Chapter 22: When in a Bad Mood, Go Eat Meat
Lin Zhiyi had once lost his memory.
It wasn’t total amnesia—not a complete blackout of some period—but he vaguely recalled the broad strokes of what happened, only the details escaped him no matter how he tried, like his life had turned into a fill-in-the-blank exercise.
He’d gone out with parentheses, dined with ellipses; the people in his memories had no faces, no voices, impossible to tell if they smiled or wept.
This memory loss had struck after Xia Mingli’s death.
Xia Mingli was his best friend from his previous life; they’d linked arms singing after school, shared dreams, penned New Year’s wishes hung high in temple eaves, giggled in winter nights wrapped in the same scarf.
But she died.
After her death, a long stretch of memories came back fogged; he couldn’t recall why she’d died.
Only that many things happened—many, many things.
He’d seen a doctor; the doc said it was normal—under extreme grief, the brain opts to forget bits to spare the body further harm, a protective mechanism.
The doctor urged him to stop dwelling, to rest well.
“People don’t need to remember everything—less you know, happier you are.”
The young doctor sounded like an enlightened monk, sighing sagely.
But Lin Zhiyi had forgotten much, yet felt no joy.
He opened his eyes, finding himself somehow asleep on the sofa.
Outside, dusk neared; the room empty save him, dimming light deepening the solitude.
“You’re up?”
That voice… he bolted upright, spotting a platinum-longhaired girl in the living room.
His pupils dilated in shock!
He leaped from the sofa, lunging at her, staring soul-lost at the gentle-eyed girl, smiling serenely.
“Xia…”
He reached to grasp her, hold her from vanishing—but his hand passed through, stumbling him forward.
An illusion.
His heart plunged into an icy abyss.
Of course… impossible…
She’d been dead for years; then he realized he was still dreaming—the next instant, he truly awoke.
He opened his eyes again: pitch black, blackout curtains drawn tight, vision swallowed whole.
…Was rebirth just a dream?
Was he still alone, everyone he’d known meeting tragic ends, irreversible; rebirth mere fancy of him rotting in a dark room?
“Yingyuan?”
He called.
No answer.
His heart plummeted, chest seizing in agony, nearly retching.
“Click.”
The light flicked on.
His sister gazed at him, eyes crinkling, finger on the switch.
“Awake?”
She approached, chatting as she came, voice crisp and sure:
“Pulled the curtains so you’d sleep sound—it’s barely seven.
Dinner cravings?”
Lin Zhiyi stared blankly, mood whiplashed like a rollercoaster—but thank god, this ride hauled him from hell back to heaven.
“Bro looks dopey today.”
She frowned, puzzled, unable to stomach his vacant stare, reaching to muss his hair.
Her palm so warm, touch real—good, not a dream.
“Wanna hit downstairs for a steaming bowl of beef noodles?
C’mon—I’ll have the boss load extra meat for you.”
She suggested.
At the entryway, bending for shoes, the girl—already geared and beaming—teased from ahead:
“Bro, check your face right now—total goof.”
“I… not quite awake.”
“This reminds me of something funny—lemme tell ya.”
Her tone brightened suddenly.
“Last night, half-asleep, it hit me: a life wisdom nugget—‘whoa, spot-on, profound; gotta jot it.’
Checked this morning—what’d I write, guess?”
She cracked up mid-sentence.
“What?”
Lin Zhiyi, shoes on, rose confused.
Lin Yingyuan unlocked her phone, pulled notes, stifling giggles to read:
“Bigger the banana, bigger the peel.”
“Uh…… spot-on, profound.”
Lin Zhiyi deadpanned cosmic exasperation.
“Hahahahaha!”
The girl slapped at him, doubling over in laughter.
One spoonful vinegar, one sesame oil, dash chili oil—Lin Zhiyi’s go-to: tangy-numbing broth soaking chewy noodles, texture divine.
Slurping a huge mouthful, steam curling in, warmth flooded his gut like a surge through his veins.
Eat full, gain power—so when down, go eat meat.
He hoovered noodles, inadvertently locking eyes with Lin Yingyuan—finding her chopsticks paused, watching him with amused interest.
“What’re you staring at.”
He mumbled, cheeks inexplicably heating.
She shook her head, grinning, dipping back to her bowl.
“Sweep time!”
Next morning, brisk dawn, sun spilling into the living room; Lin Yingyuan in loungewear gripped the mop, pumping tiny fists before him, hollering eagerly.
“Sure.”
Lin Zhiyi hadn’t deep-cleaned in ages; past-life solo life turned him complacent, clockwork maid for necessities.
He wasn’t filthy—tidy enough, just cluttered.
Messy but findable— wasn’t that organized in its way?
Lin Yingyuan stood in the living room, arms crossed, mulling gravely, mouth flapping nonstop, directing like a pro.
“Bro, my plan: start mopping from the far bedroom, along the hall to living room, end with bathroom—avoids re-dirtying wet spots.
You mop; I’ll pre-sweep other rooms, then wipe all surfaces and furniture.
Last, you tote trash downstairs.”
Lin Yingyuan’s knack for planning shone early—this trait surely fueled her future success.
Tasks divvied, the process hushed and smooth: faint footfalls, rhythmic mop swishes.
Done, she hit the sofa, plumping square pillows one by one.
Midway hiccup: Lin Zhiyi, mop in hand, passed her—drawing a sharp inhale.
She squatted, scrubbing a dining spot stain; posture tugged her loungewear shorts low, baring half her pert rear—glimpse of cleft, white cotton panties peeking.
.
“Mind your image, miss.”
He sighed helplessly.
“Hm?”
She looked up, sweat-damp bangs forehead-stuck, puzzled:
“I ugly?”
“Gorgeous—Ninghai’s top beauty; still, please cover your butt.”
She “oh”ed, hiking shorts, turning back to work, nonchalant:
“Whatever—you’ve seen it before.”
Lin Zhiyi choked.
“Cough—we agreed no mentioning that?”
“And I’m not on purpose—after, I knock for bathrooms now.
Okay okay—work work!”
Seeing the shorts snug over her heart-shaped rear, he nodded approval, moving on.
Lin Zhiyi mopped the final patch, straightening, surveying the spotless living room and tidied sofa, sweat beading his brow.
He glanced at his sister; Lin Yingyuan met his eyes just then.
“About done.”
He said.
“Mm.”
She nodded.
“Tie the trash bag—no need downstairs now; I’ll drop it morning outbound.”
“Cool.”
No chit-chat; each wrapped their finals.
“So happy!”
All squared away, Lin Yingyuan beamed utmost satisfaction; her gaze swept the home, thrilled at every inch, eyes aglow, humming tunelessly.
Lin Zhiyi grinned too—rediscovering that long-lost… home feel.
Seeing her glee, he couldn’t help praising:
“Nice—organized like clockwork.
Good thing you’re here—queen of the house.”
His words landed; Lin Yingyuan flushed crimson instantly, staring stunned, pretty eyes locked unblinking for ages.
“……What?”
He asked, baffled.
“N-nothing…”
She mumbled thickly, words slurring; suddenly, a nosebleed streamed—she clapped a hand over it, bolting for the bathroom.
Lin Zhiyi watched her frantic back, muttering:
“Too hot—got overheated…”