CHAPTER 8 HURRY UP AND REVEAL YOURSELF!
It turned out that Ye Zhibai had vastly underestimated her sister’s ability to get things done. Before she could fully process the situation, the unmistakable sound of helicopter rotors echoed from outside the window again. And in no time at all, a brand new, exquisitely packaged smartphone was in her hands.
“Holy…” Ye Zhibai held the box as if it were a precious relic. Even though her face didn’t show much surprise, her heart was a tumultuous sea. *This… this is the Pineapple 14, something I wouldn’t even dare dream about in my past life! Nearly five figures in price… the latest model… this is outrageous!!*
Observing Ye Zhibai frozen in place, scrutinizing the box from every angle, Ye Zhiyun assumed it was because her sister was unfamiliar with smartphones. With a considerate gesture, she carefully opened the packaging, inserted the newly activated SIM card, and handed the pristine white phone back to Ye Zhibai.
“All set, Sister. I assume you’re not yet familiar with using this beyond maybe the maps app, so I can show you how to use it. I’ve already connected it to the wifi—though I suppose you might not know what wifi means… Anyway, just take a look! I need to make a quick call, I’ll be right back.”
Who is she underestimating? Ye Zhibai thought indignantly. *As a modern, ambitious young person, how could I possibly not know how to use a smartphone?! Go on, do your thing.*
Nothing was going to stop her from experiencing the feel of the Pineapple 14. Nothing, that is, except…
“Sister?” Ye Zhiyun called out meaningfully.
“Hmm?”
“You’re holding onto me… I can’t leave… Hehe… Don’t you want me to go?”
“……”
Only then did Ye Zhibai realize she was unconsciously gripping her sister’s hand.
Ye Zhibai’s gesture of holding onto Ye Zhiyun’s clothing was a small but significant moment of vulnerability. As she rapidly withdrew her hand, a mix of embarrassment and disbelief swirled within her. This wasn’t the persona she knew herself to be—a self-reliant man who had faced life’s challenges head-on, never relying on others for emotional support, especially not a woman he had just met.
Yet here she was, feeling a pang of loneliness so intense it had driven her to seek comfort from Ye Zhiyun, even if just through a piece of fabric.
Ye Zhiyun, noticing her sister’s brief struggle, chose to sit back down beside her. Her voice was gentle, and her long black hair brushed against Ye Zhibai’s cheek, tickling her. “Just stay by yourself for a bit… I know you fear being alone, but I need to call our father. He doesn’t yet know you’ve awakened. Since your accident, he has aged so much… Though I wonder if it even matters to tell him, but it seems wrong not to.”
Father? The term felt foreign to Ye Zhibai. In her past life, the concept of having parents wasn’t something within her reality. *I have parents in this life?* This new revelation added another layer to her already complex feelings.
With a slow, almost hesitant motion, she finally relaxed her grip on Ye Zhiyun’s clothing. “Go ahead, I’ll be fine…”
“Alright, I’ll be back soon,” Ye Zhiyun assured her, then stood and walked out of the room. As the door clicked shut, Ye Zhibai covered her face with her hands in a moment of sheer embarrassment. And then, somewhat comically, she began to roll back and forth on the bed.
“Embarrassing… so embarrassing… these disobedient hands, I’m at my wits’ end… to chop them off… but no, I can’t bear it…”
Despite the gravity of her words, the calm tone in which she spoke them lent an almost humorous air to her actions. After a few more rolls, exhausted, she lay still, staring at the ceiling, finally beginning to understand the reason behind her impulsive action.
Ye Zhibai’s reaction was immediate as she covered her face again, feeling a rush of embarrassment recalling Ye Zhiyun’s affectionate smile. It wasn’t necessarily about any deep feelings for Ye Zhiyun—they had only just met—but more about needing some support. After the accident and being reborn in the hospital, along with her fear of the unknown and unfamiliarity with her surroundings, being alone felt daunting.
