AUS Chapter 4: The Grown-Up Liu Jiang

While being escorted to the principal’s office, I came to some realizations.

The operation of this entire virtual world wasn’t as free and unrestricted as our company had initially advertised. My actions had to align with the system’s calculated trajectory, much like clearing a video game. Starting from the first level, I needed to let the story progress smoothly according to its predetermined path.

But I had another question to ask.

Why was kissing treated as fighting?

I couldn’t figure it out.

Next to me, Liu Jiang sat rigidly on a stool. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye and felt he was also deep in thought, wrestling with something. But his concerns were likely different, perhaps even more perplexing.

Like why I kissed him.

It was clear he was engaged in futile pondering as well.

Liu Jiang was an odd person. He could be soft when you expected softness and tough when you expected toughness. To outsiders, he matched his appearance: a reckless delinquent, unbound by societal norms, fierce, and not one to hold back in a fight.

But to those who knew him well, especially me, he was the complete opposite.

Liu Jiang would argue with me, and he wasn’t timid, but he was always the one to apologize first. Didn’t I just say I was a jerk? That was comparative—he wasn’t far behind in that regard.

To apologize to me, he’d do anything.

That year, I was still in college, preparing for a competition in the library at night. He waited for me in the garden downstairs, insisting on saying a few words. But it was far more than just a few words.

It got late, and the college couples who’d been rendezvousing in the small garden had all left. I sat on a stone bench by the lake. The March chill made the bench somewhat freezing on my backside, but I insisted on sitting there.

He didn’t stand either. He crouched beside me, then let his knees touch the ground, his arms wrapped around my thighs. After resting his head there for a while, he looked up at me. I couldn’t resist him looking at me like that, so I lifted his chin with my hand.

We made up right then and there, better than ever.

That night, I didn’t return to my dorm. The next day, my roommates teased me, asking how a freshman like me was already booking hotel rooms with someone.

I’m getting off track.

Right now, I was still outside the principal’s office, and no matter how I looked at it, I was the one who owed him an apology.

But how should I apologize?

“Sorry, I was just following the system’s protocol to meet you in the correct way. Who could’ve guessed the correct way to meet you was to kiss you? Speaking of kissing, the reason I kissed you is because I’m from the future. And speaking of our future—”

Stop it. If I actually said that, I’d inevitably get kicked out by the system again. My brain couldn’t handle another crash landing. Brain surgeons were hard to come by in the apocalypse.

The apocalypse.

Sitting in the sunlit hallway, I almost forgot I came from an apocalyptic world.

Currently, Liu Jiang’s cronies were the ones being questioned in the principal’s office. I guessed the discussion revolved around two things: why they didn’t stop us, and why we did what we did. They probably knew nothing about the first question and even less about the second.

No matter. It would be our turn soon.

When the discipline director came out to call us, Liu Jiang hadn’t yet snapped out of his contemplative daze. He stood up groggily and walked into the principal’s office. The discipline director closed the door, and the principal sat up straight.

Their attitude toward me was noticeably softer compared to the previous group. After all, my dad was someone they knew, their so-called “President Yang.” Because of this connection, the two bald men exchanged glances for a few seconds, neither able to speak first.

I decided to confess and seek leniency. “Actually, I have a mental health condition.”

That jolted Liu Jiang out of his meditative state. All three of them turned to look at me.

I maintained a solemn and dignified expression, taking a few seconds to muster the right emotion before meeting their gazes.

Of course, I was making this up.

Given the system’s quirks, if kissing could be considered “normal,” then explaining why I suddenly kissed someone else’s mouth could also be deemed normal, right?

I wasn’t kicked out of the simulation.

Yep, that’s the system’s style—it just wanted to see me make a fool of myself.

“Maybe what happened earlier was too much of a shock for me,” I said, letting out a long sigh and slowing my speech. “My condition is like that. It flares up when I’m triggered.”

