Chapter 103

Zhou Zhuoyi remembered that he was already dead.

The last thing to fade before his death had been his hearing. The doctor had said regretfully, “Notify the family.”

He really was dead now. The sensation was utterly different from when he’d been alive—his body felt incredibly light, as if he were floating in midair. Everything he saw seemed veiled by some indistinct layer, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was.

He gazed around in bewilderment. It looked like the inside of a train car, and he was drifting through it, stationary relative to the train itself.

Someone was slumped over on the seat beside him. The moment Zhou Zhuoyi caught sight of the man, he instinctively wanted to hold his breath—even though he no longer needed to breathe.

The middle-aged man sitting inside nudged the fellow’s arm, which was draped over the shared tray table. “Hey, kid, wake up. Let me squeeze by.”

The young man jolted upright, his cheeks flushed an unnatural red. He glanced at the older man, clearly unsure what was happening, then hesitated before standing to let him pass.

It was Zhou Zhuoyuan.

Zhou Zhuoyi was utterly baffled. The train was rundown and shabby, with cramped seats. He couldn’t fathom why Zhou Zhuoyuan would be riding it alone, or where he could possibly be headed.

Even more incomprehensible was how the once hot-tempered, arrogant, and willful Zhou Zhuoyuan had turned into this cautious, timid version of himself.

“Thanks,” the older man said as he headed toward the bathroom.

Zhou Zhuoyuan let out a sigh of relief and sank back into his seat. Propping his head on his hand, he stared out the window.

Zhou Zhuoyi tentatively tried to control his body, drifting right in front of Zhou Zhuoyuan.

But Zhou Zhuoyuan showed no reaction whatsoever. After a moment, his pupils even grew dilated and unfocused.

The car felt stiflingly hot. Everyone else was in short sleeves, but Zhou Zhuoyuan had bundled himself tightly in his jacket, zipping it all the way up. Sweat beaded on the tip of his nose, and the flush on his face lingered stubbornly.

Zhou Zhuoyi’s heart clenched. He reached out to touch him, but his hand passed straight through Zhou Zhuoyuan’s body.

“Bro, are you running a fever? You need to go to the hospital!” he shouted anxiously right by Zhou Zhuoyuan’s ear.

Zhou Zhuoyuan didn’t react at all.

The older man soon returned from the bathroom and settled back into his seat. He asked with concern, “Kid, you look like you’ve got a fever. Do you have any fever reducers?”

“Fever reducers…” Zhou Zhuoyuan repeated the words. For a moment, he seemed lost in thought. Then he picked up his damp backpack from the floor and rummaged through it before saying to the man, “I do.”

He pulled out the medicine—two blister packs—and handed over the one he’d already taken a few from. “Here you go.”

The older man chuckled helplessly. “Silly kid, I wasn’t asking to borrow any. Since you’ve got them, just remember to take yours.”

Only then did Zhou Zhuoyuan realize his blunder. He awkwardly pulled his hand back and busied himself with his phone, just in time to see a message from Lin Boxu: Take two at noon.

The weight in Zhou Zhuoyi’s heart lifted. He floated in the aisle, waiting to follow Zhou Zhuoyuan to get some hot water.

But as time dragged on, Zhou Zhuoyuan sat frozen, clutching his phone without moving.

Zhou Zhuoyi grew frantic. He drifted to Zhou Zhuoyuan’s side and saw that he was searching for rental guides.

Renting a place? Why not just stay in a hotel? What a scatterbrain.

Zhou Zhuoyi’s gaze shifted to the date displayed at the top, and a mix of sorrow and anger surged through him. It had only been a few days since his death, and here was Zhou Zhuoyuan, off on his own little adventure, without a trace of grief or nostalgia on his face.

Sorrow aside, his worry didn’t diminish. He hovered around Zhou Zhuoyuan, repeatedly urging, “Hurry up and take your medicine!”

A child dashed down the aisle, bumping into Zhou Zhuoyuan’s leg.

Finally, Zhou Zhuoyuan remembered the medicine. He set his phone aside, fished a half-empty bottle of mineral water from his damp backpack, pried out two pills, and washed them down with the tepid liquid.

Zhou Zhuoyi didn’t even know where to begin with him.

By evening, passengers were lining up with cups of instant noodles to get hot water.

Zhou Zhuoyuan’s stomach growled a few times. He flagged down the food cart and asked the price of a cup noodle.

That was when Zhou Zhuoyi began to sense something was off.

Zhou Zhuoyuan didn’t buy the noodle cup.

He clearly wanted it, but after asking the price, he gave up. He couldn’t bear to spend the money.

A cheap train, a soaked backpack, and an old phone that obviously wasn’t his.

He’d run away from home—and without enough money.

Given the timing, it didn’t take a genius to figure it out. Zhou Zhuoyi’s death had likely sparked a fight with the family, and in a fit of anger, Zhou Zhuoyuan had stormed off.

Never thinking things through.

Zhou Zhuoyi’s emotions were a tangled mess.

The air in the car probably reeked, and Zhou Zhuoyuan stood up to splash some water on his face in the bathroom. When he returned, he found a cup noodle waiting on his seat.

He paused for a moment, then looked at the older man and opened his mouth. “Did you… leave this for me?”

The man’s smile was warm and genuine. “Saw you didn’t eat lunch. A growing lad like you can’t go without food.”

Zhou Zhuoyuan’s hands trembled slightly as he picked up the cup of instant noodles. “Thank you.”

He lowered his gaze and carefully tore open each seasoning packet one by one.

The peak hour for hot water had passed, leaving the pantry empty. Zhou Zhuoyi floated to Zhou Zhuoyuan’s right, watching as he pressed the dispenser switch with one hand and quietly rubbed his eyes with the other.

Zhou Zhuoyi had never seen him so moved—not even if he’d given him something far more expensive.