29: Chapter 29 Let's go! Let's go all out tonight!

The samgyetang restaurant was tucked away in a narrow alley. The storefront wasn't large, but business was booming. Jiang Zhiyu sat at the innermost table, with Kim Minjeong across from him, Ningning to his left, and Karina to his right. The four of them crowded around a small square table, four bowls of steaming samgyetang placed on it. The soup was still bubbling, steam rising from the bowls, blurring each other's faces. Kim Minjeong scooped a spoonful of soup, blew on it, and brought it to her mouth, then squinted her eyes. 'Delicious.' She scooped another spoonful, this time with some chicken. The chicken was stewed until it was fall-apart tender; a touch with chopsticks and it separated, the shredded meat floating in the soup like tiny white blossoms. Ningning picked out a chicken leg, placed it on her plate, and meticulously dissected the meat with her chopsticks. She was very thorough, stripping every last shred of meat from the bone, piling it on her plate into a small mountain. Then she pushed half of that mountain into Jiang Zhiyu's bowl. 'Teacher, eat more.' Jiang Zhiyu looked at the small mountain in his bowl and said nothing. He picked up a piece of chicken, put it in his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. 'Tastes good,' he said.

Karina ate the slowest. She would scoop a spoonful of soup, blow on it three times, then take a sip. Scoop another spoonful, blow three times, take a sip. Her bowl was still more than half full, while Kim Minjeong's bowl was already empty. Kim Minjeong rested her chin in her hand, watching Karina drink her soup. Watching, watching, she let out a yawn. 'Unnie, you eat so slowly.' 'You shouldn't eat too fast. It's hard to digest if you do.' 'Is your digestive system not good?' 'It's not that my digestive system isn't good, I just want to eat slowly.' Karina paused, glanced at Jiang Zhiyu, then said, 'Good food should be savored slowly. If you eat too fast, you can't taste it properly.' Jiang Zhiyu met her gaze but said nothing. However, he picked up a piece of chicken and placed it in Karina's bowl. It was from the leg, the tenderest part. Karina looked at that piece of chicken, a slight upward curve appearing at the corner of her mouth. She didn't say 'thank you.' She picked it up, put it in her mouth, and chewed slowly.

After the meal, the four of them walked out of the samgyetang restaurant. The streetlights in the alley were a warm yellow, their light falling on the stone-paved road, making it look like a golden river. Kim Minjeong walked at the front, her steps light and quick, like a kitten that had just eaten its fill. Ningning walked beside her, head bowed looking at her phone. The screen's light illuminated her face, making her features very clear. Karina walked at the very back, her pace neither fast nor slow, side by side with Jiang Zhiyu. The distance between the two was just right—close enough to hear each other speak, but not so close that they'd bump into each other while walking.

'Oppa, where are you going next?' 'The Han River. For a walk.' 'Then we—' Kim Minjeong turned around, looking at Jiang Zhiyu, 'we're coming too.' 'You all should head back first. You have training tomorrow.' 'Training won't be affected by one hour.' Kim Minjeong's tone was serious, so serious it sounded like she was talking about something very important. Jiang Zhiyu looked at her and was silent for a moment. 'Alright.'

The four of them walked along the street towards the Han River. The night breeze carried the unique scent of early autumn, a mix of fallen leaves and river water. Kim Minjeong walked to Jiang Zhiyu's left, Ningning to his right, and Karina beside Ningning. The four of them formed a line, taking up the entire sidewalk. People coming from the opposite direction sidestepped to let them pass, looking back, probably wondering 'who are these people?' No one knew who they were. They were just four young people walking the streets of Seoul—one boy, three girls, wearing ordinary clothes, talking about ordinary things, laughing about ordinary matters. Nothing special. What was special was the tacit understanding between them. No need to speak to know what the other was thinking. No need to look to know where the other was. No need to say 'wait for me' to know the other would wait. This kind of understanding wasn't built in a day. It was built day by day, day by day, slowly. Once built, it wouldn't collapse. If it doesn't collapse, it's forever.

There were far fewer people by the Han River than during the day. In the daytime, there were people strolling, jogging, walking dogs, and cycling. At night, there were only couples and homeless people. Couples sat on benches, heads leaning together, whispering. Homeless people lay on benches, covered with newspapers, snoring. Jiang Zhiyu walked to the railing by the river, stopped, placed both hands on the railing, and looked at the river surface. The river water was black, reflecting the lights from both banks, like a river studded with stars. In the distance, vehicles streamed across the bridge, their headlights drawing colorful trails of light in the darkness before disappearing into the night. He watched for a while, then turned around and said to Kim Minjeong, 'You all go back first. I want to walk alone for a bit.' Kim Minjeong looked at him, wanting to say 'I'll stay with you,' but she didn't. Because she knew he wanted to be alone. To walk alone, to think alone, to face those things he didn't want anyone to know about, alone. She nodded. 'Alright. Then come back early.' 'Mm.' Kim Minjeong left. Ningning left. Karina left. When she left, she didn't say 'come back early,' didn't say 'be careful,' didn't say anything. She just looked at him, then turned and walked away. That look held too many things—it wasn't 'I'm leaving,' it was 'I'm here.' Not 'I'm here,' but 'I will be here.' When she left, when she wasn't here, when she couldn't see him. She would be here. She had always been here.