Ye Zhibai sat up slowly, her legs hanging off the bed as she hugged her knees. Her silver hair fell around her, offering a sense of security. While she didn’t have deep feelings for Ye Zhiyun, she appreciated the kindness her sister had shown her, especially the thoughtful gestures like making oatmeal porridge, providing mineral water, and even gifting her the extravagant Pineapple 14 smartphone. These were kindnesses Ye Zhibai noted mentally, vowing to repay them when possible.
With her own smartphone now activated and in hand, Ye Zhibai felt a bit more in control. She opened the app store and immediately downloaded QQ, a link to her past life. Despite having little else from before, she remembered her QQ account, which still had a few Q coins she had accidentally topped up. Remembering her account details was a small, yet significant, link to her former self.
After entering her password, Ye Zhibai saw a notification indicating a change in login device, which required verification. She immediately dismissed the option for phone verification; her previous phone was likely destroyed in the accident. She could potentially get a replacement SIM at a mobile store, but even that had little chance of success. If she were to give her name, the clerk might check and find her status listed as “deceased,” which would certainly cause alarm.
Thus, the only remaining option was security question verification. Fortunately, Ye Zhibai remembered the answer she had set back in middle school. The question was, “Who is your best friend?” Her answer: “Air.” It was a pure and somewhat naive response from her middle school days, tinged with a hint of sadness.
Despite its melancholic nature, the answer was correct. The interface confirmed the verification success, and she was authorized to log in on the new device, with the loading screen swiftly appearing.
After a surprisingly fast internet connection loaded her page, she was taken to the main chat interface. Her old avatar, an image of a silver-haired anime girl, appeared in the top left corner of the screen. Ironically, she had now become a silver-haired girl herself.
Her ID was “A Piece of White Leaf.” She had originally named it “A Piece of White Night” during a more pretentious phase in high school, then changed it in college to something slightly less ostentatious yet still stylish.
It was a familiar feeling being back on her QQ account—her space, her digital realm. Ye Zhibai scanned through her messages, most of which were from university group chats. Other than some routine notifications from her academic advisor in the larger group, there were no messages about her accident.
Ye Zhibai scrolled through her QQ messages, feeling a sense of detachment. No one really messaged someone who was believed to be gone, and since she hadn’t been very social at university, there weren’t many personal messages waiting for her. The financial strain of part-time jobs meant she often skipped group outings that required spending money, making her social circle even smaller.
The only message that caught her attention had come from someone nicknamed “Cool Sister” just this morning, before the accident had supposedly taken place. It read, “Xiao Bai? Do you have class this afternoon?” Ye Zhibai opened the message, her expression growing solemn. She knew she shouldn’t respond—it would only frighten someone to receive a message from someone who was supposed to be deceased. “I guess I won’t be making it to class,” she thought to herself with a touch of sadness, and quietly deleted the message.
Some connections, she mused, were meant to be rekindled if fate allowed, and some were better left in the past. This belief helped her find peace with the many messages she now regarded as remnants of a life that had moved on without her.
Yet, amid the calm of her nearly dormant QQ, one group chat continued to buzz incessantly with new messages—it was the “Anime and Manga Enthusiasts Exchange Group,” a small community she had stumbled upon and joined, feeling like she had discovered a treasure. The group was filled with kindred spirits who discussed anime and cosplay. They had been supportive and entertaining, providing a respite from the pressures of work when she needed it most.
It was still noon, and already the group had more than 99 new messages. This group, at least, was still very much alive with activity. Curious to see what they were discussing, Ye Zhibai tapped on the group chat. The moment she did, she noticed the group owner, who sported a profile picture of “Love Mang Luo Ah,” a popular manga artist, and a golden crown indicating his status, frantically tagging and poking her.
“Where’s Yezi? Divers need to come up for air, show up! I was calling you this morning to check out the latest episode of the new season—it’s explosive! Have you seen it?”
