I still remember the day I saw Miao again at the bus stop.
The sky was overcast, drizzling lightly. I folded my umbrella, tapped my card, and boarded the bus, only to find her standing near the rear door. She wore Bluetooth earbuds, facing the window, dressed in an oversized off-white hoodie and a denim fringed maxi skirt, with berry-colored platform sneakers on her feet. Her pale fingers gripped the handrail as she quietly watched the streets sway and recede outside.
I remember how the rain had dampened her sleeve, leaving a wet patch, while the world beyond the window seemed veiled in a gray-blue filter. The streets looked aged yet pristine, the roadside trees saturated with rainwater, their green tinged with blue.
Without thinking, I took a few steps toward her. Sensing my approach, she turned and glanced at me. Her gaze, indifferent and unfamiliar, swept over me briefly before lingering on the large drawing board strapped to my back. Then she looked away, pulling out her phone to type a few lines before ignoring me entirely.
I froze, too crestfallen to move closer. Later, I noted the stop where she got off and watched as she briskly walked into a roadside eatery called "Old Shen’s Grill."
Miao didn’t remember me.
Unlike me, she hadn’t been reborn with memories of a past life.
The realization left me disheartened and sorrowful.
But within a couple of days, I rallied and became a regular at Old Shen’s Grill. I even convinced my parents in this life to rent a small apartment nearby—my high school was in the area. Now in my senior year, the school dormitory was cramped and noisy, so my parents readily agreed to let me live off-campus.
My parents in this life resembled my mother and father from before, both in appearance and temperament. I even had an older brother who’d rebelliously left home to join a band. But I couldn’t be sure if they were truly the same people. Maybe I was just lonely, projecting my longing onto them, making it all feel like wishful thinking.
No one remembered our lives in Bianjing City—except me.
Lost in thought, I missed my stop.
As I hurriedly backtracked, another memory surfaced: the first time I’d learned simplified Chinese characters and flipped through a history book in a bookstore, trembling with frustration.
Back then, I’d only wanted to find traces of the life Miao and I had shared, to prove that the vivid memories in my mind weren’t mere delusions. Instead, I discovered that the Song Dynasty recorded in history bore little resemblance to the world I’d come from.
Yet one thing became clear: my Miao might have originally belonged here.
This world was her true home.
It finally made sense why, whenever I lamented the corruption of our era’s governance, Miao would always smile optimistically and reassure me, "It’s already so much better, really, it is..."
After studying the history of the Song dynasties in this world, I realized how rare it was for an emperor to have only two flaws—being stingy and gluttonous—and how even his mediocre but open-minded heir, who at least heeded good counsel, seemed wise and admirable in comparison.
It took a long time before Miao and I properly met again.
Though I ate at Old Shen’s Grill every day after school, I didn’t see Miao there. The place was run by her father, while her mother managed a food factory in the suburban industrial zone and rarely came home. Old Shen was a character. I frequented the shop so often that if I skipped a day, he’d excitedly wave me over from his mahjong game by the entrance, calling out, "Hey, the knife-cut noodles guy’s here!"
The nickname always left me pausing awkwardly at the door.
I always ordered tomato and egg knife-cut noodles.
In my past life, I’d never tasted tomatoes, so upon discovering their deliciousness in this world, I became a devoted fan—obsessed with all tomato-based foods, even preferring tomato-flavored chips. As a kid, I’d often eat tomatoes dipped in sugar, alarming my parents into thinking they’d deprived me, prompting them to buy me piles of fruit and snacks.
"You in a hurry? Still want the knife-cut noodles today?" Old Shen wiped his hands on his round belly and slapped down a mahjong tile. "I’m about to win. Go sit inside and wait a sec."
"It’s the weekend, no rush," I said, nodding as I stepped in. Just then, a familiar, bright voice rang out at the door: "Dad! You’re playing mahjong instead of serving customers? Mom’s gonna slap you silly!"
"Oh-ho, my sweetheart’s back! Then you go cook—he wants tomato and egg knife-cut noodles."
"Fine, fine, I’ll do it."
A whirlwind of footsteps passed by me before pausing. "I’ll make it. Tomato and egg knife-cut noodles, right?"
I looked up at her, dazed, and nodded.
Miao shoved her bag under the counter, grabbed an apron, and vanished into the kitchen. Soon, the sizzle of oil and the aroma of tomatoes and eggs filled the air.
Outside, Old Shen’s mahjong buddies teased him: "Miao’s getting prettier by the day!"
"Damn right," Old Shen boasted.
"And less and less like your kid."
"Shut your mouth!"
Everyone burst into laughter.
Old Shen did resemble Miao if you looked closely, but his pudgy face made it hard to believe he’d fathered such a lovely daughter. The neighbors joked that a gnarled stump had somehow sprouted a gorgeous flower.
Whenever this happened, Old Shen would huff, "Nonsense! I was a looker in my youth."
Miao’s family weren’t locals, but they’d lived here long enough for Old Shen to pick up a clumsy imitation of the regional dialect.