Jiang Zhiyu walked alone by the Han River. His pace was neither fast nor slow, each step roughly the same distance. His shadow stretched very, very long under the streetlights, cast onto the path, like a giant chasing something. But what he was chasing, even he didn't know. Perhaps time, perhaps opportunity, perhaps a name he had never dared to speak aloud. Bae Joo-hyun. He walked for a while, stopped, leaned against the railing, and looked at the river. The river was still the same river, flowing from north to south, having flowed for hundreds of years, and would flow for hundreds more. He stood here, merely a passerby to this river. Passing by, taking a look, then leaving. He wouldn't linger, because lingering held no meaning. The river wouldn't remember him, and he wouldn't forget the river. The river was the river, he was he. He was he, Bae Joo-hyun was Bae Joo-hyun. He knew. He knew she wasn't Baek Ji-xin, he knew she wasn't a replacement for anyone, he knew she was an independent, complete person who didn't need to be defined by anyone. But he couldn't control his heart. His heart would race the moment he saw her. Race to a hundred and thirty, race until he felt his chest was about to explode. If it exploded, it wouldn't hurt anymore. If it didn't hurt, he wouldn't remember anymore. If he didn't remember, he wouldn't feel sad anymore. If he wasn't sad, then he would be healed. But he didn't want to be healed. Because he was afraid that if he healed, he would forget. Forget Baek Ji-xin, forget the days they were together, forget the look in her eyes when she said to him on a bench by the river, 'It's just the two of us.' That look, he couldn't forget. So he didn't want to be healed. If he wasn't healed, he wouldn't forget. If he didn't forget, that was forever.

He stood there for a long time. So long his legs grew a bit sore, so long the night breeze scattered the peach scent on him, so long the reflections on the river surface changed from lamplight to moonlight. The moon had risen, round and white, like a pearl hung in the sky. Moonlight fell on the river, shattering into pieces of silver light that rose and fell with the ripples, as if dancing. He watched that light, watched and watched, and suddenly felt a bit drowsy. Not physically tired, but heart-weary. His heart was tired, wanting to rest. If he rested, he wouldn't have to think. If he didn't think, it wouldn't hurt. If it didn't hurt, he could sleep. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled. The night breeze, carrying the coolness of the river, rushed into his collar, lingered on his collarbone for a moment, then slipped down into his chest. His body was a constant temperature, seventeen degrees, neither cold nor hot. But the wind was cool, so cool his skin tightened slightly. He opened his eyes, ready to head back.

And then he saw that light.

It wasn't the light from a streetlamp, not moonlight, not any light he had ever seen before. That light appeared in mid-air, without any warning, without any source, just materialized out of thin air, like a tear in the fabric of reality. The light emanating from the tear was blindingly white, so white he instinctively squinted. The light was bright, so bright the streetlights along the Han River seemed dim in comparison. So bright the couple in the distance stopped their whispers, so bright the homeless man on the bench lifted the newspaper from his face. Everyone saw that light, but no one knew what it was. They just watched, watched as the light transformed from a tear into a halo, from a halo into a blurry outline, from a blurry outline into a—

Person.

Not 'transformed into,' but 'appeared.' The light dissipated, and a person emerged. A little girl, about eight or nine years old, walked out of the light. Her feet landed on the Han River path with a soft 'tap.' She wore a gorgeous stage costume, golden, with sequins glittering under the streetlights. The skirt was very long, trailing on the ground like an opened umbrella. Her face was made up—eyebrows heavily drawn, eyeliner extended long, lips painted with red lipstick. That makeup looked very strange on her face, not because it was unattractive, but because her face was too small, too small to hold all that makeup. Makeup is for adults, not children. On a child, it was like she'd stolen her mother's high heels—amusing, funny, playful, but—she wasn't a child.

Jiang Zhiyu looked at her face. It was a face he was familiar with, so familiar he called out her name the moment he saw her. 'Jieun?' It wasn't a question, but a confirmation. Confirming she was Lee Ji-eun, confirming she was Lee Ji-eun from TG Entertainment on the Tianxuan Continent, confirming she was the girl from Mingcai City in the Nanming Kingdom, who at thirteen carried her guitar to Nanming City to audition for countless entertainment companies as a trainee, then saw him at ASB Entertainment, followed him, and became a member of TG Entertainment. She was TG Entertainment's solo female singer, independent of the Zephyrus girl group. She was the singer who, by the age of twenty, had swept all entertainment industry awards—film leading actress, television leading actress, variety show writer and MC, world-class singer, annual best songwriter. Her concert tickets were notoriously hard to get, hailed as the 'Generational Songstress.' She was the girl he called 'Lee Pig-eun,' the girl he pushed to practice high notes in the TG Entertainment practice room until her voice was hoarse but she kept going, the girl he saw last before his transmigration, standing in the wings of the stage, ready to go on and sing.

Lee Ji-eun looked at the boy before her. He looked very much like Jiang Zhiyu, not 'very much,' but 'exactly the same.' Facial features, contour, demeanor, even the faint curve at the corner of his mouth was exactly the same. But he was too small. Not 'small,' but 'young.' Jiang Zhiyu was thirty-five this year; she had seen him at thirty-five. She had seen him today, before her transmigration, backstage at the concert, wearing a black T-shirt, wearing an earpiece, speaking into a walkie-talkie, 'Dim the lights a bit more, turn up the sound a bit more, is Lee Ji-eun ready?' His voice was low, steady, like the bass range of a cello. There were wrinkles on his face, not many, at the corners of his eyes, on his forehead. There was white hair in his hair, not much, at his temples. His gaze was heavy, so heavy it seemed to hold many things, so many they were about to overflow. But he didn't let them overflow; he kept them all suppressed, buried deep, deep inside. Lee Ji-eun didn't know what those things were, she only knew Jiang Zhiyu was tired. A tiredness he never spoke of. The boy before her now had no wrinkles, no white hair, his gaze wasn't heavy, it was bright. His eyes didn't hold those suppressed things because those things hadn't happened yet. They hadn't happened, so he didn't know. If he didn't know, he wouldn't be tired. If he wasn't tired, that was youth. Youth was the current Jiang Zhiyu. Not the thirty-five-year-old Jiang Zhiyu, but the seventeen-year-old Jiang Zhiyu.

