Hao had just closed his eyes when, all of a sudden, countless memories began to flood into his mind—like the fabled rush of images one sees before death.
The self-consciousness of his childhood.The rebellion of his youth.The reckless impulsiveness of his adulthood.
Each scene played on repeat, vividly and mercilessly, until Hao almost forgot to breathe.
Then, cutting through the whirlwind of memories, a familiar voice rang out—loud and urgent:
"Still not out of bed?! It's already six o'clock! The school bus will leave soon!"
Hao's eyes flew open.He looked around.This… this wasn't his apartment.This was—
This was the old house where he had lived as a child.
Hao had grown up in a very ordinary, traditional family.He was the second child, with an older brother and a younger sister.His mother had always favored the eldest son. His father had always doted on the youngest daughter.
And Hao?Whatever happened, whatever went wrong—it was always his fault.
That bias, unspoken yet crushing, had shaped him.He rarely spoke.He often lashed out in sudden bursts of temper.Maybe it was because he had learned early that speaking too much only brought trouble… and anger was the only outlet he had for all the frustration and injustice he couldn't name.
His thoughts drifted deeper into the bitterness of those years—
When suddenly—
"Hurry up!" his mother's voice bellowed again, snapping him back to the present.
And for the first time in years, Hao felt the cold, familiar weight of a childhood morning pressing down on him.
Had I… gone back in time?"