011 Inspecting the Pool Water

It was nothing more than ordinary clear water, transparent to the bottom. At the base of the pool was a small spring-like hole, its source unknown, from which water continuously bubbled up—yet the pool never overflowed.

Lin Xia gazed at the pristine, crystal-clear water, suddenly feeling an urge to touch it. She acted on impulse, but the moment her hand grazed the surface, she recoiled sharply. She still hadn't figured out what this water really was—how could she just touch it so easily? What if it was sulfuric acid, or some kind of mystical water?

At that thought, Lin Xia grew uneasy. Her mind made up, she exited the space.

She fetched a small basin from the bathroom and reentered the space. After filling the basin with more than half a load of water, Lin Xia carried it back out. Crouching in the bathroom, she rested her chin in her hand, frowning at the basin of water before her. Judging by the look of it, it definitely wasn’t sulfuric acid or some supernatural liquid.

But how could she test whether the water was poisonous or not? Lin Xia felt a bit troubled. This whole place was strange, and so was the pool of water. Even if it had originally been harmless, what if it had expired? People couldn’t just drink it.

She pondered for a while and then remembered the flowerpots on the balcony upstairs. She’d test it on the plants first; if nothing happened, she could try it on Amao. With a snap of her fingers, her plan was set.

Without delay, she carried the basin to the balcony, watered the flowers with the mysterious liquid, and crouched there watching for a while. Seeing that the plants remained unharmed, Lin Xia brought the basin back inside.

She sat at her desk and opened the textbooks laid out before her. A few pages of Chinese—simple enough, as long as she listened in class and read more extracurricular books afterward. As for math, while her foundation in middle school mathematics wasn’t strong, she had once been a college student. If nothing else, college had taught her how to teach herself.

She moved on to English and biology. Resting her left cheek on her hand, she flipped through the physics section with her right. Physics covered the second-year curriculum, while chemistry only began in the third year. It seemed she’d need to borrow textbooks for those years from her cousins.

With her mind made up, Lin Xia closed the books and lay down for a midday nap.

During evening study hall, she watched her classmates bent over their homework, feeling a profound sense of familiar estrangement. This was real self-study. In college, how many people truly studied? Most just drifted along. Precisely because of such a collegiate system, Lin Xia had emerged with little more than a diploma.

As a result, she barely understood the profession she’d spent four years studying. After graduation, she couldn’t get into a good company—she lacked the credentials. Even if she landed a lesser job, promotions and raises were out of reach—she lacked the skills.

At high school reunions, looking at former classmates shining in designer clothes, graduates from prestigious universities, Lin Xia couldn’t help but feel a sense of shame.

In the quiet of night, standing in her tiny apartment, watching the bustling city lights and the fleeting luxury cars, memories flooded in. She regretted her wasted youth, but there are no do-overs in life.

Disheartened by her unfulfilled reality, Lin Xia grew reclusive. Once, she had been full of spirit in college, but reality proved too harsh.

Within just two years of graduating, her contact with classmates faded, she stopped shopping, stopped talking about dreams, and poured all her energy into the virtual world. Only Ding Ling, her roommate of four years, refused to let her withdraw, often dragging her out to shop. Lin Xia accepted her friend’s good intentions. It was, in fact, while heading out to meet Ding Ling that the accident happened—and she found herself back in her high school days.

Thinking of her past life, Lin Xia couldn’t help but close her eyes. She hated the contemptuous stares of those around her, hated the neighbors’ feigned concern that was really mockery, hated her parents’ silent sighs of disappointment behind closed doors.

Her parents’ wordless tolerance only made her feel more ashamed. Seeing the white hairs on her father’s head and the wrinkles at her mother’s eyes, Lin Xia was filled with self-loathing: why hadn’t she cherished her youth?

If only she had understood the value of hard work earlier; now all she could do was regret her lost years.

(It's too late now. I'll write a bit more tomorrow. With dark circles under my eyes, I drift away...)