Lee Ji-eun's mind began constructing a plot. A dramatic, dog-blooded, wealthy family saga. Love triangles, no, love quadrangles. Jiang Zhiyu and Han Muyang are married, with a son and a daughter. Jiang Zhiyu and Wang Shuyun have a son. Jiang Zhiyu and Baek Ji-xin—she didn't know if they had a child, but judging by this boy's age, eight or nine, it fit. Jiang Zhiyu transmigrated to this world when he was seventeen. If he and Baek Ji-xin had a child in this world, the child would be about eight or nine now; the timeline matched. The more she thought, the more excited she became; the more she thought, the more flawless her deduction seemed. Her look at Jiang Zhiyu changed, from 'shock' to 'amusement,' from 'amusement' to 'spectator mode.'

She opened her mouth, wanting to say, 'Are you Jiang Zhiyu and Baek Ji-xin's child?' But the moment the sound came out, she froze. The voice wasn't her voice; it was a child's voice. Shrill, immature, like a newborn kitten's mewl. She looked down and saw her own body. Her hands had become small, her fingers short, her nails painted with red nail polish, but that polish looked strange on her now-tiny nails, like little red stickers pasted on them. She loosened her grip, and the microphone slipped from her hand, falling to the ground with a dull 'thud.' It was a very, very expensive microphone, silver-white, emitting dazzling, colorful flashes under the lights. It was her most beloved microphone, used for many years, from her first concert until now. She couldn't bear to replace it, not because she couldn't afford it, but because she was used to it. When you're used to something, you don't want to change. Not changing means holding onto the past. Holding onto the past means not forgetting. Not forgetting is forever. But now, she couldn't hold it anymore. Her hands were too small, too small to grip the microphone's handle. She crouched down, wanting to pick it up, but her skirt was too long, trailing on the ground, tangling around her feet. She stepped on the hem, her whole body lurching forward, almost falling. She steadied herself, reached out, and grabbed the microphone. But the microphone was too heavy, too heavy for her to lift. She tried twice but couldn't pick it up. She gave up. She stood up, looking at her hands, at her small, short fingers painted with red nail polish.

And then she screamed.

'Ah——!'

[part:gemini-3.1-flash-lite]

The sound was loud, so loud that the streetlights along the Han River were trembling.

So loud that the couples in the distance covered their ears, so loud that the homeless person on the bench woke up from their sleep, and so loud that Jiang Zhiyu's eardrums ached from the vibration.

That was the super-strong vocal technique of the "Generation Diva," not "singing," but "shouting."

What was shouted out was fear, panic, and the incredulity of "I've shrunk."

It was incredible because she couldn't understand it.

She couldn't understand why she had transformed from a twenty-two-year-old adult woman, 1.63 meters tall and weighing forty-seven kilograms, into an eight or nine-year-old little girl, less than 1.3 meters tall and weighing less than thirty kilograms.

She couldn't understand why she had traveled from the backstage of a concert to this place, couldn't understand why she was standing by the Han River in her performance outfit, and couldn't understand why she was seeing the seventeen-year-old Jiang Zhiyu.

She didn't know anything.

She only knew that she had shrunk.

If she shrunk, she couldn't sing.

If she couldn't sing, she couldn't hold concerts.

If she couldn't hold concerts, the fans would be disappointed.

If the fans were disappointed, she would be sad.

If she was sad, she would cry.

If she cried, no one would comfort her.

Because Jiang Zhiyu was no longer there.

The thirty-five-year-old Jiang Zhiyu, on the Tianxuan Continent, backstage at the concert, had said into the walkie-talkie, "Is Lee Ji-eun ready?"

She hadn't answered yet, and then she had traveled through time.

She didn't know if he would wait for her, didn't know if he would look for her, didn't know if he would stand silently backstage when he couldn't find her, looking at the empty stage, and then say, "She's gone."

He would never say "She's gone"; he would say "She's just temporarily away."

Temporarily away meant she would come back.

Coming back meant she hadn't left.

Not having left meant she was still here.

Still here meant forever.

Jiang Zhiyu watched Lee Ji-eun scream, watched her crouch on the ground to pick up the microphone, watched her stand up, and watched her small body tremble in the night wind.

His heart was beating very fast, so fast it felt like it was going to jump out of his chest.

It wasn't because of fear, but because of excitement.

He had traveled from 2030 to 2017.

When he traveled, he was standing on the stage of the Huofeng Stadium, wearing a dark ink-colored suit, holding a microphone, facing sixty thousand Zephyrus fans.

Then a flash of white light passed, and he arrived here.

Arrived in Seoul, arrived by the Han River, arrived in this world where he didn't know a single person.

It took him over a year to adapt to this place.

Once he adapted, he stopped thinking about it.

Not thinking about it meant he wouldn't feel pain.

No pain meant it was in the past.

In the past meant a new beginning.

With a new beginning, he had new friends, a new job, and a new life.

He thought he had forgotten the Tianxuan Continent, forgotten TG Entertainment, forgotten Zephyrus, forgotten Wang Shuyun, and forgotten Baek Ji-xin.

He hadn't forgotten.

He had just locked those memories in a very small room, locked the door, and thrown away the key, pretending that the room didn't exist.

