◎ Time Ferry ◎

A dim desk lamp stood alone, a small cobweb trembling in the chill, unable to catch even the rare prey in the late autumn air.

A cold gust of wind blew through. Shi Li shivered, wrapped the suit jacket tighter around herself, and slipped into the library, hoping to take shelter from the ghostly weather that was getting colder by the day—

The next second, she stood dumbfounded in front of the cold, card-swipe gate.

After five years, she had completely forgotten she needed a campus card to enter the library. She stood there blankly for a while before reaching into Chen Du’s suit pocket.

—And sure enough, there was a card.

But not a student card. It was a staff ID.

Right in her face was Chen Du’s strikingly handsome photo in the upper left corner.

Still that same indifferent expression—probably hadn’t slept well the day the photo was taken, his eyelids drooping lazily, a silly strand of hair sticking up, but none of that could mask how blindingly good-looking he was.

Five years later, he didn’t seem to have aged at all, and his hair was still thick.

After admiring it, Shi Li finally noticed the shirt in the photo—that was the one she had bought him.

When was that?

Probably right before graduation. At the time, she was still filled with a mysterious confidence and hope for the future, and Chen Du likely was too.

As expected of the top student in the department, he easily landed an interview with a top company.

Back then, his wardrobe only ever had a few hoodies and T-shirts. No matter how good they looked on him, they were still too student-like—not formal enough.

So Shi Li ordered a shirt online for him in advance—a misty grayish-blue, cost just a little over a hundred yuan. It wasn’t any fancy brand, but the cotton and style were decent.

When the shirt arrived, it was a bit wrinkled. She borrowed a steamer from her roommate and carefully ironed it before giving it to him the day before his interview.

Shi Li had never done something like that before and felt a bit awkward inside, though she acted indifferent on the surface.

“After all, I did break your laptop. I can’t afford to replace it, but at least I can get you a shirt, right?”

Chen Du stared at her for a long time, opened his mouth to speak, then just said “Oh” and took it without a word.

But the next day, he didn’t wear the shirt to the interview.

He still wore his old student hoodie, but as expected, he got the internship offer without a hitch.

And that shirt seemed to be forgotten after that. Shi Li never saw him wear it. Later, when they moved into a new apartment, the shirt still hung at the back of the closet, ironed and brand-new.

She figured maybe it didn’t fit, or maybe he didn’t like the color or style, so she didn’t dwell on it. At most, she’d call him an ungrateful brat behind his back for not having taste.

But now, looking at this photo—

Shi Li used Chen Du’s finger to gently trace the photo’s broad shoulders. The shoulder seams of the shirt sat perfectly, and the gray-blue fabric under the white light looked soft and even, making him seem gentler.

Fit him just fine.

Seems like Chen Du was really broke back then.

Even if he didn’t like the shirt, when you’re poor, you don’t have a choice—you wear whatever you’ve got.

Whatever.

Shi Li couldn’t help but grin. She really had good taste—both in men and in clothes.

Lin University’s library housed millions of books. When she was alive, Shi Li loved diving into them—but not for any artistic or literary enrichment.

She only read practical books. She studied for whatever exam she was taking. Her life was ruled by utility, with no pretensions of culture.

But now…

Shi Li eagerly swiped the card and headed straight for the second-floor computer room.

Who would’ve thought? Being broke meant you couldn’t even afford to play on a computer.

In the underworld, high-tech was not widely available. Only ghosts with money and power could enjoy it.

As an unburnt, nameless ghost, Shi Li had a painfully dull life. To keep her permanent residency in the underworld and avoid being thrown into the furnace, she had to do physical labor from dawn to dusk.

She’d nearly forgotten what it felt like to wake up on a sunny morning and laze around on her bed playing on her phone.

What a luxury.

Shi Li happily booted up a computer but froze when she saw the desktop layout.

Wow, five years had gone by, and even Windows had changed. The interface looked unfamiliar.

Thankfully, the operations were still about the same.

She browsed gossip first, clicking and exclaiming in amazement—how time flies, how fickle life is—

The drama queen roommate’s favorite idol actress had been exposed as a homewrecker and retired after giving birth; a once-famous idol group had completely collapsed, some members falling from grace, others suffering depression; and the red-carpet headlines were now filled with almost all unfamiliar faces…

That wasn’t even the most shocking part.

Shi Li’s pupils practically quaked—according to the latest stats, the number of people registered for the national postgraduate entrance exam this year was double that of five years ago!

That… was intense.

Shi Li sighed, chanting a soft “Amitabha” for today’s test-takers, then quickly opened the melodramatic revenge K-drama she hadn’t finished while alive.

Back then, she and Chen Du had just broken up. By day, she worked a soul-sucking gossip magazine job that paid three thousand yuan a month; by night, she curled up in bed cramming for her second attempt at the entrance exam.

Those nights were too quiet—so quiet it scared her.

So she’d play some trashy Korean dramas in the background, listening to women scream and curse each other to stay motivated.

On the day she died, her phone had been playing the final episode. Only half an episode left. The heroine’s revenge was down to the last step.

She’d already forgotten most of the plot by now, but during those five years in the underworld, she kept wondering how it ended—so bored she even imagined hundreds of endings on her own.

