I survived, but I was permanently paralyzed.
"Mia, a lot of our classmates have gotten into college," I said, sitting outside in the sun with her.
She gave a soft "mm."
"Mia... do you hate me?" I asked after a while.
When I said it, I didn't dare look her in the eyes.
10
Many things happened in those four years.
That night, after I fell from the building, I lost consciousness completely.
When I woke in the hospital, the first thing I saw was Mia sitting beside my bed.
The ligature marks on her neck were clearly visible. I knew those scars would be with her forever.
She looked at me helplessly, wanting to hug me but not sure if she should.
Finally, she crouched down and tapped my arm twice with her fingers.
It was strange — we'd never established what that signal meant.
But I understood perfectly what she was trying to convey.
"Thank you."
11
After I was discharged, we helped Mia arrange her father's funeral.
At the service, Mia stood silently, burning the incident report for her father to read in the afterlife.
It read:
"...The suspect, Ma, fled after the crime and went into hiding for several days. With nowhere to run, he turned himself in to the police..."
"...After being taken into custody, he confessed fully to the facts of the crime..."
Mia looked at the coffin.
She fell silent, and her back began to tremble slightly.
I knew she was probably reliving the bone-deep terror of that night.
That night, some details still haunted us — before I arrived at her home, in the dead of night, she'd woken from sleep.
She caught a glimpse of a man's silhouette emerging from her father's bedroom and heading straight for the bathroom.
The man's hands had blood on them from the strangling.
She was terrified.
She crept toward her father's bedroom, wanting to shake him awake. But when she reached the bed, she found her father was already a corpse.
Fear — soul-piercing fear. She couldn't suppress the urge to scream.
But the next second, she heard the front door being opened, quiet footsteps in the living room.
That sound jolted her awake instead. She bit her lip hard, until it bled, forcing down the scream.
She crawled under the bed, trembling helplessly.
Then, she saw a puppy-shaped birthmark on an ankle beside the bed.
...
At the funeral, I sat in my wheelchair, adding paper money to the fire, my own back trembling with residual fear.
If I'd arrived even a second later — just one second — Mia would already be in that coffin.
"Kevin..."
Mia, beside me, suddenly said my name, snapping me out of my thoughts.
"Yes?"
"Can your family adopt me?" she asked.
I blinked.
12
She burned paper money, eyes cast downward.
"While you were unconscious, the police told me," she said. "That man and my father were colleagues at a bank. They embezzled money together."
"When the bank discovered the missing funds and started investigating... he said he thought that if my father disappeared permanently, and it looked like he'd fled with the money, he could clear himself. That's why he didn't use a knife — he strangled him instead..."
She wiped her eyes. "You know what, Kevin? That night, he didn't think I was home. I wasn't supposed to be."
She gave a bitter little laugh.
"My dad had sent me to my aunt's house. Maybe he had a premonition... but my aunt didn't like me. She said I was a freeloader, called me a girl who'd end the family line. I couldn't take it, so I ran back. And then..."
"Now she says I'm the one who killed my father."
I finally understood.
Her only living relative was that aunt.
The flames in the brazier flickered silently.
She reached out and touched my leg.
"And I want to be your wife. I want to take care of you." Her expression was full of guilt.
The coffin was sealed with nails.
The funeral director began singing the long mourning song.
I tapped Mia's arm twice with my fingers.
What I didn't know yet.
Was that from that moment on, her entire life would be destroyed by me.
13
Mia was eventually adopted by my parents.
Over four years, I watched life destroy her bit by bit —
To pay for my medical treatment, the family fell deep into debt. Mia had no choice. While my parents worked to pay off what they owed, she was the only one who could care for me.
She gave up her studies. In the prime of her youth, she became my full-time caregiver.
Doing the laundry, cooking meals.
Bathing me, nursing my body.
Dealing with the debt collectors who came to our door. Picking up side jobs to help with household expenses.
She was like a flower, growing more exhausted, more withered by the day.
Now it was this autumn day in 2008.
