Chapter 21: ERROR
After finishing the tutoring session with Xu Xiangyang, it was already afternoon.
The planned four-hour lesson had stretched on because the little boy Xu Xiangyang had sparked an interest in learning, peppering him with questions; Lin Zhiyi had turned it into play while teaching, adding a free half-hour before calling it.
By then, the day’s peak heat had passed, and Shen Qinghe still hadn’t returned home; as he left, it was Li Yizhi who saw him out.
“No need to walk me—you head back.”
Seeing the girl in just a thin nightgown insisting on following him further, Lin Zhiyi gently dissuaded her.
“Know the way?
Loop that way out—bus stop’s down there.”
She stood at the mansion’s entrance, extending a slender jade finger to point out the villa complex’s winding paths, lest he, a first-timer, get lost and wander out.
But Lin Zhiyi’s sense of direction was sharp; he remembered the route crystal clear.
“Don’t forget our deal.”
She held up one finger, expression impish.
Li Yizhi reiterated: absolutely no telling Shen Qinghe about her hiring him for lessons.
Lin Zhiyi solemnly assured her he’d keep mum, inwardly griping: first time seeing a kid sneak tutoring behind a parent’s back—odds felt lower than a stranger suddenly handing him 200 bucks.
But no sooner had he bid this odd girl farewell than another low-probability event smacked him.
Fresh out the complex, descending a massive slope, a young girl approached uphill in a blue jacket and white miniskirt, calves fair and slim, pristine white sneakers spotless.
Lin Zhiyi walked into the light, squinting slightly.
She came up as he went down.
The girl held a white parasol, veiling her upper half in his view.
As they neared, Lin Zhiyi moved to sidestep—only for the girl to call his name in a calm tone.
“Lin Zhiyi.”
He looked; she lifted the umbrella, revealing delicate features and serene, beautiful eyes beneath the brim.
A breeze grazed his neck, chill raising gooseflesh.
For an instant, Lin Zhiyi thought: the world’s most stunning girl.
“Class monitor?
Fancy running into you here—small world.”
He recovered, masking his flutter with feigned surprise.
“Yeah—what brings you here?”
“Tutoring gig.
You?”
“I live nearby.”
She gestured vaguely that way with a finger.
Standalone villas, nestled in hills and woods.
Her living here didn’t shock him; what did was Cheng Xiran walking—no ride waiting.
“Ah, got it.”
He said; a brief silence fell between them.
She suddenly asked, curious:
“What grade’s the kid?”
“Elementary.
Thought it’d be middle school—forgot to clarify.”
Standing there chatting, the sun beat down; Lin Zhiyi squinted.
Cheng Xiran stepped closer, raising the parasol over them both.
The glare eased; faint white rose scent tickled his nose.
Lin Zhiyi felt an urge to bolt.
Lately, his seventeen-year-old self was winning out—entering his bold phase.
“Does he have a sister?”
She paused, then asked.
“Yeah.”
At his reply, Lin Zhiyi sensed Cheng Xiran go still for a solid ten seconds.
He caught the oddity:
“Class monitor—you know them?”
She nodded.
“His sister’s a friend.”
Really—your friend hired me for lessons.
But he kept it zipped.
Though Li Yizhi had only stressed no telling Shen Qinghe, not Cheng Xiran—he wasn’t one to blab.
“Oh, what a coincidence…
Gotta run—see you at school.”
He ducked from the umbrella, striding off hastily; after one step, a call trailed him.
“Lin Zhiyi.”
He halted, turning slowly; the girl’s eyes regarded him steadily.
“Wanna come up?
No one’s home now.”
His gaze stilled.
“…Nah, class monitor—got stuff later.”
Cheng Xiran’s face didn’t shift; she nodded.
“School then.”
She turned, departing; her graceful back receded.
Lin Zhiyi turned too, downhill.
Why refuse? He pondered en route.
She’d invited him outright—up to her place for chats, deeper bonds, growing intimacy.
Maybe peek her room; if lucky, a spot of flirtation.
Perhaps… ’cause he no longer liked Cheng Xiran.
Better not engage, lest she misunderstand.
“You really don’t like her anymore?
Then why join her club?”
The seventeen-year-old griped.
“To dodge Old Ma.”
The adult answered.
Right—he didn’t like Cheng Xiran anymore; club was just teacher appeasement.
At that, he halted abruptly.
Wind tousled his hair; scorching summer, yet bone-deep chill gripped him.
A thought bubbled up, then vanished.
He frowned, instinct nagging something off—but the wisp slipped away.
Clinging to that vague unease, he zoned out the whole way.
*
Click of the lock.
Lin Yingyuan swung the door open, calling “I’m home!”
Kicked off shoes, dashed to the bathroom hollering “Shower time!”
The little rascal was sweaty too.
Lin Zhiyi sat on the sofa, spacing out.
Lin Yingyuan emerged from her shower; he still sat there like a statue.
Toweling her hair, she eyed her wooden brother curiously.
“You okay?”
“Yingyuan.”
He glanced at her blankly.
“What?”
“Ever meet someone… everyone likes, but you don’t?”
Lin Yingyuan keenly sensed his off mood, studying his face before replying:
“Nope—who’d you fall out of like for?
Spill.”
“…”
Lin Zhiyi went quiet.
Seeing him clam up, the little imp continued:
“But normal, right?
Liking’s subjective—can’t always explain to others; you just know inside.
You know—that’s enough; screw what they think.”
Yeah—as long as you know…
But I don’t?
Right—why can’t I like Cheng Xiran?
What’s unlikable?
Why’s my subconscious dead-set against it?
Prime rebirth chance: back, still crushing on past-life white moonlight—pursue her, mend regret.
Sounds like a great tale.
Even sans success, trying brings closure, no?
Why the deep-seated resistance?
He furrowed his brow, fine sweat beading his forehead.
He just felt… not himself.
Suddenly, the taut string in his head snapped.
Some things you never question; once you do, their sense unravels—deeper scrutiny, more absurd.
He’d chalked it as future self mocking boyhood crush.
But no—gradually, he saw: denying feelings for Cheng Xiran bordered on obsession.
Like… a forcibly implanted notion in his mind.
“You can’t like Cheng Xiran.”
A girl’s voice echoed dreamlike, hazy yet sharp.
Whose?
He jolted awake, rising to splash his face in the bathroom.
Bracing the sink, he stared into the mirror: sharp-featured youth stared back, water trailing his cheeks.
So weird.
Post-rebirth, something felt altered.
Dazed, through the glass, he glimpsed not himself—but a marionette, jerked along preset strings toward fated end.