A week passed.
The fever came and went like the tide. Some mornings Lin Chuan woke drenched in sweat, convinced he was back in that bathroom. The pounding on the door. The shouting. The smell of alcohol and fear. Other nights he dreamed of rain, an empty apartment, and his mother's tired smile. Those dreams were worse. They felt like memories. Like something he'd lost and couldn't get back.
When he opened his eyes, he found cedar instead of mildew. Silk sheets instead of threadbare blankets. Someone always waiting outside his door. A servant with warm water. A cook with bland soup. Ling Xu, sometimes, standing in the doorway with an unreadable expression, watching him sleep.
Doctor Zhao declared him recovered on the seventh day. Physically. The fever had broken. The wounds on his wrists had healed to pale pink lines. His vitals were normal. His blood work was clean.
The mirror disagreed.
He had lost more weight. His face had become noticeably thinner, making Ling Mu's already delicate features appear almost fragile. His cheekbones jutted out sharply. His collarbones were visible beneath his thin shirt. Dark circles lingered beneath his eyes despite sleeping most of the week.
His body felt light. Too light. As though a strong wind might knock him over. His hands shook when he held a glass. His legs trembled when he stood too long. The illness had taken more than his strength. It had stolen his appetite, his concentration, his sense of security.
He stared at his reflection. The face staring back was his. Ling Mu's. The same dark eyes. The same soft jaw.
---
"The semester begins tomorrow."
Chairman Ling folded the newspaper neatly. The paper was crisp. The edges were straight. He placed it on the table beside his breakfast plate.
"You'll stay home."
Across the dining table, Lin Chuan opened his mouth. The words were already forming. I'm fine. I need to go back. I can't stay here forever.
Ling Xu spoke first.
"You need more rest."
The words were final. Unquestionable.
Lin Chuan looked between them. Chairman Ling's face was set. Implacable. He had made his decision and wouldn't be moved. Ling Xu's face was calm, but his eyes were watchful. Calculating. Measuring.
"I'm well enough."
Doctor Zhao had warned him against overexerting himself. Had said the body needed time to heal. Had said pushing too hard would only set him back.
Chairman Ling ignored the argument entirely.
"You'll return in three days."
The matter was settled.
---
Three days later.
A black sedan rolled through the gates of Eastbridge University. The campus sprawled across rolling hills, a mix of old stone buildings and modern glass facades. Students filled every pathway. Groups laughed beneath the trees. Freshmen wandered around with maps, their faces bright with nervous excitement. Upperclassmen complained about timetables and professors and the price of coffee in the campus cafe.
Life continued exactly as it always had.
The designated driver stepped out first. He opened the rear door with practiced precision.
"We've arrived, Young Master."
Lin Chuan nodded. His legs still felt weak as he stepped onto the pavement. The autumn breeze carried the smell of freshly cut grass. The sun was warm on his face. Students rushed past him, their voices blending into a low hum of conversation.
It felt normal. Wonderfully normal.
Before he reached the entrance, a middle-aged man hurried toward him. His suit was neatly pressed. His hair was carefully combed. His smile was warm, practiced.
"Young Master Ling."
Dean Chen smiled broadly.
"Chairman Ling informed us about your illness. We've made all the necessary arrangements. Your professors have been notified. Your assignments have been excused. You only need to focus on recovering."
"I'll walk you to class."
Lin Chuan offered a polite smile.
"Thank you."
As they crossed campus, students couldn't help stealing glances. Whispers followed them like a trail of breadcrumbs. Everyone had heard. Ling Mu had attempted suicide. Some looked sympathetic. Others curious. More than a few whispered behind their hands, their eyes darting away when Lin Chuan looked in their direction.
Dean Chen pretended not to notice. He kept up a steady stream of conversation. This is the new library. This is the science building. The cafeteria has been renovated.
"Your professors have already received the necessary documents. No attendance penalties. You only need to focus on recovering."
"I understand."
The dean stopped outside a lecture hall. The building was old, made of grey stone, with tall windows that caught the morning light.
"This is your classroom. Literature 201. Professor Han's lecture. I'll leave you here."
Lin Chuan thanked him before stepping inside.
---
The lecture hall was already half full. Students sprawled across the tiered seats, their bags occupying the spaces beside them. Conversations echoed throughout the room. Most students barely glanced at him. A few looked up, recognized him, and looked away quickly.
Lin Chuan quietly made his way toward an empty seat near the back. His steps were careful. Measured. He didn't want to draw attention. He just wanted to sit down and disappear into the anonymity of the crowd.
Just as he was about to sit, a soft gasp came from somewhere nearby. He looked up.
