Chapter 22: Open and Frank
Yin Xiran tapped her knee lightly with one finger.
Her eyes darted between Chen Dongyang and Jiang Yuxin, analyzing something unspoken.
Jiang Yuxin, silent until now, spoke up.
“The police ruled it a suicide,” she said, her gaze flicking vaguely toward Chen Dongyang.
“No signs of a struggle at the scene. The suicide note’s handwriting checked out. All evidence points to suicide.”
Chen Dongyang, initially confused, reacted instantly.
His face paled.
“Suicide isn’t that strange, is it?” Yin Xiran, sharp as ever, caught his reaction.
A glint flashed in her bright eyes.
“It’s tragic that a senior took her life over academic pressure, but it’s not unheard of. Classmate Chen, you look unwell.”
“I… I just…” Chen Dongyang faltered, his mind a tangle.
How could he explain without revealing the time loop secret in front of everyone?
“Just what?” Jiang Yuxin’s voice carried her usual cold mockery.
She seemed to relish his discomfort.
“Some people love hiding secrets, thinking they’re tragic heroes carrying the world’s weight. They don’t realize how childish and ridiculous they look to others.”
Her words were aimed squarely at Chen Dongyang.
The rooftop’s atmosphere froze.
Yin Qingle glanced from one to another, lost in the undercurrents of their exchange.
Chen Dongyang felt pinned by three invisible spotlights, nowhere to hide.
He knew Jiang Yuxin and Yin Xiran were waiting for him to explain.
“Alright,” Yin Xiran said suddenly, breaking the tension with a laugh.
She clapped her hands, stood up, and smiled openly.
“Since Jiang’s laid it out, there’s no point hiding. Cooperation requires sincerity, right?”
She glanced at Jiang Yuxin, then Chen Dongyang, took a deep breath, and spoke casually, as if sharing a hobby.
“My ability is reality manipulation. Specifically, I can control matter and energy within a certain range—a straightforward telekinetic power.”
Yin Qingle flinched at her sister’s sudden openness, whispering, “Xiran!”
But Yin Xiran just gave her a reassuring look.
“My sister’s ability…” Yin Xiran continued, her tone softening with a trace of pity.
“She can convert any energy into crimson energy and manipulate it. It’s just… not very stable.”
She squeezed Yin Qingle’s hand, calming her.
Though anxious, Yin Qingle trusted her sister completely and added softly, “I… I’ll try my best to control it.”
Yin Xiran’s openness was a challenge, tossing the choice to Jiang Yuxin and Chen Dongyang.
Jiang Yuxin seemed unfazed, glancing at Yin Xiran with mild approval, as if to say, ‘Not bad.’
“Mind control,” she said tersely, her godlike arrogance needing no elaboration.
Three gazes—six eyes—locked onto Chen Dongyang.
His throat felt dry.
He realized that, despite their individual motives, they’d shown sincerity.
He, meanwhile, was still hesitating.
He recalled the nineteen cold time loops, Jiang Yuxin’s repeated falls, the lingering ache in his right arm.
He knew he could never return to a normal life.
“My ability…” Chen Dongyang took a deep breath, summoning all his strength.
“It’s time travel.”
The words froze the air.
Even Jiang Yuxin’s calm demeanor and Yin Xiran’s sharp wit faltered, their pupils narrowing at the mention of time-based powers—an extreme, unconventional ability.
“My abilities are split into two: active and passive,” Chen Dongyang said, voice hoarse.
“Active rewind, like last night, lets me turn back time a few seconds. You might think it’s just fast reflexes, but it comes with crippling headaches. And passive rewind…”
He paused, his gaze falling on Jiang Yuxin’s face.
“Two days ago, I triggered nineteen passive rewinds. Each time, time reset by twenty minutes.”
He met Jiang Yuxin’s unreadable eyes and spoke deliberately.
“Until I rushed to the rooftop and stopped you. In every cycle before that, you fell from the rooftop and died by suicide.”
The words detonated like a bomb.
Yin Qingle covered her mouth, eyes wide with disbelief.
Yin Xiran’s smile vanished, her face deadly serious for the first time.
Jiang Yuxin stared at him, expressionless.
“In other words,” Yin Xiran said, her logic cutting through the shock, “in the original timeline, the first suicide at our school wasn’t this morning’s senior… but you, Jiang?”
The inference chilled everyone present.
“Classmate Chen,” Yin Xiran’s eyes sharpened, locking onto him.
“During those loops, did you notice anything unusual? Sounds, sights? Or… what did Jiang look like when she died?”
“What did she look like?” Chen Dongyang blinked, his voice dry as he recalled the haunting scene.
“Peaceful, like she was asleep. Arms outstretched, long hair spread on the ground, legs straight, posture… orderly, almost harmonious. No pain on her face.”
His description made Yin Qingle hug her arms, goosebumps rising.
The image alone was unnervingly strange.
Yin Xiran fell silent, then made an unexpected move.
She pulled out her phone, opened her gallery, and showed them a photo.
It was blurry, taken from a high angle, possibly a sneaky shot or clipped from news.
The image showed cold concrete beneath the old teaching building.
A girl in a school uniform lay there, surrounded by yellow police tape.
Her face was unclear, but her posture—strangely harmonious, like a sleeping newborn—matched Chen Dongyang’s description exactly.
Yin Xiran looked up at Chen Dongyang, whose face had gone ashen, and asked slowly, “Is that her?”