“We grew up together as childhood friends, while you were only her classmate for three years in high school. I suggest you treat what happened last night as a memory and let it drift away with the wind.”

Seeing that he was going to keep nagging, Chris Brooks couldn’t help but interrupt, “Who are you?”

“Me!?”

The boy’s face first showed surprise, then turned to anger. When the bus arrived at their stop, he grabbed the unsteady Chris Brooks and pulled him off the bus, shouting, “A breakup isn’t amnesia! I’m your good buddy Brian Foster. Are you going to forget your own name is Chris Brooks?”

“Brian Foster?”

Chris Brooks did have a good friend named Brian Foster, but he wasn’t in the country right now.

“Isn’t Brian Foster in Iraq?”

“Damn it, Chris Brooks, are you cursing me to die early?”

This time Chris Brooks fell silent, because he was staring blankly at the reflective glass at the bus stop. The reflection showed a teenager—familiar yet strange—with a bit of fuzzy mustache on his lips.

The sky was bright blue and cloudless, the road was still dirt, and the dust kicked up could be seen clearly in the sunlight. The barbershop by the roadside was blasting loud music from its speakers.

“Accompany you to watch the meteor shower fall on this earth, let your tears fall on my shoulder…”

Taking in the scene before him, along with the song playing in the streets and alleys, Chris Brooks suddenly felt dizzy. This clichéd plot was actually happening to him. Suddenly, his stomach churned again, and Chris Brooks couldn’t help but walk to the roadside and throw up.

Brian Foster didn’t mind at all. He came over and patted his back, comforting him, “You’ll feel better after you throw up.”

After emptying his stomach, Chris Brooks gradually regained his senses, and Brian Foster’s current appearance finally started to overlap with his memories.

“Where are we going now?” Chris Brooks asked, struggling to lift his head.

“To school to get our admission letters, of course.”

Now Brian Foster didn’t find anything strange. He just assumed his friend’s odd behavior was because of last night’s failed confession.

Hearing this, Chris Brooks really did remember that he and Brian Foster went to school together to pick up their admission letters. He got into an ordinary second-tier university, while Brian Foster got into a first-tier one.

This wasn’t 2019—it was 2002.

……

Chapter 2: Who Are You?

The two of them wandered to the school gate. Along the way, Brian Foster did most of the talking, while Chris Brooks barely responded, trying hard to adapt to Port City as it was seventeen years ago.

After graduating from college, Chris Brooks felt his hometown’s economy wasn’t developing well, so he stayed in the provincial capital, Jianye, to work hard. He only occasionally returned home to see his parents, always coming and going in a hurry, never having time to notice the changes in his hometown.

Only in the drunken hours before dawn would a surge of inexplicable emotion and memories well up from deep inside, but by the next day, they’d be quickly replaced by the busyness of reality.

“What’s the point of someone like me being reborn?”

Chris Brooks felt extremely stifled. In 2019, he had money, status, a company, and subordinates—he didn’t fit the typical “reborn protagonist” profile of being cuckolded, orphaned, destitute, and starving.

“Damn it, I really didn’t want to be reborn!”

Chris Brooks couldn’t help but curse. Brian Foster was still rambling on about how Chris Brooks got drunk last night and insisted on confessing to Xiao Rongyu despite being stopped. He paused, “Are you even listening to me?”

“Oh, I’m listening.”

Chris Brooks replied perfunctorily, then patted his pockets—no wallet, no phone, no mobile payment. He sighed and said to Brian Foster, “Do you have any money? I want to buy something at the convenience store.”

“Are you getting water?”

Brian Foster was quite considerate. He knew your mouth gets dry after a hangover, and today was pretty hot too.

“What do you want to drink, Jianlibao or Coke?”

Brian Foster was planning to treat.

“Bottled water is fine, and get a pack of cigarettes too,” Chris Brooks replied.

Brian Foster immediately widened his eyes, sizing up Chris Brooks, “When did you learn to smoke? How come I didn’t know?”

Chris Brooks was a bit impatient. He never realized his childhood friend was this naggy. Waving his hand, he said, “I’m in a bad mood, just want a smoke to take the edge off.”

Brian Foster hesitated for a moment, but still obediently went to buy cigarettes. The convenience store was right outside “Port City No. 1 High School.” Chris Brooks looked at the wide iron gate, thinking, this is the place where I spent three years of high school—over a thousand days of memories.

Soon, Brian Foster came back, “Here, your cigarettes.”

“Heh, it’s been so long since I’ve seen Hongtashan.”

Chris Brooks couldn’t help but smile. Ever since he started working, he rarely smoked this brand. He skillfully tore open the pack and handed one to Brian Foster, “Want one?”

Brian Foster hesitated for a while, but finally decided to join his buddy for a smoke.

Brian Foster still had the typical student mentality, a bit thin-skinned, unlike Chris Brooks, who had been toughened by society and had a very different approach to things.

Chris Brooks simply rolled up his pant legs to his knees, plopped down on the curb, and puffed away, squinting as he thoughtfully watched the students passing by.

Brian Foster was awkward, turning his head away when he smoked, taking a quick drag and then hiding the cigarette behind his back, exhaling wisps of smoke from his mouth like some kind of crane-shaped teapot.