‘SEE YOU MORNING’ 124 Walking Past Each Other

‘SEE YOU MORNING’ 124 Walking Past Each Other

Being trapped on the ceiling of an empty room did not instill the slightest fear in Lin Yuhui, for he had nothing left to lose—what was there to fear?
His grandparents, who had kept him company as a child, had passed away years ago and never seemed to return through reincarnation for a reunion; there was nothing more he could do for them. His daughter had her own life now, no longer clinging to him; even if she had, it would be too late. He could do nothing, nor could he alter the path of her life. As for that kind-hearted girl in Earth’s orbit, after so many years, he wondered if she lived happily, though he could offer no help. There was only that thread of concern in his heart, uncertain if she cared, or if his presence had ever been an intrusion.
Though his body was immobile—or rather, his focus was fixed—his thoughts remained free. Yet these memories had become kites with broken strings, fragments of the past he could no longer grasp. Those unexpressed affections, even if he forgot all memories of this life, would leave no further ties behind.
There was no lighting in the room, nor anyone entering. Unaware of how time flowed, Lin Yuhui could see the walls faintly through some ambient glow. Amidst the monotonous boredom, he drifted back to what he considered the most beautiful era in his memory: his childhood in the 1980s.
Back then, the roads were not so wide. Bicycles were the primary mode of transport, sharing crowded lanes with motor vehicles, though there were few cars at the time.
The buses were electric trams, some articulated three-axle models with pale green or light blue bodies. The window frames and roofs were white, and both the front and rear windows, along with the windshields, featured smoothly rounded curves—the aesthetic of that era.
In autumn, the roadside trees were pruned, leaving only bare trunks. The following spring, new branches would sprout from the tops, swaying in the wind, lush and translucent under the sunlight. The spring light filtered through the rustling new leaves, hazy and tender, or pierced through gaps in the branches, dazzlingly bright. The vitality of spring resembled a babbling infant, standing only at the journey’s starting point, full of expectation.
The buildings lining the streets were three-story apartment blocks with red bricks, grey tiles, and pointed roofs, featuring narrow windows and doors—a style reminiscent of old Soviet architecture. Only near the Wushangdian area stood a newer residential building, its surface clad in grey terrazzo, six stories tall. It was L-shaped, with corner units boasting longer balconies.
Gazing at the balcony railing on the first floor, he saw familiar clutter and dark green wooden window frames. Through the treetops, the glittering spring light spilled onto the swaying glass window, occasionally flashing blindingly into Lin Yuhui’s eyes. In an instant, he realized this was his childhood home.
He flew above the balcony. The morning sun shone at nine or ten o’clock. Inside, a familiar figure bustled about—grey hair, a blue cloth jacket. He rushed forward, wanting to tell her he had returned.
“Grandma, Grandma! It’s Xiaohui! Grandma!”
But his cries seemed swallowed by the air, soundless.
He reached out to tug her sleeve, hoping she would see him—Xiaohui had come home.
Yet his hand grasped only emptiness. At that moment, Grandma turned to look back into the house. A child’s cry echoed from within.
Lin Yuhui looked over. It was his younger self, awake now, crying for Grandma upon finding himself alone.
“Didn’t I tell you I was feeding the chickens? Crying just because I’m gone for a bit,” Grandma chided gently as she climbed back through the open window to comfort her grandson.
Lin Yuhui wanted to steady her, but he knew he could do nothing for her. He could only watch the little boy wiping tears on the bed, hoping he would grow up quickly to take care of Grandma in his place.
Turning away, he no longer wished to fly. Instead, he walked down the street he had traversed countless times at different ages and stages of life.
He noticed, at some point, that he seemed to have broken free from the confines of that empty room in the underground base. Whether it was real or not no longer mattered.
Walking familiar streets, yet unable to touch those once-familiar faces. The scenery along the way was both known and strange.
Standing before the starship’s viewport, Liana’s face was illuminated by the interior lights against the void of space outside. Her calm gaze watched the same scenes and street corners reflected in Lin Yuhui’s eyes, silently echoing the same monologue.
“This is your journey, a one-way ticket through life. Those you love walk through your life…”
Once, on this very road, Lin Yuhui remembered being carried on his father’s back through winter snow, heading to the hospital for a shot.
“They should have been the closest kin, yet they drifted farther apart with the years.”
“Child, let go of the sorrow in your heart. Release the calculations of hurts.” Liana’s face, reflected like a mirror in the dark night.
“Where were you then? Were you lonely too, with no one to lean on? Could I have searched for you?” When Lin Yuhui tasted the bitterness of the world, he did not want the one he cherished to suffer the same fate.
“You have walked through the years. Why cling to it? Remember the tiny bits of goodness in those years.” Liana turned and left the window. In the endless void, only her retreating figure faded away.
Lifeless footsteps, aimless gaze. “A lone self, walking the streets of a lifetime, never meeting that perfect other self. The familiar street scenes before my eyes belong not to the unfamiliar you. Where else can I search?”
Lin Yuhui gazed up at the firmament, wondering if, in the sky of that time, there was a version of you now.
From space, overlooking that blue planet, all the suffering, all the joys and sorrows, all the loved ones, the hated, the possessed, and the lost—all played out on that tiny stage.
“Must it continue like this?” Lydia approached her sister and asked.
“There is no need to involve him,” Liana replied simply. Meeting her sister’s persistent gaze, she explained further,
“Using the immersion pod can also repair his soul trauma.”
“But you know that’s not real,” Lydia pressed.
“Haven’t you already experienced it yourself?” Liana countered.
“That was just my memory, not me.”
“Oh? So you want to be with him?” Liana teased, her tone suggestive.
“No! It was clearly him pursuing you. You two were all lovey-dovey, and I got dragged in as a shield. Say that again, and I’ll go back to the past and change yours!”
“Haha, alright, alright. Stop fooling around. What difference is there between you and me?”