Still the same.
801 Words
The classroom door was already closed when Li Ming arrived.
She knocked once.
“Come in.”
The moment she stepped inside, the room shifted. Conversations faded. Eyes turned.
“You’re late,” the teacher said.
“I’m sorry.”
“Stand there.”
She moved to the front, her bag still hanging from her shoulder.
“If you’re late,” the teacher continued, tapping the board, “then answer this.”
Li Ming glanced up, scanning the question.
“The answer is C. The second condition cancels the first.”
A brief pause.
“Correct,” the teacher said.
A few students exchanged looks.
“Go and sit.”
As she walked past, a voice muttered, “Of course she knows. That’s all she’s good for.”
Soft laughter followed.
Something light hit her shoulder.
A crumpled piece of paper dropped to the floor.
More laughter.
She didn’t react.
At the back, Li Sheng leaned back in his chair, watching.
When their eyes met, he gave a small, amused smile.
“That’s just how she is,” he said.
The laughter rose slightly.
Li Ming sat down and opened her book.
The lesson continued.
“Remember,” the teacher said later, writing across the board, “the Gaokao is tomorrow. This is not the time to make careless mistakes.”
The room quieted.
Some students straightened.
Others exchanged nervous glances.
Li Ming did not react.
Her pen moved steadily across the page.
By the time school ended, the words still lingered.
Tomorrow.
She packed her things and left.
The hospital.
Room 312.
“You look the same,” she said softly, setting her bag down.
She sat beside her mother.
“The Gaokao is tomorrow.”
Her voice was calm, but quieter.
“I studied well. I think I will do fine.”
A pause.
“But…”
Her fingers curled slightly.
“I still want your blessing.”
The words came softer.
Like something she refused to let go of.
She reached out and took her mother’s hand.
Carefully, she lifted it.
Her movements slowed.
She lowered her head slightly, guiding her mother’s hand toward it.
“Just for a moment,” she whispered.
Her skin met her mother’s.
And the world shifted.
Sound vanished.
The air changed.
She was no longer in the hospital.
Stone floors stretched beneath her feet. The space around her opened wide, vast and unfamiliar.
Figures moved in the distance.
Their clothing. Their posture.
Nothing belonged to her world.
Her breath caught.
A figure stood ahead, speaking to someone.
She could see the person facing him.
But him—
The light fell behind him, swallowing his face.
She couldn’t see it.
Only his outline.
Tall. Still.
Her chest tightened.
Something about him felt… important.
The scene flickered.
And everything snapped back.
The hospital returned.
The steady rhythm of the machines filled her ears again.
Li Ming’s hands tightened slightly.
She lowered her mother’s hand slowly.
“…I’m just tired,” she said quietly.
But her heart had not settled.
She didn’t stay long.
The house was quiet when she entered.
She stepped into her room and stopped.
Her drawer was open.
The box.
Empty.
Her chest tightened.
She turned and walked out.
“Li Sheng.”
Her voice was steady, but sharper.
He looked up.
“Did you take my money?”
He shrugged. “What money?”
“The one in my drawer.”
“Oh. That.” He leaned back. “Maybe.”
“I was saving that.”
“For her?” he said lightly.
“What is going on?” their father’s voice cut in.
“She’s making noise again,” Li Sheng said.
“She took my money,” Li Ming said. “I need it.”
“For that woman?” her father snapped. “She’s not waking up.”
“That’s not true.”
The words came before she could stop them.
“She’s only there because of you.”
The slap came without warning.
Her head snapped to the side.
The sound echoed.
For a moment, everything went silent.
Li Ming stood still.
He had never hit her before.
“Go to your room,” her father said coldly.
She turned and walked away.
The door closed behind her.
Her cheek burned.
Her chest felt tight.
The tears came, but she forced them back.
“No…”
She wiped her face quickly.
“The Gaokao is tomorrow.”
Her voice was unsteady.
“I can’t lose focus now.”
She sat down and opened her books.
“I will keep going.”
But the words blurred.
Her mind drifted.
Back to that place.
That figure.
Her fingers curled slightly.
“That wasn’t a dream.”
She stared at the page.
This time, she couldn’t ignore it.
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