Sangsang searched her mind for any mory of this woman, but, regrettably, she had never t her before. No matter how hard she racked her brains, she couldn’t recall even the faintest impression. Could it be Aunt Zhong? Not at all. Aunt Zhong had a round face, while this woman had a sharp chin and an oval face. Aunt Zhong had single eyelids, but this woman had double eyelids. Most strikingly, their temperants were completely different. Aunt Zhong was kind and warm, while this woman was as gentle as water but carried an air of coldness, as if her tenderness was reserved solely for the man in the photograph.
Sangsang furrowed her brows, tucked the photo into a book, and muttered to herself, "Forget it. I’ll ask Dad when I get ho."
But if her dad had anything important, he would have moved it to their new house for safekeeping. Why would it be left in this study? Could he have forgotten about it? Sangsang decided to grab a chair and continue searching the bookshelf. If she found any similar photographs, she’d take them ho to show her dad.
The upper shelves were filled with old books, most of which were sewn-bound editions Sangsang hadn’t seen in ages—practically antiques! These books were mostly from an earlier era. Her own books were usually placed on the middle shelves, leaving the upper ones virtually untouched. Feeling intrigued, she picked up one in front of her. Hmm, maybe she could snap a picture of it later and post it on social dia.
"Through Love." What a strange title.
Author: Wang Zhonglin.
"Wang Zhonglin..." The na sounded familiar.
Oh, right. She had heard it back in high school before graduation. Her dormmate Lin Manqing, a literary enthusiast, had a keen interest in history, literature, novels, classics, essays, and poetry. Most importantly, she was sothing else entirely, often hiding things from her roommates. Back then, Sangsang didn’t understand what it ant, so Lin Manqing gave her a peek. That one glance was enough to make Sangsang’s face burn with embarrassnt—a mory she’d regret for life.
"Ah, you innocent little bunny, such a delicate flower. I thought all you beauties were supposed to be so... liberated." Back then, Lin Manqing had patted Sangsang’s shoulder and teased her mischievously.
Sangsang’s face still felt warm as she mumbled, "Liberated? You’re much more ’liberated’ than I could ever be." How could anyone be this brazen? What even is this liberation nonsense? Thinking back now, during high school, when everyone was focused on their studies, Lin Manqing was already reading *that*. If that wasn’t liberation, then what was?
Lin Manqing squinted her eyes slyly and said with a grin: "Hehe, dear, I have only the theory without any hands-on experience. But even if I haven’t eaten pork before, I can still imagine how pigs run."
Sangsang had an epiphany and spat out a few words, "I get it now, you’re talking about that thing people always say online about ’1,’ right?"
One night after evening self-study, Lin Manqing held her phone and suddenly burst out laughing. Everyone in the dorm, including Sangsang, felt a shiver run down their spines.
Another dormmate scoffed, unfazed: "Let guess, Manqing’s fantasizing about so male protagonist from a novel again."
Soone else clicked their tongue: "Do you rember who her last ’male god’ was? The one nad Xiao Nai? Honestly, all these ’male gods’ are just fluff. I never bother with them. These imagined characters always feel like they’re missing sothing—a sense of authenticity! Sure, they may look romantic, but there’s no humanity to them, nothing that truly moves ."
Another book-lover glanced up from her phone, "Speaking of ’male gods,’ there’s one who really stands apart, soone who shines with humanity. Sun Jiayu. I’ve read so many novels, and he’s the only character who truly resonated with . That story felt real—the characters were based on actual people, with the backdrop of last century’s dostic and international events. It carried a deep, somber weight. The author must have lived through a lot because their work surpasses those clichéd domineering CEOs, campus romances, or Prince-and-Princess plots. Sun Jiayu embodies a woman’s idealized ’male god’: handso, wealthy, gentle yet childish, seemingly flirtatious but deeply loyal. Even after being deceived and hurt by the world, he never abandoned his kindness. In the end, his deep affection for ii and his inherent goodness led him into tragedy, dying alone."