But now, Lee Ji-eun had appeared.

She had walked out of that room, wearing her performance outfit, wearing makeup, holding a microphone in her hand.

She wasn't a memory; she was a living, breathing person.

She stood by the Han River, in front of him, with fear, panic, and the incredulity of "I've shrunk" in her eyes.

She was real.

She was truly Lee Ji-eun, truly the Lee Ji-eun from the Tianxuan Continent, truly the Lee Ji-eun he knew.

Not "like," not "similar," not "another version from a parallel world."

It was her.

The girl he called "Piggy Jieun" on the Tianxuan Continent, the girl he forced to practice high notes in the TG Entertainment practice room until her throat was hoarse and she was still practicing, the girl he saw for the last time before he traveled, standing in the stage wings, preparing to go on stage to sing.

Jiang Zhiyu reached out and grabbed Lee Ji-eun's shoulders.

His fingers were long, his knuckles prominent, and there were thin calluses on his fingertips.

He gripped her tightly, so tightly that Lee Ji-eun's shoulders felt a bit of pain.

She frowned and looked up at him.

His eyes were red, not from crying, but from the wind.

No, not from the wind, but from holding it back.

Holding back tears because he was an adult.

Adults couldn't cry; crying meant admitting defeat.

Admitting defeat meant losing.

Losing meant having nothing left.

He didn't want to lose, so he held it back.

Held back from crying, held back from shouting, held back from showing an "I miss you so much" expression in front of Lee Ji-eun.

But he couldn't help it.

Because she was Lee Ji-eun, one of the people he missed the most in this world.

Not "one of," but "the most."

Missed her the most because she was the first girl he picked up from the entrance of ASB Entertainment, the girl he watched grow up, the "Generation Diva" he personally taught.

He had listened to every one of her songs, watched every one of her concerts, and seen every award she had won.

He watched her back transform from a little girl carrying a guitar into the "Generation Diva" standing in the center of the stage, watched her voice turn from immature to mature, and watched her gaze change from timid to firm.

He watched her grow up, watched her succeed, and watched her become his pride.

He had never said, "I'm proud of you," but that was what he thought in his heart.

He had always thought it, just never said it.

Never said it because he felt it didn't need to be said.

Didn't need to be said because she should know.

She should know how proud he was.

Lee Ji-eun looked into Jiang Zhiyu's eyes, looking at those red, tear-holding eyes.

Her heart suddenly ached.

Not "pain," but "soreness."

So sore that her nose tingled, so sore that her eyes turned red, so sore that she wanted to hug him and shout "Oppa."

She held back.

Not because she didn't want to hug him, but because her body was too small, too small to hug him.

She could only reach out and grab the corner of his clothes, just like many years ago, in the hallway of ASB Entertainment, the first time she saw him.

At that time, she was thirteen, carrying a guitar, coming out of the ASB practice room, having failed her audition, in a terrible mood.

She walked down the hallway, head down, and saw someone in front of her.

That person was wearing a white shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, holding a cup of milk tea.

He walked very slowly, his pace very steady, the distance of each step about the same.

She followed behind him, followed for a long time.

She didn't know why she wanted to follow him; she just felt that following behind him was very reassuring.

So reassuring that she wanted to keep following him.

She followed him to the TG Entertainment dormitory, to her new room, to her new life.

He was Jiang Zhiyu.

The person who picked her up from the ASB entrance, the person who wrote songs for her, the person who taught her to sing, the person who watched her grow up.

He was the person she trusted the most in this world.

Not "the most," but the "only one."

The only person she didn't need to explain to, didn't need to hide from, didn't need to pretend in front of.

In front of him, she was just herself.

She was Lee Ji-eun, she was "Piggy Jieun," the girl he said "Are you a pig?" to when she was eating.

She didn't care what he called her, because she knew that whatever he called her, it was because he liked her.

Not the "like" of liking someone, but the "like watching her eat" kind of like.

Liked watching her eat because she ate with such gusto.

Ate with gusto because the food he cooked was delicious.

The food he cooked was the most delicious food in the world.

She had always thought so.

She had never told him.

"Oppa." Lee Ji-eun spoke.

Her voice was still a child's voice, sharp and immature, but when she called him "Oppa," the tone was not a child's tone.

It was the tone of a twenty-two-year-old adult who had experienced many things and knew what was important and what was not.

"I've shrunk," she said.

Jiang Zhiyu looked at her and was silent for a moment.

Then he said something that almost made Lee Ji-eun cry.

"I know. But you're still here. It's good that you're still here."

Lee Ji-eun's tears finally fell.

Not because she had shrunk, but because of his words, "It's good that you're still here."

It's good that you're still here.

Not "It's good that you haven't changed," not "It's good that you haven't shrunk," but "It's good that you're still here."

Changed, shrunk, become ugly, become old, it didn't matter.

Still here, that's good.

Still here, and she could start over.

Starting over meant a new beginning.

With a new beginning, she could still sing.

Singing, because she liked it.

Liked it, because he taught her.

What he taught her, she would remember.

Remember, and she wouldn't forget.

Not forgetting meant forever.

Forever meant now.

Now, she was by his side.

Lee Ji-eun's passport floated over from the night sky.

Not a package, not takeout, it "floated."

Like a leaf blown off by the wind, spinning, slowly falling from the sky above the Han River.

Jiang Zhiyu reached out and caught it; a deep blue cover with a gold-stamped national emblem pattern, with a line of English written on it—United States of America.

