บท 32: You are me, and I am you
After the conversation with her parents ended with the plan to attend the auction, Qi Jianyi walked to her room, rubbing her tired eyes as she lazily opened the bedroom door. She tossed her bag onto the table and collapsed onto the bed.
Qi Jianyi yearned for sleep, a temporary escape from her thoughts, but her mind refused to grant her peace.
Minutes passed, each one dragging slower than the last, until Qi Jianyi sighed in resignation. Her weariness was no match for the storm of thoughts that churned in her head.
With a pitiful groan, she forced her tired body to sit up, leaning against the headboard, her eyes wandering around the room as she pondered her next steps.
"I will find you, Qi Jianyi," she swore silently to herself.
The mystery of her existence in this world gnawed at her, especially the nagging suspicion that the other woman, the true Qi Jianyi, might have had a hand in her current misery. But where to begin? The more Qi Jianyi sought answers, the more tangled the mystery became, leaving her feeling increasingly lost.
She had no clear path to go back home, no starting point in this journey, only questions that seemed to multiply with each passing day.
Her gaze landed on the study table not far away, sparking a glimmer of hope. The original Qi Jianyi must have kept a diary, mustn't she? A place to record her thoughts, her pain, her secrets.
Qi Jianyi, being a writer herself, always had kept a diary where she poured out everything from trivial annoyances to the deepest wounds. Surely, she believes someone with a history as troubled as the original Qi Jianyi would have done the same.
Trusting her instincts, Qi Jianyi climbed down from the bed and walked over to the study table. It struck her as ironic that in the two weeks since she had been thrust into this world, she had never actually sat at the table.
Instead, she had done all her assignments on the bed, finding the softness and comfort more to her liking.
Back in her original world, she had spent countless hours at her desk, often working late into the night to meet deadlines, only to suffer from severe back pain at a very young age as a result.
That pain was a reminder of the toll her old life had taken on her body, and since her sudden disappearance as an author, she had sworn off spending long hours at a desk, preferring the comfort of her bed.
Now, she eyed the stack of books on the table, her curiosity piqued. They were all related to economics, nothing unusual on the surface, but something told her there might be more beneath the surface.
She pulled out the chair and sat down, her fingers beginning to rummage through the pile of books, searching for anything out of place, anything that might hold the answers she so desperately needed.
After a while, Qi Jianyi sifted through the drawer, her fingers brushing past a disorganized array of blank papers, stationery, and a tangle of earphones.
Despite her efforts, nothing caught her eye in the top drawer, so she closed it with a sigh and moved on to the bottom one, silently hoping for a stroke of luck.
"Please let it be here, Jianyi," she muttered under her breath, her voice barely a whisper.
With a swift motion, she pulled open the bottom drawer. Her heart gave a small leap as she found a medium-sized brown book, tightly bound with multiple strings.
The knots were meticulous, a clear indication that the book's owner had gone to great lengths to keep its contents private. It was as if the book was screaming to be left alone, its secrets buried beneath layers of twine.
But who was Qi Jianyi to respect the wishes of the book's owner? She was a displaced soul inhabiting another's body—boundaries were not her concern.
Without a second thought, she snatched the book from the drawer, her fingers tracing the cover as she examined it for any clues. But the surface was blank, save for the slightly darkened edges that hinted at years of use. The lack of any title or inscription only fueled her curiosity.
Her patience waned quickly. She grabbed a pair of scissors and began snipping away at the strings, her frustration growing with each cut. "Why tie it up so tightly? Did she murder someone and confess it all in here?" she grumbled, half-joking, as she worked through the seemingly endless knots.
Minutes ticked by, and at last, the strings lay in a tangled heap beside her. The book was finally free, yet Qi Jianyi hesitated.
Her fingers hovered over the cover, suddenly unsure. A wave of unease washed over her, as if the book held not just secrets but something far darker—deep despairs and buried regrets that might never have seen the light of day.
She found it funny, both her and the original Qi Jianyi were young. They were only twenty. So, what could possibly be for the original Qi Jianyi to have deep regrets?
However, Qi Jianyi forgot one thing. She herself has buried the biggest regret in her life at the age seventeen. Something that she believes would never heal over time.
Qi Jianyi took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. Closing her eyes for a brief moment, she released a long sigh and slowly opened the book, feeling as though she were about to embark on a journey back home.
The first page greeted her with a slightly yellowed sheet of paper, on which a single sentence was inscribed.
'My name is Qi Jianyi.'
She frowned, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. The handwriting seemed strangely familiar, almost as if it could have been her own. But that was impossible—she had never owned this book, never written these words. Yet, the familiarity nagged at her.
"Maybe it's just because we share the same name," Qi Jianyi muttered, dismissing the eerie sense of déjà vu that crept up on her.
She turned the page, expecting more, but was instead confronted by another solitary sentence. This time, the words sent a jolt through her, leaving her momentarily stunned.
'And you are also Qi Jianyi.'
Her breath caught in her throat. Those words, simple as they were, carried an unsettling weight, as if the book held knowledge that could alter her life in ways she couldn't yet comprehend.
Staring at the words on the page, Qi Jianyi's expression twisted in terror. Goosebumps pricked her skin as a cold shiver ran down her spine, making her hands tremble slightly as they clutched the book.
She gulped, her mind racing with confusion and fear. How could the original Qi Jianyi have written that sentence? For whom? And, most disturbingly, why?
A whirlwind of emotions engulfed her—confusion, puzzlement, fear. None of it made sense. She had started this journey to find a way back home, to understand how she ended up in this body. But now, her curiosity about the secrets of the person she was inhabiting overwhelmed her initial intent.
Another thought gnawed at the edge of her mind. When she first arrived in this world as the novel's Qi Jianyi, she had received a flood of memories.
Yet, in those memories, not a single moment hinted at the existence of this brown book. There was no recollection of the original Qi Jianyi ever touching it.
Was it possible that the memories she received were incomplete? Or was there something far more unsettling at play—memories that never existed in the first place? The questions buzzed in her mind, each one more unsettling than the last.
"Who the hell are you Qi Jianyi?" She whispered, her voice shaky.
Qi Jianyi turned to the next page, a few strings of sentences written on it.
"When night fell, I came alive.
You were there, with them you thrived.
I watched with envy, heart askew,
Why them for you, and none for me?
You are me, and I am you."
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