The expressions of the other three shifted from rapt attention to mutual suspicion. They were definitely wondering who had triggered me. Was it the group of delinquent students I encountered upon entering the campus? Or perhaps the discipline director’s shiny head gleaming in the sunlight? Maybe even the long wait in the administrative office?

I pressed my advantage. “Family matters aren’t meant to be aired publicly, so my dad didn’t mention it.”

The principal’s tone softened to a gentle murmur. He said, “Then you should head back.”

I nodded. As I turned to leave, I glanced at Liu Jiang. He happened to be looking at me too. Our eyes met briefly before we each looked away.

The first thought that popped into my head was, oddly enough: now I won’t get to see him cry.

Later, I did see it, just in a different form.

The weather that day was beautiful, even better than I remembered. Nearly a decade after graduating, I was reliving my first day of high school. Honestly, it felt pretty exhilarating. When the bell rang for the end of class, I was still staring at the textbook in my hands.

It wasn’t because I loved studying so much, but because I realized the things in this virtual world were astonishingly real.

Take the textbook in my hands, for example. It was a common item, but rendering it wasn’t so simple. First, it needed shape and color. Second, it had to have the content of every page. I tilted my head toward the sunlight, and the text on the back page appeared like a shadow in the light.

So was this really everything dug up from the depths of my memory?

The sunlight dimmed briefly. I heard the chair in front of my seat being moved, and a figure straddled it backward.

It was Liu Jiang.

I kept my eyes on the textbook, thought seriously for a few seconds, and decided to pretend I hadn’t seen him.

Seeing that I had no intention of looking up, the person in front spoke. He asked, “Are you really good at studying?”

The question sounded familiar, as if our interaction was about to align with the original timeline. But his next sentence dispelled that notion.

Seeing no one else around, he leaned in close and lowered his voice. “Is that condition of yours real?”

Well, someone actually bought it.

I put the textbook down. Liu Jiang flinched for a moment, as if he wanted to avoid my gaze, but he stubbornly met my eyes.

As our eyes locked, I marveled again at how realistic the system’s simulation was.

When I first met Liu Jiang, this was exactly how he looked. Not as pale yet, but you could tell his skin was thin, with faint sunburn marks under his eyes. His nose bridge didn’t seem fully developed, and his features weren’t as sharp. His eyes, gazing at me, carried the raw, youthful arrogance typical of a teenage boy, practically begging for a punch.

I said, “Absolutely true. I was triggered.”

He didn’t waste words. He slapped the desk and left me with, “Wait for me after school.”

Wait for him after school.

My gaze followed him to the classroom door. A few students I had no memory of were waiting for him outside. He was still as popular with his crew of questionable friends, and I was still as isolated, as if he were the only one who noticed me.

His figure disappeared into the hallway. I decided to stand up and stretch my shoulders.

The sluggishness I felt when I first entered the simulation was gone, replaced by a sense of ease, as if I were truly sixteen again. My shoulders felt no soreness, and my mind was clear enough to catch every detail.

After standing in place for half a minute, a sudden discomfort hit my bladder.

Standing at the urinal in the bathroom, I let out my third exclamation since entering the simulation: this was really realistic.

I zipped up my pants and sank into deep thought. Would such a realistic sensation of bodily functions cause any side effects in the real world?

Suddenly, the system spoke. “Dear tester, actions in the virtual world only affect the cerebral cortex and will not impact the tester’s physical body.”

Clearly, the system had picked up on my concern. I tilted my head, glancing randomly in one direction, as if looking at the invisible system.

I said, “You’re watching even at a time like this?”

The system didn’t respond. Instead, I heard the sound of a stall door opening behind me. One of Liu Jiang’s cronies emerged, clutching a roll of toilet paper. It seemed my earlier comment had caused a misunderstanding.

He didn’t ask, and I didn’t explain. We just stared at each other until he sidled to the bathroom door. He didn’t even wash his hands before bolting.