He opened the passport; on the photo page was an eight or nine-year-old girl, her features exactly the same as Lee Ji-eun's, only her face was rounder, her eyes larger, and the whole person looked like a steamed bun that had been squeezed flat and then rolled round.

The name column read: Li Jien.

Date of birth: March 15, 2009.

Nationality: USA.

Date of issue: A certain day in September 2017.

Expiration date: A certain day in September 2027.

Lee Ji-eun leaned over, stood on tiptoe, stretched her neck, and looked at the photo in the passport.

"Is this me? I wasn't this fat when I was little!"

Jiang Zhiyu glanced at her.

"You're fat now too."

"That's baby fat! Baby fat isn't fat!"

"Baby fat is fat."

"Oppa!" Lee Ji-eun stomped her foot.

Jiang Zhiyu closed the passport and stuffed it into her arms.

"Take it. This is your ID in this world."

Lee Ji-eun held the passport and was silent for a moment.

Then she looked up at Jiang Zhiyu.

"Oppa, can we not go back?"

Jiang Zhiyu looked at her without speaking.

"We can't go back, right?"

Jiang Zhiyu still didn't speak.

"Then tell me, what is this world like? What can I do here? Can I still sing? Can I still hold concerts? Can I still win awards? Can I still—"

Jiang Zhiyu interrupted her.

"Calm down first."

"I am very calm."

"You are speaking at twice your normal speed."

"That's because I've shrunk! Blood circulation is faster when you're small! Speaking is naturally faster!"

"Those are two different things."

"On me, they are the same thing."

Jiang Zhiyu looked at her and was silent for a moment.

Then he spoke.

"Have you heard of 'copy and paste'?"

"Heard of it. Ctrl + C, Ctrl + V."

"Our time travel is not 'cut,' it's 'copy and paste.'"

Lee Ji-eun blinked.

"What does that mean?"

"It means there is still a you on the Tianxuan Continent. You are here, she is there. You are one person, and also not one person. What you experienced, she has experienced. What she experienced, you have also experienced. You are two copies of the same person."

Lee Ji-eun was silent.

She lowered her head, looking at the passport in her hand, looking at the gold-stamped national emblem on the cover.

"So she will be there, taking care of my parents for me, holding concerts for me, eating hotpot with Wang Shuyun Unnie for me?"

"Yes."

"Then will she also be sad for me?"

"Yes."

"Then will she also be happy for me?"

"Yes."

"Then will she also miss you for me?"

Jiang Zhiyu looked at her without speaking.

Lee Ji-eun looked up, her eyes red.

"Oppa, I really want to go back."

Jiang Zhiyu reached out and ruffled her hair.

"I know. But you can't go back now. So you have to start over here."

Lee Ji-eun sniffled.

"Starting over, can I still sing?"

"Yes."

"Can I still hold concerts?"

"Yes."

"Can I still win awards?"

"Yes."

"Can I still eat hotpot?"

"Yes."

"Then I want to eat hotpot now."

Jiang Zhiyu looked at her expression of "I'm very sad but I want to eat hotpot more," and was silent.

He was silent for a long time, long enough that Lee Ji-eun thought he was going to refuse.

"... Let's go. I'll take you to eat."

The night wind by the Han River was still blowing.

Lee Ji-eun, wearing that floor-length performance outfit, holding her passport, followed behind Jiang Zhiyu.

Her steps were very small because the dress was too long, and she couldn't walk fast.

"Oppa, walk slower!"

"Your legs are too short."

"That's because you're walking too fast!"

"It's your legs that are too short."

"Oppa!"

Jiang Zhiyu slowed his pace.

Lee Ji-eun caught up to him and walked beside him.

The two of them walked on the path along the Han River, the streetlights stretching their shadows very long.

Lee Ji-eun looked at the two shadows on the ground, one long and one short, and suddenly said: "Oppa, are you doing well in this world?"

Jiang Zhiyu was silent for a moment.

"It's okay."

"What does 'it's okay' mean?"

"It means—I won't starve to death, I have a place to live, and someone treats me to meals."

"Who treats you to meals?"

"Three trainees."

"Male or female?"

"Female."

"Are they pretty?"

"Pretty."

Lee Ji-eun stopped and looked at Jiang Zhiyu.

Her expression was very subtle.

"Oppa, in this world, do you also have many people who like you?"

Jiang Zhiyu also stopped and looked at her.

"Is that any of your business?"

"It's not my business. But I can tell Wang Shuyun Unnie."

"She is not in this world."

"Then I can tell Mu Yang Unnie."

"She is not in this world either."

Lee Ji-eun opened her mouth, discovering she had no leverage to threaten him.

She closed her mouth and kept walking.

Jiang Zhiyu looked at her small back and suddenly asked: "You just said that I married Han Muyang?"

Lee Ji-eun stopped, turned around, and looked at Jiang Zhiyu.

Her expression was very subtle, so subtle that Jiang Zhiyu felt she was holding back laughter.

"You don't know?"

"If I knew, would I ask you?"

"Then now that you know, what do you want to do?"

Jiang Zhiyu was silent.

He leaned against the railing, holding a water cup—he didn't know when or where he had gotten it, probably bought it at a convenience store while Lee Ji-eun was looking at her passport.

The cup was transparent, filled with warm water, glowing faintly under the streetlights.

He looked at the tea leaves floating in the cup, watching them slowly unfold in the warm water, like small, green flowers.

Han Muyang.

The eldest daughter of the director of the Yangsan Parts Factory, who was his bickering partner.

The youngest member of the girl group POT, the spokesperson for Shenghua International, and the eldest daughter of Han Guohua.

Every time they met, they would argue a bit, and after arguing, she would grinningly treat him to a meal.