The seat beside him wasn't empty.
Someone was sleeping. Black hair fell across his forehead, dark strands catching the light. Long legs stretched beneath the desk, crossed at the ankles. One arm rested across folded lecture notes. His face was turned away, hidden in the crook of his elbow.
Lin Chuan recognized him immediately. Gu Zhen.
He froze. His hand hovered over the empty seat. He could move. Find another spot. There were plenty of empty seats in the hall.
Before he could move elsewhere, the professor entered. Conversations ceased. The older man adjusted his glasses, scanned the room, and cleared his throat.
His eyes landed on the back row.
He sighed.
"Gu Zhen."
No response. The sleeping figure didn't move.
Louder this time. The professor's voice carried a note of weary resignation.
"Gu Zhen."
A lazy grunt. The sleeping figure lifted his head slightly. One eye cracked open.
"Hm."
"Sit properly." The professor pointed toward Lin Chuan. "Make space for your desk mate."
Without opening his eyes completely, Gu Zhen shifted his chair a few inches. He didn't look up. He didn't acknowledge Lin Chuan's presence.
"Mm."
Then he rested his head on one hand. And promptly went back to sleep.
The professor pinched the bridge of his nose. He took a slow, steadying breath.
"As I was saying..."
The lecture continued.
Lin Chuan quietly unpacked his notebook. His movements were careful, almost silent. He didn't want to disturb the sleeping figure beside him. He didn't want to draw attention to himself.
This was not what he expected.
---
An hour later, class ended.
Students poured into the hallway. Bags were slung over shoulders. Phones were pulled from pockets. Conversations rose and fell in a wave of sound.
Lin Chuan remained seated until the room emptied. Standing too quickly still made him dizzy. He waited until his head cleared, then packed his notebook and rose slowly.
He headed toward the restroom. Cold water splashed across his face. He gripped the edge of the sink. The porcelain was smooth and cool beneath his palms.
The mirror reflected pale skin. Exhausted eyes. Dark circles that wouldn't fade.
For a moment, the reflection changed. A locked bathroom stall. A shaking hand clutching a phone. The sound of pounding. Someone shouting. The smell of alcohol and fear.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
His breathing caught.
"No..."
He shut his eyes tightly. His fingers dug into the sink.
"It already happened. It's over."
The words were a mantra. A lifeline.
His chest tightened anyway.
Wonderful. Post-traumatic stress disorder. Somehow that hadn't made it onto his list of problems after transmigrating. He'd been too busy worrying about Ling Mu's family, Ling Mu's engagement, Ling Mu's complicated love life. He'd forgotten to account for Ling Mu's trauma. Or his own.
He almost laughed. In his previous life, he'd spent years teaching himself not to react. Not to cry. Not to become attached. Not to expect kindness from anyone. He had become emotionally distant because it was easier. Safer.
Apparently trauma hadn't received the memo.
After several deep breaths, the memories slowly retreated. The bathroom faded. The pounding stopped. He was back in the present. Safe. Alone.
He dried his face and stepped back into the corridor.
---
Students hurried in every direction between classes. The hallways were crowded, noisy, alive with the energy of the new semester. Lin Chuan checked his timetable. Building C. Third floor. History of Medicine. He had fifteen minutes to get there.
He had barely taken a dozen steps when someone stopped in front of him.
"Excuse me."
A gentle voice. The kind of voice that asked rather than demanded.
He looked up.
A boy about his age smiled awkwardly while holding a campus map. His hair was light brown, mussed from the wind. His glasses were slightly crooked on his nose. His cheeks were flushed with the effort of navigating the crowded campus.
"I think I'm lost." He scratched the back of his head, a self-deprecating gesture. "I'm looking for the Engineering Building. Do you know where it is?"
Lin Chuan lowered his eyes to the map. The boy had it folded incorrectly. The campus was laid out in a confusing grid.
Then he realized he had absolutely no idea where he was either.
He looked up. The boy was still smiling, hopeful, waiting for an answer.
"Um."
He hesitated.
"I'm not sure. I'm new here too."
The boy's face fell slightly. Then brightened.
"Oh. That's okay. Sorry to bother you." He turned to leave.
Before Lin Chuan could think, his mouth moved on its own.
"Wait."
The boy stopped. Turned back.
"I can help you find it. We can look together."
The boy's face lit up. His smile was genuine, warm, and completely without guile.
"Really? That would be great. I'm Shen Wei, by the way. First year. Civil engineering."
Lin Chuan hesitated. Then slowly, tentatively, he offered his own name.
"Ling Mu. Literature."