From then on, the rumor that the new transfer student in Class Five had a mental illness was sure to grow even more convoluted.

Using my nearly thirty years of life experience to navigate an afternoon in high school felt like time flew by. In the blink of an eye, it was time to leave school, and I went to find Liu Jiang, who’d told me to wait for him.

He wasn’t at any of the school exits. Instead, he was under the poplar trees between the teaching buildings. When he saw me, he didn’t offer much explanation, just led me to a low wall.

I asked, “Where are you going?”

He said, “Taking you to a cool place.”

His idea of a “cool place” could mean anything. I looked around and questioned, “Then why not go through the main gate?”

As we spoke, he’d already vaulted onto the top of the wall. I didn’t know how many times he’d done this to be so practiced.

He slung his backpack over his shoulder and reached out to me impatiently. “Why so many questions? This way’s faster. Come on, give me your hand!”

Maybe because we weren’t in the timeline where I’d beaten him to tears, in his eyes, I was just a frail, studious kid.

I tossed my backpack to him. Between catching it, steadying it, and reaching out his other hand to grab me, I was already standing firmly on the wall.

He froze, retracted his outstretched hand, and gave me a few claps.

Number Twenty High School was near Liancheng’s old town, full of unrenovated buildings blending Western and Chinese styles, giving it an otherworldly feel.

The place he wanted to take me felt somewhat familiar. In my memories, I’d been there a few times, but always sneaking in through a window at night, never as openly as today.

Behind this old alley was none other than Liu Jiang’s house.

To me, this was a return to his home after a decade. But to Liu Jiang, it was bringing a stranger he’d just met that day to his place.

A stranger who got on the wrong bus, stood there speechless, had a mental condition that made him kiss people when triggered, and had straight-up kissed him.

Classic Liu Jiang.

Passing through a corridor plastered with small ads, I glanced back at the concrete fishpond housing both koi and green algae. The alley was thick with the damp smell of old buildings. Liu Jiang reached the door in front of me, and I tore my gaze away from a sports drink poster featuring a male celebrity.

After a few knocks, the door opened from the inside. Instantly, the noise and aroma from within spilled out, dispelling the chill at the back of my mind.

The person who opened the door was an elderly woman with white hair but no trace of frailty. She radiated vitality. Wearing an apron, with reading glasses perched on her nose, she glared up at Liu Jiang.

I remembered—this was Liu Jiang’s grandmother.

She asked, “Why are you back so late?”

Though her tone was stern, it was clear Liu Jiang wasn’t intimidated. He grinned and turned to introduce me. “I brought a classmate home.”

His grandmother’s expression, initially serious, softened when she saw me. She said kindly, “A new face. Just met?”

Liu Jiang was blunt. “He’s a new transfer. Met him today!”

His grandmother didn’t mind, stepping aside to let me in. Wiping her hands on her apron, she shouted, “The ribs need a few more minutes!”

She wasn’t talking to us. Several voices from upstairs responded in a chorus, sounding like high schoolers around my current Yang Pingsheng age. Besides the voices, I faintly heard music and the sound of chairs being moved, intermittent and disjointed.

What was this, a daycare?

I hadn’t heard about this before.

As I mentioned, I’d been to Liu Jiang’s house a few times, but always furtively. I knew he lived with his grandparents and that he had cousins, but we’d never been formally introduced.

His house was in the old town’s narrow alleys, with a courtyard in the middle, a two-story standalone building with a rooftop. It was spacious. His room was on the second floor, accessible by climbing the wall.

Though I knew this, I couldn’t act like I did, so I followed him to the kitchen.

The kitchen was on the first floor, with a round table covered in a plastic tablecloth in the center. A concrete stove stood by the window, where his grandfather was wiping a Christian portrait on the doorframe. Liu Jiang grabbed two cans of vanilla soda from the fridge, tucked them under his arm, patted my shoulder, and signaled for me to head upstairs.

He didn’t take me to the bedroom area but turned toward another room.

