Sunset Streets · The Way Home
As they left the hospital, the fiery sunset stained the streets in a thick, molten gold. Their shadows stretched long across the concrete—two parallel lines that had finally, at a singular point, begun to overlap.
Qiao Fei's translucent soul drifted lazily behind Ye Xiaoxiao. She seemed immersed in the shock of the hospital room, her gaze wandering unnaturally toward the fallen poinciana petals lining the road. A warm breeze swept past, carrying a dry heat. After a long silence, as if summoning great resolve, Qiao Fei turned her head and spoke in a low voice:
"Back there... I saw what you used to look like."
Xiaoxiao was looking down to avoid a puddle; at these words, her footsteps froze.
"Well... how should I put it?" Qiao Fei's slender fingers traced vague circles in the air, her voice as faint as a mosquito's hum, yet carrying a rare softness. "You were quite cute. Round and soft... like a piece of marshmallow just pulled from a machine, still holding its warmth."
Xiaoxiao slowly lifted her head, staring in disbelief at the soul hovering in the void.
In her twenty-odd years of an ordinary, even humble life, this was perhaps the most "luxurious" compliment she had ever received. To Ye Xiaoxiao, "round" had never been a positive term. It was the mocking "Little Fatty" from the neighbor aunties, the cruel "Watermelon" nickname from middle school boys, or the flash of disdain in an interviewer's eyes.
No one had ever called her "cute." No one had ever compared her to a marshmallow.
"Thank you, Qiao Fei." Xiaoxiao's throat felt constricted, her eyes rimmed with red. The sunset glow hit the stunning "Qiao Fei" exterior she now inhabited, and the sheer sincerity of her gratitude lent an incredible radiance to that usually cold, elegant face.
This sudden "direct hit" of gratitude threw the heiress—who was used to flattery but unused to being truly thanked—into a complete panic.
"Thanking me for what? I didn't pay your medical bills! I didn't do anything!" Qiao Fei jerked her head away as if she'd been shocked, tilting her chin up with a haughty huff. "I was just stating a fact. It's a matter of basic aesthetic respect. Don't flatter yourself!"
Seeing her struggle to maintain her "Ice Queen" facade while the very edges of her soul turned a faint shade of pink, the heaviness that had weighed on Xiaoxiao all afternoon suddenly dissipated. She let out a small, genuine laugh. She realized that this "difficult" socialite was, at her core, as pure as a child.
"Qiao Fei, have you noticed something?" Xiaoxiao teased. "Since I entered your body, that 'high-altitude flower' image you worked so hard for has completely collapsed in front of me."
"What did you say?" Qiao Fei narrowed her eyes dangerously.
"The Qiao Fei I see now is sharp-tongued, easily angered, and has a massive princess complex—but she actually has a very soft heart." Xiaoxiao grew bolder, tilting her head. "In that way, you're exactly like Wayne. You both use a hedgehog's shell as a bulletproof vest."
"Ye Xiaoxiao! Are you asking for trouble?"
Like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, Qiao Fei's soul "bristled." Her voice jumped an octave, vibrating through Xiaoxiao's mind: "You're comparing me to that man? This is an insult to my taste! An insult to my style! Go back and do fifty perfect ballet pirouettes right now! Do not stop! I must wash away this low-class association!"
"Yes! Sister Qiao Fei!" Xiaoxiao playfully gave a crisp military salute to the empty air.
"Don't call me 'Sister'! You make me sound old! Stop it!" Qiao Fei flitted about in a rage, her scolding coming like a rapid-fire barrage.
Xiaoxiao watched her fuming spirit, but the fear was gone.
Perhaps it was because she had seen her mother and knew that within that sleeping shell, the ordinary version of herself was still safe. Or perhaps it was because she had finally decided that the proud soul beside her was her only true comrade in this absurd adventure.
As long as I help Qiao Fei regain her throne and complete this trial, I can surely go back to that warm little home.
She walked and laughed, Qiao Fei's relentless complaints echoing in her ears, but her heart felt warm. She raised her hand and gently touched the cool silver bracelet on her wrist—the chain that bound their destinies together.
I will definitely go back, she told herself firmly.
Night · Hospital Ward
When the darkness finally swallowed the city's silhouette, the hospital's neon sign glowed piercingly against the dark blue sky.
Wayne appeared at the ward door as usual, carrying a thermos. It was a custom-made medicinal meal, specifically designed for the nutritional needs of long-term comatose patients. His footsteps were lighter than during the day; his leather shoes made almost no sound on the quiet corridor floor.
Inside, Mother Ye sat by the bed, gently tucking the corners of the blanket around the sleeping Ye Xiaoxiao. That ordinary, soft body lay still amidst the white sheets, as if time had been frozen.
"Auntie," Wayne whispered as he pushed the door open.
Mother Ye turned and saw him, offering a weary but gentle smile. "You're here. I'm sorry to trouble you with this trip every single day."
They exchanged a few routine words about Xiaoxiao's vitals—a calm, monotonous atmosphere. But as Wayne turned to change the hot water, Mother Ye hesitated, then spoke up:
"By the way, Wayne... this afternoon, a young lady came to see Xiaoxiao."
Wayne froze. "A lady?"
"Yes." Mother Ye frowned, trying to recall. "Very beautiful, with a very noble aura. She said she was Xiaoxiao's friend... but I've never heard Xiaoxiao mention having such a distinguished friend."
Wayne's heart tightened. "What did she look like?" he asked instinctively.
Mother Ye drifted into memory. "Her skin was very fair, almost like it was glowing. Her eyes were very bright—when she looked at you, she had this... commanding presence. You could tell she was a daughter from a very wealthy family."
Those descriptions hit the most sensitive nerves in Wayne's memory like heavy lead bullets.
He remained silent for a few seconds, his fingers trembling as he pulled out his phone. Having worked in the entertainment industry for years, he had countless photos of celebrities, but the one he pulled up was a raw, unedited shot of Qiao Fei from the night she won the Best Actress award.
Radiant, cold, and untouchable.
"Auntie..." Wayne's voice was hoarse. "Was it this person?"
Mother Ye leaned in to look, then froze, nodding vigorously. "Yes, that's her. That's the girl."
In the room, the oxygen tank hissed with tiny bubbles, and the green line on the monitor jumped with rhythmic monotony. At that moment, Wayne felt his breath stop.
Qiao Fei?
When did she ever know Ye Xiaoxiao?
Theoretically, the trajectories of these two lives should never have crossed.
Wayne looked at the cold face on his phone screen, then turned to look at the comatose Ye Xiaoxiao on the bed.
Those parallel lines had not only crossed; they had undergone a violent, inexplicable displacement in a dimension beyond science. Outside, the wind rattled the glass frantically—a chaotic warning that this game of souls was accelerating toward a destination no one could foresee.