He thought they were just friends.

Who would have thought they were a married couple.

Jiang Zhiyu's brows furrowed.

Not just "frowning," but "knitting."

His brows knitted together, forming a large " Sichuan" shape.

"I have a child with Wang Shuyun?"

Lee Ji-eun looked at him.

"Mm. A son. Surname Wang."

Jiang Zhiyu's brows knitted even tighter.

"Surname Wang? Not surname Jiang?"

"No. Surname Wang. Wang Shuyun Unnie said, her child, surname Wang."

Jiang Zhiyu was silent.

He held the water cup, looking at the Han River.

The river water was black, reflecting the lights on both banks, like a river studded with stars.

He looked at those stars, and a voice in his heart was saying—she did it on purpose.

Wang Shuyun did it on purpose.

She knew he didn't want to get involved with the Wang family, so she made the child have the surname Wang.

Not "let the child have the surname Wang," but "let the child have the surname Wang, let him be Wang forever."

No matter where he went, no matter what he did, no matter if he was the Wang family's son-in-law or not, his child, surname Wang.

The Wang family's bloodline would not be broken because of him.

He was just a tool.

Not "a tool," but "a stud horse."

It sounded ugly, but it was the truth.

The truth didn't need to sound good; the truth only needed to be the truth.

Jiang Zhiyu's expression was ugly. Not just "ugly," but "sinister." It was as gloomy as the sky before a storm, heavy and suffocating. There was no light in his eyes; his pupils were deep black, like two bottomless wells. You didn't know what was in the wells; you only knew not to fall in.

He had always wanted to break away from the Wang family. Not "not wanting to rely on them," but "not wanting to be relied upon." He earned his living by his own ability, made money by his own ability, and survived in this world by his own ability. He hadn't relied on the Wang family, and he wouldn't in the future. He was him, and the Wang family was the Wang family. They were settled. But Wang Shuyun didn't think so. She felt he was a person of the Wang family, and would always be a person of the Wang family. Not because he was the Wang family's son-in-law, but because he was the father of her son. The father of her son was the Wang family's son-in-law. The Wang family's son-in-law was a person of the Wang family. A person of the Wang family had to do things for the Wang family. Doing things for the Wang family was doing things for himself. Doing things for himself was—she was always like this, turning his affairs into hers, and her affairs into his. Indistinguishable, and she wouldn't let you distinguish them. Once they were indistinguishable, they were family. Being family meant not needing to distinguish between you and me. No need to distinguish meant forever. Forever was what she wanted. And she had gotten it.

Jiang Zhiyu took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled. He held his cup, looking at the Han River, at the moonlight on the river surface, watching the moonlight shatter into pieces of silver light. His expression was still sinister, but his breathing had stabilized. Stabilized, it wouldn't erupt. Not erupting meant enduring it. Enduring it meant it was in the past. In the past meant he wouldn't think about it again. Not thinking about it meant it wouldn't hurt. Not hurting meant it was better.

He turned and looked at Lee Ji-eun. Lee Ji-eun was stealing a glance at his expression and got caught red-handed. Her gaze shifted left, right, up, down, just not at him. "What are you looking at?" "Not looking at anything." "Then why don't you dare look at me?" "I don't not dare to look at you; I'm looking at the scenery." "The Han River?" "Mm." "It's pitch black, what's good to look at?" "It's good. Pitch black, like ink. Ink can write, writing is art, and art is good to look at." Jiang Zhiyu looked at her, at her flushed little face—she had just come back from the mall, showered, and taken off her makeup. Her face was clean, revealing cheeks that were baby-fat, fair with a rosy tint, like an apple just picked from a tree. Her eyes were large, her pupils deep brown, shimmering with a faint gold under the streetlights. Her lips were very red, not from lipstick, but naturally that red. She looked like an apple that had been bitten, crisp and sweet.

But her words were not cute. Not cute at all.

"Oppa, you actually traveled from five years ago?" Jiang Zhiyu corrected her. "Not five years ago. I traveled from 2030 to 2017. I was thirty years old then." "Thirty, the golden age for a man." "And then?" "Then you traveled, to 2017 in this world, and became seventeen." "Mm." "A year later, you married Han Muyang Unnie. The second year, you had a child. Tsk tsk tsk." Lee Ji-eun's "tsk tsk tsk" had a rhythm, three sounds, each longer than the last, each more meaningful than the last.

Jiang Zhiyu held his cup, not speaking.

Lee Ji-eun leaned closer. "Oppa, what's going on with you and Shuyun Unnie? That's cheating in a marriage!" Jiang Zhiyu's brows knitted together again. "I didn't cheat." "Then where did your child with Shuyun Unnie come from?" "I don't know!" "You don't know? You don't know if you fathered a child?" "I didn't give birth to it! Wang Shuyun gave birth to it!" "But are you the child's father?" "I—am." "Then that's it. You are the child's father, and Shuyun Unnie is the child's mother. You aren't a married couple, but you have a child. If that's not cheating, what is?"

Jiang Zhiyu opened his mouth, wanting to refute, but found he couldn't. She was right. He did have a child with Wang Shuyun. No matter how it happened, no matter if he wanted it or not, he did have a child. The surname was Wang, not Jiang. But the surname didn't matter; what mattered was that the child was his. His bloodline, his flesh and blood, his responsibility. He didn't want to be responsible, but responsibility wouldn't disappear just because he didn't want it. It was always there, waiting for him. Waiting for him to admit it, waiting for him to accept it, waiting for him to bear it. He didn't want to admit it, didn't want to accept it, didn't want to bear it. But he had no choice. Because that was his child.