I couldn’t help but chuckle too.
So this was the lively home Miao had grown up in. No wonder she had such a warm, cheerful personality.
Miao was still a few years older than me, already in college. I didn’t need to ask—Old Shen bragged about his daughter to anyone who’d listen. He said they’d originally lived up north, but Miao’s mother had wanted to start a business here with a friend, so the family had moved.
Grandpa Shen was still spry, so if the business took off, they’d bring him over too.
Old Shen also boasted that Miao’s university was beautiful, huge, and close to home, so she came back on weekends sometimes.
That explained why I hadn’t seen her at Old Shen’s Grill lately. The day I’d spotted her on the bus must’ve been her last visit home. Now, she was finally back.
Before long, Miao emerged with a steaming bowl of knife-cut noodles. Setting it down, she glanced at my school uniform and grinned. "No. 1 High? Then we’re alumni."
Seizing the chance to talk to her, I quickly replied, "Hello, senior."
"None of that," she laughed.
The food stalls only get lively at night, so at this early hour, I was the only one quietly eating noodles. Miao went upstairs to put away her bag and then dutifully came down to mind the shop. In the short time it took me to finish my meal, she had already cleaned the entire place—from upstairs to the kitchen—and then wiped down every table in the dining area.
As I ate, I watched her move swiftly through her tasks, feeling an inexplicable sense of familiarity and warmth. Back in the Shen family courtyard, Miao had been the same way. Once she started cleaning, even passersby and stray animals would get roped into a bath, filling the yard with the scent of soap pods. The clothes hanging in the courtyard would flutter in the wind alongside the furry cats, dogs, and even the donkey.
By the time I finished eating, she was done too. I didn’t want to leave, so I deliberately took my time chewing the last bit of tomato. Miao opened a bottle of orange soda from the drinks fridge and sat two tables away, chatting with me intermittently. She asked if my high school had built new dorms or installed air conditioning. When I said no, she nodded in satisfaction. "Good, you’re still suffering like we did."
I laughed. I understood. Graduated seniors dread hearing about their alma mater suddenly undergoing lavish renovations—it fills them with unbearable envy.
Our conversation drifted from the hardships of high school to my sketchbook.
"Are you an art student?" she asked.
I shook my head. "No, but I do study painting."
"Even in your third year?"
"Yeah."
Talking like this, I could look at her openly without hesitation. One of the greatest things about this world, I thought, was that both men and women could live freely, unconstrained by old prejudices. Women now had a much broader world to explore.
I loved that.
Miao looked exactly as I remembered her—just as beautiful. She wasn’t wearing makeup, her thick hair casually pinned back with a clip, revealing a face as clear as water and a slender neck beneath her hoodie.
She asked what kind of painting I studied. I said a bit of everything—traditional Chinese, sketching, oil, watercolor.
Gradually, she moved to sit across from me. I showed her the illustrations saved on my phone. I rarely drew people alone; I preferred bustling streets and small, lively scenes. Except for Miao…
Painting was the only way I could fend off my longing for her. Since childhood, I’d drawn thousands of sketches of her—the Miao in my memories, the little courtyard, even imagined versions of her childhood in this world and how we might meet one day. These were all locked away in a private album, never shown to anyone.
The world was too vast. I didn’t know where to find her. I had resigned myself to carrying these lonely memories, living out my days missing her.
Luckily, fate wasn’t that cruel.
"Wow, you’re amazing! Is this… the Along the River During the Qingming Festival?"
She had flipped to my painting of Bianjing City—the Golden Beam Bridge, a place I could never forget.
"Shen’s Eatery? Is that ‘Shen’s’ written there? What a coincidence!" She looked up in surprise, zooming in with her fingers. "You’ve drawn every tiny detail—even the customers inside. Hey, what’s that sign in the shop? ‘Shen’s Eatery says: Come eat fish!’ Haha, you’re such a meme lord. This is seriously impressive. Your brushwork is so refined, and you can paint such tiny details. You could probably get into CAFA."
Originally, I had wanted to apply to the Central Academy of Fine Arts. But after learning where Miao was studying, I changed my mind.
I would go to Sichuan Fine Arts Institute.
I would go where she was.
And just like that, we became acquainted. Later, I made up an excuse—saying I’d once sketched her family’s stall but didn’t have it on my phone—and asked for her WeChat, promising to send her and Old Shen a photo later.
She let me scan her QR code without hesitation.
That was the luckiest day of my life. Even though I nearly tripped on my way home, got my shoes splashed by a speeding car, and took the wrong bus, none of those little misfortunes mattered. I was used to a life where even drinking water could feel like a struggle.
From then on, I often shared my paintings with her. I even pretended to struggle with homework, sending her photos to ask for help. Slowly, we grew closer. Once, after she returned from a trip, she took me to sketch at an abandoned reservoir. As dusk fell over the overgrown banks, we spread out a picnic blanket, set up our easels, and painted while chatting.
