.

A slightly yellowed letter.

Ban Xia spread the letter on the grass. The writing was still clear.

“Dear Miss BG4MSR:

By the time you read this letter, I will be dead.”

He was dead.

Ban Xia knew he was dead.

“This is a letter from the deceased, crossing twenty long years to reach your hands. When I write this letter, you may not yet be born, and when you receive this letter, I will no longer be in this world.

What is a person’s world like? A Fuzimiao, Xinjiekou, Nanjing Aeronautics and Astronautics University Affiliated Middle School and Crescent Lake Park without people, a Nanjing without people—there must be no college entrance exams, no math test papers, and no ‘Small Problem Grinding.’

Also, I want to know how I died. If you received this letter, I hope you can tell me my cause of death, and others’ causes of death too, if you know them.”

I don’t know how you died.

Even if I knew, I might not tell you—

Absolutely won’t tell you how you died.

Absolutely won’t tell you how you died!

Absolutely…

Won’t tell you…

Why did you die?

Large tears fell on the letter. Ban Xia unconsciously touched her cheeks, only then realizing tears covered her face. When had she started crying?

Why did you die?

“Of course, if my cause of death is too tragic, I hope you’ll be considerate and not tell me too directly, to avoid causing me too much mental stress. Twenty years later I’ll not yet be forty—just thinking about the world losing such a young and promising figure makes me deeply regretful.”

Pah!

The girl broke into laughter through her tears.

Pah pah pah pah pah!

“Wishing you good health, never forgetting an umbrella when it rains, never biting into ginger when eating braised chicken with brown sauce, 73.”

Final signature:

“BG4MXH, communicating with you from twenty years ago at this moment.”

On the slightly yellowed letter’s back was a big smile.