Jiang Zhiyu roared in frustration. "How the hell would I know?!" The sound was so loud that the streetlights by the Han River trembled. So loud that the couple in the distance covered their ears, so loud that the homeless person on the bench woke up from their sleep, so loud that Lee Ji-eun's hair was blown back by his breath. But Lee Ji-eun wasn't afraid. She had known Jiang Zhiyu for over a decade, ever since she was thirteen. She had seen him laugh, seen him angry, seen him silent, seen him tired. She had seen him repeatedly edit a single note in the recording studio, seen him calm and composed facing a group of executives in the conference room, seen him beat up four thugs alone by the Han River. She had seen all his versions. She knew he wouldn't hurt her. Not "knew," but "believed." Believing meant not being afraid. Not being afraid meant she could get closer.

She leaned closer. "Tsk tsk tsk, Oppa, I didn't know. So delicate, yet such a rich emotional history." Jiang Zhiyu reached out and pushed away her little face, which was wearing a somewhat evil expression. "I'm a pure love advocate!" "Oh? But you have four children."

Jiang Zhiyu froze. His finger stopped in the air, forgetting to pull it back. His eyes were wide open, his mouth slightly agape, the whole person like a frozen sculpture. Four. Not one, not two, but four. Four children. Two with Han Muyang, one with Wang Shuyun, and another—with whom? He looked at Lee Ji-eun. Lee Ji-eun's gaze was shifting to the left. Her eyes looked to the left, the corners of her mouth turned down, her whole face full of guilt. Obviously guilty, so obvious that Jiang Zhiyu didn't need mind-reading to see it. She was dodging, dodging his gaze. She didn't dare look at him because she knew she had said something she shouldn't have. Shouldn't have said it, but did. Said it, and couldn't take it back. Couldn't take it back, so she could only dodge. Couldn't dodge, so she could only face it. Facing it meant confessing. Confessing meant—Jiang Zhiyu took a deep breath. "Who else do I have a child with?" Lee Ji-eun didn't speak. "Lee Ji-eun." "..." "Speak." "..." "Lee Ji-eun!" "Baek Ji-xin!"

Jiang Zhiyu pulled his finger back. He put his hands in his pockets and turned to face the Han River. The river water was still the same river water, flowing from north to south, having flowed for hundreds of years and would flow for hundreds more. He stood here, merely a passerby of this river. Passing by, taking a look, then leaving. Not staying, because staying had no meaning. The river wouldn't remember him, and he wouldn't forget the river. The river was the river, and he was him. He was him, and Baek Ji-xin was Baek Ji-xin. He knew. He knew they had separated, he knew she had her own label, he knew she focused on work and neglected him. He knew it was his fault, because he couldn't tell her what he was doing, because he couldn't tell her why he sometimes disappeared, because he couldn't tell her where the wounds on his body came from. He knew she had waited for him for a long time, waited until she didn't want to wait anymore, waited until she stopped waiting. Stopped waiting meant it was over. Over meant it was in the past. In the past meant a new beginning. A new beginning, she had a new life, and he had his new life. His new life had Han Muyang, had Wang Shuyun, had four children. He didn't know how he had reached this point. He only knew he didn't want to reach this point. But he had reached it. Reached it meant he couldn't turn back. Couldn't turn back meant he could only continue walking. Continue walking, walking to places he didn't want to go. Didn't want to go, but had to go. Because he was Jiang Zhiyu, the person who never said no.

He took a deep breath, slowly exhaling the pent-up air in his chest. Then he turned to look at Lee Ji-eun. "What are you planning to do next?" Lee Ji-eun looked at him, at his calm face that showed no emotion, at his eyes shimmering with faint gold under the streetlights, at his bangs blown by the night wind. She thought, he had changed. Not "changed," but "aged." Not "aged," but "tired." Tired meant he didn't want to move anymore. Didn't want to move meant he had stopped. Stopped meant—she didn't want him to stop. So she had to walk too. Walk beside him, walk in front of him, walk behind him. No matter where she walked, she had to walk. Not walking meant stopping. Stopping meant losing him. Losing him meant distance. Distance meant disappearing. Disappearing meant nothingness. Nothingness meant—she didn't want to lose him. So she walked.

"I'm still going to debut!" Lee Ji-eun's voice was loud, so loud that the streetlights by the Han River trembled. So loud that the couple in the distance covered their ears, so loud that the homeless person on the bench woke up from their sleep, so loud that Jiang Zhiyu's eardrums were shaken with pain. He looked at her, at those bright eyes that seemed to be burning, at that face flushed from exertion, like an apple, at that small, thin body wearing a newly bought white dress. He suddenly felt that she was really small. Not "small," but "young." Young meant being afraid of nothing. Not afraid of failure, not afraid of getting hurt, not afraid of starting over. Starting over required courage. Courage, she had. Because she was taught by him. Taught by him, she wouldn't be bad.

Jiang Zhiyu nodded. "Good. I'll help you."

Lee Ji-eun smiled. She smiled very happily, her eyes curving into crescents, the arc of her mouth corners just right. The way she smiled was exactly the same as when she was a child. Not "like," but "is." It was her, the her who was forced by him in the TG Entertainment practice room to practice high notes until her throat was hoarse, the her who followed him at the entrance of ASB Entertainment and was brought back to the dorm by him, the her who was told by him, "Are you a pig?" when eating. She had always been there. Just smaller.

