Li Mu and Chen Wan took a taxi to the municipal hospital. Throughout the ride, Chen alternated between apologizing and asking about his exam performance.
"Not bad," Li Mu replied, grinning like an idiot at the memory. Even without the accident, he'd never felt this confident about English in his past life. A top-tier university now seemed within reach.
Chen sighed guiltily. "I'm so sorry for ruining such an important day. If… if you need to retake the year, I'll cover all expenses."
Curious, Li Mu studied her. "What do you do, exactly? You can't be more than three or four years older than me, yet you drive a private car." In 2001, car ownership still signaled considerable wealth.
Chen blushed. "I'm still in college—senior year starting this fall. The car's my dad's. I got my license this summer and wanted to practice. Everything was fine until the rain…" She twisted her hands. "I panicked trying to adjust the wipers, hit the turn signal instead, couldn't see…"
Li Mu nearly facepalmed. Directionals instead of wipers? Textbook road hazard. But he steered the conversation elsewhere: "I never got your full name."
"Chen Wan. 'Chen' as in the surname, 'Wan' as in gentle."
"Then I'll call you Sis Wan."
"Sure!" Her smile returned. "I'm twenty-one—three years older?"
"Eighteen. Perfect gap."
Chen's eyes lit up. "Where will you apply if you score well?"
"Beijing." The answer leapt out.
"Beijing?" Chen frowned. "But Shanghai's only 300 kilometers away. Beijing's over a thousand! Shanghai's just as developed—"
"Distance matters?"
"Doesn't it?"
"Does it?"
Li Mu chuckled. How could he explain? That Beijing's two subway lines would multiply tenfold in fifteen years? That despite Alibaba in Hangzhou and Tencent in Shenzhen, giants like Baidu, Sina, Sohu, NetEase, JD, 360, Youku, and Tudou would cluster in Zhongguancun—Silicon Valley's Chinese cousin? That the city held eleven years of his memories, triumphs, and regrets?
No. Shanghai held zero allure.
Changing tack, Chen asked, "Why did you warn me about stocks when you ran off?"
Li Mu shrugged. "Concussion babble."
At the hospital, Chen pulled strings. A middle-aged doctor whisked Li Mu through ten tests, Chen hovering anxiously outside each door.
Emerging from his brain CT, Li Mu froze. There, beside Chen, stood his parents—decades younger than in his memories, their faces etched with worry.
"Dad. Mom."
The euphoria of rebirth evaporated. Guilt, tenderness, and resolve flooded in. He crushed them in a wordless embrace.
His father at forty, mother at thirty-nine—both workers at state-owned Xiling Coal Mine. The planned economy's safety net had spared them the 90s layoffs that gutted textile mills. Still, their combined 1,500-yuan monthly income would vanish by year's end when the depleted mine closed.
Li Mu's throat tightened. In his original timeline, his college years had aged them prematurely. Never again.
His mother wept into his shoulder. "Are you hurt? Does anything—"
"I'm fine," Li Mu rasped. "Really."
The doctor approached. "Minor abrasions on the forehead and arm. The CT's pending, but likely no concussion."
Chen stepped forward, bowing. "Uncle, Auntie, this was entirely my fault. I'll take full responsibility—"
The couple waved her off. "Our boy's safe. That's what matters."
Li Mu broke the awkwardness. "How about this: if the CT shows issues, Sis Wan covers treatment. If not…" He grinned. "She buys us dinner. Not extortion—just good timing!"
His mother laughed through tears. His father shot him a curious look. Since when did his "simple" son scheme to befriend a pretty older girl?
Chen, oblivious, chirped, "Haizhou Hotel! I'll book a private room."
As she dialed, Li's father shook his head. Naive girl. And my son… since when did he get so sly?