Mia pushed my wheelchair downstairs as we soaked in the sun.
A group of kids who'd just finished school bounced a basketball past us.
I suddenly realized it had been a long time since we'd communicated in our own way.
My fingers tapped her arm twice.
But her numb expression showed no response.
She just stared at those free, happy kids, lost in the sight.
"Mia... do you hate me?" I asked after a long silence.
Time had flattened all thought. She couldn't even answer the question anymore.
"Is it because I didn't do something right?" she asked anxiously.
Her answer exposed me, revealing my ugliest truth.
14
That morning when my parents urged her to give up school for my sake.
They thought I was still asleep.
But I was awake.
I lay there in silence.
I knew better than anyone — I should have stopped them.
I should have told her to let go of her guilt. I should have told her to live for herself, not to become someone's long-term caregiver out of obligation.
I...
That morning, all I did was clench my cowardly fist.
If I had died in 2004.
I would have been a hero.
15
On that autumn day in 2008, Mia sat beside me, deeply worried.
I, in my wheelchair, began to dry heave uncontrollably, tears streaming from the retching.
After that day, I developed a condition. Every time I looked in a mirror, I'd be so nauseated I'd throw up.
I despised the person in the mirror. The one who'd dragged everyone down.
16
In the autumn sunlight, Mia patted my back gently. Just then, I heard a familiar melody.
"Going home, back to the original beauty, don't give up so easily..."
I froze.
It was a child walking home from school, humming this familiar tune.
A song I'd remember until the day I died.
"Hey... what are you singing?" I called out to him, asking in a daze.
"What?"
"What are you singing?!" I roared. "Answer me!"
He looked startled by my expression. "Jay Chou. 'Rice Fields' from his new album..."
"When did this song come out?!"
"Just last week. It's from the new album..."
The kid stood there, confused.
From my wheelchair, I smiled involuntarily — a bitter, almost crazed smile.
"I see. I see now..." I murmured.
I remembered that summer night in 2004.
The "Rice Fields" playing from the computer.
At that moment, I finally understood.
If I could find that man — the older version of myself — I still had a chance to call 2004 and contact my past self. I could fix everything!
If only I could find him!
17
From that day on, I tried everything I could think of.
I posted sketches of him online. I put up flyers searching for him. I recreated his room in my own home so I wouldn't forget a single detail.
But I never imagined how hard it would be to find one person.
Day after day, year after year.
I was scammed countless times, yet not a single real clue ever surfaced.
His name, where he was right now — nothing.
I was like a mad, withered tree. No matter how desperately I thrashed, there was never any progress.
None.
...
And so time wound its way forward until the summer night of 2021.
August 6, 2021.
Mia had gone to work the night shift at a convenience store. My parents wanted to come over and take care of me, but I refused.
Most of the time, I just wanted to be alone.
I sat in my wheelchair in front of my old computer, zoning out, smoking cigarette after cigarette. The ashtray overflowed with butts as I mindlessly scrolled, searching for increasingly hopeless leads.
My phone played music on shuffle. When one song ended, a familiar voice came on.
"When you have too many complaints about this world, and you stumble and can't bring yourself to keep walking forward..."
I froze.
August 6, 2021.
Nighttime. Exactly midnight.
"Going home, back to the original beauty..."
My entire body began to shake uncontrollably.
The screen in front of me had frozen.
The next second, the frozen screen erupted with a video call ringtone, echoing through the silent night.
The video call, under my gaze, connected automatically.
An adolescent boy's face appeared on the screen.
And there, in the video — me. Long hair, stubbled, utterly defeated.
Sitting in a room I'd seen once before, a very long time ago.
In that instant, even the urge to vomit was suppressed by my thundering heartbeat.
I'd finally found the man I'd been searching for.
18
The 2004 version of myself and I sat in silence for a long time.
Until:
"Kevin?" I asked him.
On the other end, the 2004 version of me frantically moved his mouse. Seeing he couldn't close the video, he leaned down toward the screen.
I knew what he was about to do — he was going to pull the power cord.