All the Troublesome Characters I've Romanced Are Back for Me

Chapter 8

That same morning Yunxiao woke early, washed quickly, grabbed breakfast, and rode her motorcycle straight to Lihai University’s South Campus.

Lihai had two campuses in Jiangbei City: the North Campus, where she normally studied, and the South, separated from it by a wide river. To let students move easily between them the university had sunk a fortune into an inter-campus tram line that later became one of Jiangbei’s must-see sights; tourists were told they hadn’t really visited the city until they’d ridden it.

Because the band was famous at Lihai, Yunxiao skipped the tram and took her bike. Dawn light skimmed the river, flickering like loose change across her visor. Half an hour later she rolled into South Campus, parked under the shed, and walked to the library.

The building dominated the skyline—seven storeys of glass and concrete, the brightest landmark on this side of the water. South of the river was the old city; the downtown core had shifted north years ago when the new district boomed. Lihai had followed the money and poured resources into North Campus, but the library here still felt like the heart of something.

Shade trees arched over the paths, and walking beneath them tugged Yunxiao into the past—scraps of memory she’d tried to forget, every one featuring Lin Zhe. Thinking of him warmed her cheeks. Back when they met she’d been a loud, rude little delinquent with dyed hair; the memory still mortified her. If only she’d played the quiet girl... she wished he could see her now.

She reached the lobby before she realised it. Inside was hushed; students read or tapped at laptops. Lihai’s South Library rented safe-deposit boxes to students—pay once, keep the key, and the staff only bothered you when the lease ran out.

Yunxiao approached the counter and bowed slightly.

“Excuse me—can I collect something I stored a long time ago?”

The middle-aged librarian looked up, blinked, then smiled in recognition.

“I remember you. You haven’t been here in ages. You’ve... changed.”

Yunxiao flushed; the last time she’d been decked out in full delinquent gear, technicolour hair included. She didn’t recall the woman at all.

“Where’s the boy who came with you back then?” the librarian asked, friendly as an old neighbour. “Split up?”

Yunxiao flapped a frantic hand and invented a hasty excuse. A minute of small-talk later the woman led her to the vault, checked the records, and stopped at box 3145.

“You did keep the code?”

“Yes—thank you.”

The librarian tactfully withdrew. Yunxiao keyed in her birthday; the lock clacked open like something long frozen finally allowed to breathe. Two years had sat motionless inside.

She reached in, heart hammering, and pulled out a fat envelope. After re-locking the box she signed the digital pad at the counter.

“Lease on 3145 terminated,” the librarian confirmed.

Yunxiao found a quiet corner, slid into a seat, and opened the envelope. Inside lay thick sheaves of handwritten lyrics and melody lines—songs she’d never seen before. Nothing else: no letter, no note. She checked twice, puzzled, then noticed the first page.

To Yunxiao—

By the time you read this you’ve probably forgotten me...

“This doesn’t matter. Think of it as a gift from a kind stranger—just take it.”

“First off, congratulations on getting into Lihai University. From here on, stay gorgeous and stay alive, because you are free.”

“Like that line in The Shawshank Redemption: ‘Some birds aren’t meant to be caged; their feathers are just too bright.’”

“Maybe the hand you’re supposed to hold isn’t mine anymore.”

“So, at this crossroads, I wish you nothing but happiness.”

—From a stranger.

By the time Yunxiao reached the signature, her pupils were trembling. She knit her brow, ransacking her mind.

Why...

Why had she forgotten? This, of all things, should have been impossible to forget.

The ink on the page had almost faded, yet the handwriting was unmistakable. In an instant, memories flooded her.

Only a handful of sentences, yet she read them over and over, as if carving each word into bone.

Tucked behind the letter was a second sheet: the handwritten lyrics and melody of a song titled “Hai Kuo Tian Kong.”