—An hour later, Shi Li finally got her answer. Yep, a generic happy ending. How boring. Her versions were way better.

Shi Li propped her chin on her hand, elbow on the desk, leg bouncing, yawning in boredom.

It was already three in the morning. Who knew when Chen Du would wake up. She had to get back to the apartment before he did. The good times were always so short.

Right before logging off, Shi Li impulsively typed “Chen Du” into the search bar.

The page loaded, and Shi Li blinked in disbelief.

Chen Du actually had a Baike^[1]Wikipedia-like entry.

Out of boredom, she scrolled through it. Her eyes drifted lazily over the impressive phrases: “Undergraduate at Lin University,” “Ph.D. completed in three years,” “Stayed on as a faculty member,” “Outstanding Youth of Beilin City,” “Promoted to assistant professor”…

Her gaze paused on one entry.

“TimeShip is a large language AI model developed by Chen Du. Its prototype was sold for 1 million yuan to XXX company on November 4, xxxx. After more than two years of R&D and optimization, TimeShip officially launched on May 5, xxxx, and quickly gained industry-wide attention, reaching a valuation of several billion yuan.”

“Due to TimeShip’s soaring valuation after launch, Chen Du’s initial decision to sell it for just 1 million sparked heated online debate. Some believe he failed to see its commercial potential, lamenting how those from humble backgrounds often lack long-term vision. Others argue that Chen Du had no interest in business and remained focused on academic research and technical innovation. Chen Du himself has made no public statement in response to the controversy.”

Shi Li stared for a while and couldn’t help but gasp.

She knew exactly what this model was. It was the one Chen Du had started tapping away at back in his junior year on that broken keyboard.

That was his personal project.

Even after graduation and during his internship, the project continued. No matter how late he worked overtime, the sound of his fingers on the keyboard remained crisp and pleasing.

Shi Li never understood what the so-called model was for. Chen Du had explained it to her, but she was too sleepy to listen.

He could only sigh helplessly, ruffle her messy hair as she slept, and speak in a soft and gentle voice, a tone that carried a pride he usually never showed.

“After a few years, once I’ve saved enough capital, I’ll quit the company.”

Chen Du touched her face and leaned close to her ear.

“Shi Li, this is our future.”

Shi Li vaguely remembered how back then Chen Du had been strung along at the company, manipulated through false promises, with one internship after another. His superior even spoke to him about how, if he was willing to sell the model, not only would he get a permanent position, but also receive extra shares—

It wasn’t a small amount. No matter how you calculated it, it was worth far more than one million, yet Chen Du firmly refused.

Chen Du had grown up poor, had big ambitions, and wanted to make real money.

During those countless nights glowing faintly blue, he foresaw the future, created the future, and wanted to reap the future.

—So why would he sell it at such a low price?

Perhaps something terrible had happened, and he was in desperate need of money, to the point where he gave up on the future?

Other than that, Shi Li couldn’t think of any other possibilities.

The encyclopedia entry noted the sale date as November 4, xxxx. It was exactly five years ago, just over a month after her death.

Shi Li suddenly felt a little uncomfortable.

Maybe that house really had bad feng shui. It seemed both she and Chen Du encountered major setbacks that year.

One didn’t make it through. The other cut off the past to survive.

How miserable.

Shi Li sighed in mock solemnity, turned off the computer, and walked out. It was deep into the night. There wasn’t a single pedestrian in sight.

On the way back to the apartment, she passed by a creepy park. Several stray dogs suddenly burst out of the trees, barking madly.

Shi Li shivered and instinctively tried to run. Then she remembered—she wasn’t her old self anymore.

She was wearing the body of a “tall and strong” male model now. A few little dogs weren’t worth fearing.

Shi Li stopped in her tracks and stomped her foot at the dogs fiercely, even making a proud and mischievous face at them—

The dogs were intimidated by her posture and stopped, wagging their tails, hesitating to approach. But perhaps she had stomped too hard, or maybe the soul attachment had lasted too long and caused side effects, Shi Li suddenly felt a chill through her whole body, a numbness in her head, and everything went black before her eyes.

Only then did she reach out and touch Chen Du’s straight and delicate nose, feeling a handful of warm blood.

“……”

Chen Du’s body was falling backward, but she herself was not.

Shi Li stared blankly and turned to grab Chen Du, but her fingers passed right through emptiness.

She watched with wide eyes as Chen Du collapsed to the ground with a “thud,” groaning lightly from the pain, his eyelids trembling violently before he suddenly opened his eyes.

He seemed to still be unaware of his current situation, covering his head in confusion and pain, blinking dazedly.

Damn.

She’d startled Chen Du awake.

Shi Li widened her eyes, still trying to “hug” him, but her body felt like a transparent, powerless magnet being pulled by an indescribable force. The scenery in front of her eyes rapidly retreated, making her so dizzy she had to close her eyes.

She didn’t know how much time had passed before she finally opened them again.

She stared at the familiar lace lampshade, the princess bed, and the floral ceiling in the apartment, then clutched at her non-existent face in despair.

It was over.

—She had left Chen Du in the park at four in the morning. Oh, and as a bonus, managed to offend several fierce, predatory dogs on his behalf.