Lin Manqing clapped her hands in agreent, "I’ve read Sun Jiayu’s story! That one set in Ukraine, right? Whether it’s his character or his relationships, Sun is truly a good man. It’s such a sha he died of stomach cancer in the end. I have a distant relative who went to Ukraine during that era. They described how chaotic and tough life was back then."
"Exactly, it was such a turbulent ti with the Eastern European collapse. Those days were difficult." The book-lover sighed. "It’s rare we share the sa ’male god.’ So, who had you laughing just now?"
Lin Manqing bead with excitent, "This novel I’ve been reading recently—number one on a prestigious platform’s high-rated list. A reincarnation story titled *Rebirth: A Royal Affair*. The male lead—guess who’s the author? My favorite writer, Wang Zhonglin!"
A dormmate groaned, "Who’s Wang Zhonglin?"
Lin Manqing clutched her chest dramatically, clearly aggrieved: "Oh heavens! You really don’t know my ’male god’ Wang Zhonglin? Are you pretending, or do you actually not know?"
The entire dorm shook their heads in innocent confusion. Seeing Lin Manqing on the verge of tears, they hesitated and nodded instead.
The dorm leader burst out laughing, "Wang Zhonglin, eh? I’ve heard the na—seems to be a famous author. Can’t quite recall, though. Let ask Baidu to jog my mory."
"Stop!" Lin Manqing waved her hand dramatically. "Why bother asking Baidu when you can ask ? He’s my ’male god.’ Allow to educate you. Wang Zhonglin was a prominent writer from the ’80s and ’90s, a true romantic talent. But he was too arrogant, too wild—a polarizing figure. So praised his eccentric writing style and unique, groundbreaking ideas, calling him enigmatic and imaginative. Others dismissed him as inappropriate and unserious. His books were heavily criticized back then. Then he had an accident that left him crippled, his family fell to ruin, and his readership dwindled. People said he was handso, but there are so few surviving photos of him, none clear enough to show his features. So compared him to the likes of Li Bai, Liu Yong, or Xu Zhimo. Later on, he burned most of his books for reasons unknown, leaving only a few behind. Tragically, he died young, in much the sa way as Li Bai—drunk, experiencing hallucinations. It’s said that in his dying monts, he called out the na of his beloved, though no one knows who she was. Nowadays, people might know Guo Jingming, Han Han, Zhang Xiaoxian, or Lin Qingxuan, but they may not have heard of Wang Zhonglin. History offers so few words about him. But to , he was a legendary figure, a man with stories to tell. If I could travel through ti, I’d want to et Wang Zhonglin."
Sangsang nodded and then asked an absurd question, one that earned universal scorn from her dormmates: "What’s reincarnation?" It wasn’t a word she’d encountered before. Based on its literal aning, perhaps it was about being reborn. But could soone give her an example?
Lin Manqing was thunderstruck, imaginary black lines falling over her head: "Tian Sangsang, I’m speechless!"
Was it really such a strange thing not to know? She rarely read popular web fiction or watched TV dramas. She read books often, but typically history, classics, or essays. She was passionate about foreign literature, especially novels, but her focus had always been academics, striving for her college entrance exams.
"Alright, if you don’t know ’reincarnation,’ surely you’ve heard of transmigration?"
"That I understand," Sangsang smirked. "Traveling back in ti to have a torrid affair with soone from history."
Lin Manqing nodded, "Close enough. Transmigration usually involves soone’s soul ending up in another person’s body, causing a shift in personality. Reincarnation, on the other hand, is about starting over—returning to one’s own body, often in the past, changing their fate. Put it this way: a transmigrator’s future is unknown, but a reincarnator’s future is known and alterable."
That was the first ti Sangsang heard the word "reincarnation." It sounded so fantastical that she didn’t dwell on it. Who wouldn’t want a second chance to start over? But could such a thing really exist?
Could she reincarnate and experience her mother’s love once more?
No.
It would never happen.
So what was the point?
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