The closer we got, the louder the music I’d heard earlier became. When the door opened, the noise hit my eyes as much as my ears.

It was a large room, with all the furniture neatly pushed to one side. Blackout curtains hung over the windows, and a bright light illuminated the space. In the center was a drum kit, flanked by speakers. A tangle of power cords snaked across the floor, branching out to connect an electric guitar, a bass, and a microphone.

Several people, around Liu Jiang’s age, were in the room. Some wore Number Twenty High School uniforms, others wore vocational school uniforms. They were huddled over a sheet of music, arguing loudly, oblivious to our arrival.

A band.

It clicked. This was the rehearsal Liu Jiang had always wanted me to see—the one I’d always refused, thinking it was boring.

Maybe because my body had reverted to its high school state, my mindset had regressed too. Looking at it now, I actually thought it was pretty cool.

A hand nudged my shoulder. I turned to see Liu Jiang had already opened a soda can for me. He raised his drink and asked, “What do you think?”

I took the soda and said bluntly, “Pretty cool.”

Liu Jiang was clearly pleased with my answer. He pressed his lips together, wiped his nose with his finger, then set down his soda, clapped his hands, and halted the room’s chaos.

He grabbed the microphone, tested it, and said, “Let me introduce you. This is the new consultant I took the liberty of recruiting for our band. Come on, introduce yourself!”

Consultant?

The microphone was thrust to my mouth before I could refuse.

“Uh, I’m Yang Pingsheng…”

Before I could finish, Liu Jiang shouted, “Great!” and led the applause. His crew was enthusiastic, and the room erupted in cheers and clapping.

Amid the applause, the chubby guy at the drum kit reacted first. Pointing at me, he said, “Hey, isn’t this the new transfer kid who’s supposed to have a mental illness—”

Liu Jiang punched his shoulder, sinking his fist into the guy’s flesh. It didn’t do any damage, but the drummer shut up.

The skinny guitarist, clearly more tactful, jumped in. “He’s the new transfer who’s good at studying!”

The others chimed in, and Liu Jiang seized the moment for a closing remark. “Exactly, good at studying—perfect for a consultant!”

In the noisy chatter, I pieced together the situation.

This was their self-formed band. In the lax environment of Number Twenty High School, where studying wasn’t prioritized, a group of kids with nothing to do after school got together to pass the time. They’d achieved some success, but they lacked someone with real brains to handle their finances.

They were preparing for a charity performance at a church to raise funds, busy with rehearsals and looking for someone to manage their accounts.

Now, I was that person.

But I also realized that being a consultant because I was good at studying was likely just an excuse. The real reason Liu Jiang took me in was probably pity.

He might think his actions contributed to my “episode.” What would happen to a new transfer student with a mental condition who seemed out of place on campus?

Whatever the consequences, Liu Jiang didn’t want to see them. He wanted to look out for me. I’d almost forgotten—Liu Jiang was the kind of person whose compassion overflowed.

In the original timeline, I’d beaten him into submission. In this timeline, he was starting to pity me. Maybe in both timelines, I was conquering him with my presence. Or perhaps, in every timeline, he was the one pitying me.

A ridiculously cliché phrase popped into my head: no matter the parallel universe, we’ll always find our way to each other.

So cheesy!

I took a sip of soda, suppressing the urge to cringe. The room returned to its lively chaos. Liu Jiang sat beside me, holding his soda can, lost in thought.

I should say something.

I turned my head, and my eyes first landed on the room’s door, which was slightly ajar. At some point, someone had appeared outside.

At first, I thought it was Liu Jiang’s grandfather or grandmother, but the figure was young. My gaze moved upward, settling on his face.

He wore a black hoodie, a lip ring glinted on his mouth, and the tips of his hair behind his ears were bleached white. He was silently watching the performance in the room.

Standing outside the door was the grown-up Liu Jiang.

Realizing this, the stool I was perched on nearly flew out from under me.