"Oppa, I've decided to reach the top with my own name! I don't want some chuunibyou name like 'Tiamat'!" Jiang Zhiyu looked at her. "There is also a Lee Ji-eun in this world. She is a big senior; if you do this, it's infringement." Lee Ji-eun's face turned green. Not "green," but "cyan." Cyan like an unripe orange, sour, hard, making you frown if you take a bite. "Who else besides me can be called Lee Ji-eun?!" Jiang Zhiyu raised an eyebrow and spat out two words. "IU."

Lee Ji-eun's face turned even greener. She gritted her teeth, her cheeks puffed out, like a hamster whose food had been stolen. "Then what should I be called? I want to pick a new name! A super cool one!" Jiang Zhiyu thought for a moment. "Lee Tima." Lee Ji-eun froze. "Lee Tima?" "Mm. Tiamat, remove 'at', add 'Lee'. Simple and crude." Lee Ji-eun looked at him, at his calm face that showed no emotion. She wanted to see from his expression if he was serious or joking. She looked for a long time but couldn't tell. "Are you serious?" "Mm." "You want me to be called 'Lee Tima'?" "Mm." "Lee Tima, it sounds like 'You motherf*cker'." Jiang Zhiyu looked at her. "Mm, I know."

Lee Ji-eun's blood pressure skyrocketed. She bounced up from the ground like an ignited firecracker, her whole body ejecting onto Jiang Zhiyu. Her hands grabbed his collar, her two legs clamped around his waist, her whole body hanging on him like a ruffled kitten. Her face was very close to his, close enough for him to see his own reflection in her pupils. Her eyes were wide, her mouth open, revealing two rows of neat teeth.

"Yah! Jiang Zhiyu! Are you f*cking messing with me?!" Jiang Zhiyu was hung on by her, his expression still as calm. "I'm not." "Then why did you give me the name 'Lee Tima'?" "Because it's cool." "Where is it cool?!" "Tiamat is a giant dragon in mythology. A giant dragon, very cool." "Then can't I just be called Tiamat?" "Too long. Hard to remember." "Is Lee Tima easy to remember?" "Mm. Lee Tima, three characters, simple. Lee Ji-eun, also three characters. You're used to a three-character name, three characters are easy to remember." Lee Ji-eun opened her mouth, wanting to refute, but found she couldn't. He was right. A three-character name was indeed easy to remember. Easy to remember meant not being forgotten. Not being forgotten meant being remembered. Being remembered meant having existed. Having existed meant—she didn't want to be forgotten by him. So she accepted it.

"Lee Tima." She recited it once. "Lee Tima." Recited it again. "Lee Tima." Recited it a third time. After reciting it three times, she found the name wasn't that bad. Even, a bit good. Not "good," but "smooth." Smooth meant it wouldn't be read wrong. Not read wrong meant not being laughed at. Not being laughed at meant—she accepted.

She jumped down from Jiang Zhiyu, patting the dust off her dress. "Good. From today, I am Lee Tima." Jiang Zhiyu looked at her. "Don't you think there's a problem with this name?" "What problem?" "Say it faster." Lee Ji-eun said it faster. "Lee Tima Lee Tima Lee Tima—" Her voice got faster and faster, faster and faster, until even she couldn't hear what she was saying. Then she heard it—"You motherf*cker, you motherf*cker, you motherf*cker—" Her face turned green again. "Yah! Jiang Zhiyu!" She jumped onto him again.

The night wind by the Han River was still blowing. The light of the streetlights fell on the two of them, casting their shadows on the ground. One long, one short, one tall, one short. The long one was Jiang Zhiyu, the short one was Lee Ji-eun. She hung on him like a koala. He stood there, motionless. The two of them stood in a standoff by the Han River, neither yielding to the other. The couple in the distance watched them and laughed. The homeless person watched them and laughed. The moon watched them and also laughed. Tonight's Han River was very lively.

— —

(07:28) Minjeong who doesn't reply to messages: [Morning Oppa! My butt still hurts a little... But I dreamed that Oppa rubbed the sore spot for me and said "Our Minjeong even falls like she's dancing a waltz," and when I woke up, it didn't hurt at all! (Sends a photo of herself kneeling on the bed, rubbing her eyes in confusion)]

(07:31) Minjeong who doesn't reply to messages: [For breakfast, I used honey to draw a puppy that fell down and a Bubble helping it up on toast. Ningning complained "Unnie's breakfast is getting more and more story-like," and I said righteously "This is art derived from life!" (Shows the crooked comic strip on the toast)]

(07:34) Minjeong who doesn't reply to messages: [When I was spraying mist on "Chuchu" and its mother (a big ginkgo leaf), the sunlight passed through the water droplets and reflected a small rainbow! I quickly took a picture; this must be magic they secretly did for me~ (Sends a close-up of colorful water droplets hanging on the leaf)]

(07:37) Minjeong who doesn't reply to messages: [Going to shoot a winter pictorial today, the stylist Unnie prepared a fluffy white coat. After I put it on, Giselle said "It looks like a snowball elf who accidentally entered the human world," but I think it's more like the "walking sticky rice cake" that Oppa mentioned... (Pinching the fluff on the coat while looking in the mirror)]

(07:40) Minjeong who doesn't reply to messages: [Secretly sewed a mini ginkgo leaf "grandchild" on the inside of the plush coat, so even if I turn into a snowball, I'm still carrying the autumn promise with Oppa in my heart~]

(07:43) Minjeong who doesn't reply to messages: [Before going out, I practiced the "it doesn't hurt anymore" smile in the hallway mirror, but the corners of my mouth stretched too wide and pulled the spot where I fell yesterday... Woo, today I must be a strong sticky rice cake! (Sends a funny selfie with tears in her eyes but clenching her fist to cheer up)]