The reservoir breeze was cool, soaking into us like water.
Miao turned to me suddenly and leaned in. "Our first meeting wasn’t at the stall, was it?"
My heart skipped a beat. I tensed, staring at her.
"I remember now—I saw you once on the bus." She burst out laughing. "Back then, I told my friend, ‘There’s this super handsome, sweet-looking junior on the bus!’ We talked about you the whole ride."
I lowered my head and smiled helplessly.
How could I not have hoped for more? In my heart, I had already lived a lifetime with her. But maybe this was better. She didn’t need to carry that weight—I would remember everything for us both.
And so, we settled into an easy, uncomplicated friendship. Eventually, the college entrance exams ended.
Summer arrived, and with no more constraints, I spent every day at Shen’s Eatery. Miao was on break too, helping her parents run the stall. Business was hectic during the season, and the three of them worked late into the night. I volunteered as her little assistant, even sketching a few hand-painted posters for her.
Just like before, she insisted on paying me.
I said, "Ten yuan."
She paused, staring at me with a strange expression before laughing at herself. "For some reason, that feels like it’s happened a million times before."
I met her gaze and smiled.
Yes, many, many times. And I would love her many, many times more.
When summer ended, my exam results came in. As I’d hoped, I moved to the city where Miao was studying. Though the commute was long—nearly two hours each way—I didn’t mind. I showed up outside her dorm every single day, rain or shine.
I was too obvious. Her roommates and friends quickly caught on. Whenever they spotted me under the streetlamp, they’d tease her, shoving her toward me before running off giggling.
Once, they pushed her too hard. She couldn’t stop herself and crashed straight into my chest.
Instinctively, I wrapped my arms around her. The long-lost warmth of her nearly brought me to tears—but the next second, she struggled free.
The emptiness in my arms echoed in my chest.
All my patience and restraint shattered in an instant. I didn’t know why I felt so aggrieved. Maybe it was because, despite living in this world alone, my heart and soul still longed for the intimacy of a thousand years ago.
When I looked up at her, the bitterness surged into my eyes.
Miao startled when she saw me.
A tear rolled down before she hurriedly wiped it away.
"Don’t cry," she said, flustered. "Why are you crying?"
I held her hand tightly, my fingers trembling, then pulled her back into my arms.
"Don’t turn away."
"Don’t hate me."
"Senior…"
"Shen Miao…"
In a corner unknown to anyone, I’ve searched for you so long, waited for you so long.
"Can I… can I… like you?"
For a moment, she stayed silent in my embrace, and my heart nearly leaped out of my throat in that silence—until I felt her hand gently stroke my back. Then, her voice finally reached my ears: "You can."
"Then don’t cry, okay?"
"Eh? Wait, why are you crying even harder now?!"
I buried my face deeper into her shoulder. She didn’t know this was our reunion after lifetimes apart.
But I was willing.
I’ve wandered this world with nowhere to rest, no path home, yet Miao caught me once again.
Just like in our past life, when we huddled by the charcoal fire on a snowy night, Miao suddenly leaned against me and said, "Ninth Brother, I often dream of running up a staircase with no end. The moment I’m about to fall, your arms always catch me."
I didn’t imagine it—the fleeting sorrow that crossed her face then.
Now, I finally understand why she was so lonely.
This time, it’s my turn.
Because I know, even if eternity passes and I search endlessly, I will still love her, insatiably and forever.
"Alright, alright, I like you too. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have spent so much time with a little brat like you." Miao stood on her tiptoes, pulling me down to her level, then freely mussed my hair and pinched my cheeks. "Xie Qi, Xie Qi, no more crying. If you get ugly, I won’t like you anymore."
I quickly held back my tears.
Seeing my eyes, nose, and ears all red, she sighed in relief. "I can’t stand it when people cry."
Finally, I laughed too.
She’s always been like this—impossibly soft-hearted. I used to pinch myself until tears welled up, and she’d immediately hug me, siding with me unconditionally. Even years into our marriage, this trick still worked. She’d kiss away my tears, ruffle my hair, and whisper sweetly in my ear—so much so that no matter how much I pestered her at night, she’d never stay angry.
Though Tao always said Miao only had this bottomless, indiscriminate soft spot for me. Even if Ji Brother or Sister Xiang were truly at fault, no amount of crying could sway her strict discipline.
Is that true? Maybe.
Because I’m the same. No matter what injustice or pain I face elsewhere, I can endure it—but if it involves Miao, I can’t stand it at all. Early in our marriage, when my grandmother often invited Miao to watch scantily clad men perform at the entertainment houses, I’d sulk if it meant she kissed me one less time.
One lifetime, two lifetimes—I refuse to be parted from her.
I clung to her tenderly. "Then it’s settled."
No one needs to know, because I can no longer survive alone in this new world. When I opened my eyes again from infantile ignorance, a part of my soul remained in Bianjing City, remained in the Shen household.
So now, the moment I finally reunited with her, I melted into her like rain into the sea—impossible to separate.
