Chapter 49: A New World

No last-minute cash additions, no clichéd ex-boyfriend-stealing-the-bride drama.

After a flurry of activity, they smoothly escorted the bride away.

The bride had been seen before—ordinary, someone who knew how to live a quiet life.

During the process, Wang Yan also saw the bridesmaids—yeah, pretty good.

Back in school, there was a pattern: beautiful girls always had ugly friends around them.

But that rule didn’t hold for Zhang Guang’s wife.

The next day, everyone dispersed—they were too busy; three days was already a lot.

Everyone implicitly avoided discussing how much to give; it was personal, and Zhang Guang understood that any amount was fine.

Wang Yan gave 6,666 yuan as a gift; Zhang Guang didn’t make a fuss or refuse—otherwise it might’ve seemed strange. He knew Wang Yan wasn’t showing off; just seeing the money told him Wang Yan was doing well.

Back in Jingcheng, Wang Yan resumed his previous life.

This month his luck was truly good—he sold another apartment and made over a hundred thousand.

That day, the system notification arrived unexpectedly.

The shared wish of Fang Yin and Lin Jiamo in "That Year, We Rushed Through Life": happiness.

Wang Yan had never watched "That Year, We Rushed Through Life," only heard the song.

“If we meet again and our eyes aren’t red, can our cheeks still be?”

Those little lyrics really had feeling.

He turned on his computer, logged into his account, searched for "That Year, We Rushed Through Life," and started watching.

He watched both the movie and the TV series.

The story was simple: the tangled love and hatred between Fang Yin and Chen Xun, mixed with abortions and infidelity.

After watching, Wang Yan didn’t want to say anything. Honestly, if he could refuse, he’d rather not have gone.

Never mind the rest—just the filming. Forget the opening scene; look at the lead actress.

That girl Ni Ni looked decent enough, all her features were fine, yet they turned her into that mess.

The TV series was even crazier—Fang Yin looked like she was dying from start to finish, like she was at a funeral.

With that look, how could some street thug even find her attractive?

In Wang Yan’s memory, his school days did have abortions and boat-stealing incidents, but clearly, those kids never cared about studying.

But such cases weren’t common.

Maybe their families had money from the start, and parents were permissive.

Or maybe their families had nothing, yet they were rebellious—whatever their parents forbade, they did.

There were athletes, art students, little big brothers, little big sisters.

Doing things they thought were cool, stylish, youthful and regret-free, not wasting their prime years.

The serious kids quietly worked hard and studied diligently.

Perhaps during adolescence they too fell in love—some went low, some went high—but overall, they remained rational.

Wang Yan had never seen a top student constantly talking about love and romance.

He then checked some materials, prepared more thoroughly.

On Baidu Tieba, Wang Yan saw this line: “The sadness of looking back stems from regret, not from who suffered more.”

It was just that, nothing more.

He sighed, drank some water, stood up, and pulled the curtains shut.

Lying on the bed, Wang Yan pulled up the system panel and allocated all his attribute points to Spirit—Spirit rose from 18 to 22.

After savoring it, he selected “Proceed.”

A blue flash—and Wang Yan vanished.

Wang Yan awoke again on a tree-lined path.

Information flashed through his mind—he understood everything.

1999, September 6, Jingcheng, Shiyan Middle School.

Wang Yan, male, 18, both parents deceased since childhood, left him a house. Raised in a welfare home, he left at eighteen to live alone in his own home. The former director helped him transfer schools through community officials, placing him here.

Seeing a white-clad figure ahead, Wang Yan called out: “Hey, the one up front, wait up.”

She kept walking as if she hadn’t heard. Wang Yan called again: “The girl in white—yeah, you.”

She couldn’t pretend not to hear anymore and turned around, confused: “What?”

Seeing that unremarkable face turning back, Wang Yan didn’t want to speak—this innocence wasn’t innocent enough; he’d have to fix her later.

Not now—it didn’t fit his style. He felt no interest, couldn’t bring himself to act. Wait a bit longer.

“I just saw your name on the list—you’re also transferring to Class 1, Grade 11. So am I.”

Wang Yan picked up his desk and walked over in a few strides: “Let me carry it for you—it’s heavy.”

He stacked his desk on top of hers—no room for refusal.

“You carry the two chairs—move faster.”

“Thank you, classmate.”

“Don’t call me classmate. I’m Wang Yan—Yan from ‘Zi Yue.’ What’s your name?”

“Fang Yin.”

“Which ‘Yin’?”

“The ‘Yin’ from ‘huíxiāng.’”

“Got it. May I say this frankly—you look good with long hair.”

Without waiting for Fang Yin’s reaction, he said: “Let’s go.”

Wang Yan carried two desks ahead; Fang Yin trailed behind, dragging two chairs.

After walking a while, they saw a group of boys running toward them from the side path.

“Take a break—I see you’re sweating,” Wang Yan set down the desks.

Fang Yin was tired too; she obediently put down the chairs.

Sunlight filtered through the leaves onto her face. She wiped sweat, shielded her eyes with her hand, and tilted her head up to enjoy the warmth.

This pose caught the attention of two of the running boys.

This moment was deeply etched into their hearts—never to fade.

But seeing the man beside her, Chen Xun and Qiao Ran both frowned. They probably thought that guy standing beside the white-dressed, sunlit figure was a desecration of beauty.

After resting, Wang Yan picked up the desks again: “Let’s go—we’re almost there.”

They found Classroom 1, Grade 11, and separated the desks and chairs.

Wang Yan automatically moved to the back corner by the window—habit, nothing more.

Mostly because seeing the desks, the timetable on the blackboard, the national flag above it, and the big red characters on the walls reminded him of his own naive youth—he used to sit in the back by the window, with his two best buddies beside the teacher’s desk, guarding him like bodyguards.

He shook his head and smiled, then tidied up.

Fang Yin hadn’t found a spot yet, so she placed her things near the podium.

“Let’s go find the teacher for our textbooks.”

She nodded instinctively—she felt something inexplicable about this ordinary-looking, deep-eyed classmate.

It was just… he was different. But she couldn’t say how.

“Dong. Dong. Dong.”

“Come in. You look unfamiliar—new students?” the male teacher by the door smiled.

After teaching so many years, they’d memorized most students’ faces.

“Thank you. We just transferred in—Class 1, Grade 11,” Wang Yan replied politely.

A female teacher at her desk noticed and, hearing “Class 1, Grade 11,” said: “Come here—I’m your homeroom teacher.”

They walked up. Wang Yan said: “Teacher, hello. May I ask your name?”

Fang Yin was startled by Wang Yan’s question—she’d never seen a student ask a teacher’s name outright.

The female teacher was also taken aback—she’d never met such a mature student. But remembering Wang Yan’s file, she understood: an orphan, maturity was understandable.

“I’m Hou Cuiping. Call me Teacher Hou.”

Teacher Hou added: “I know your situation. Did you get your desks and chairs?”

They nodded.

“Good. Go to the first-floor logistics office and find Teacher Zhang there—he’ll give you this semester’s textbooks.”

“Understood, Teacher Hou. We’re off then.”

After saying goodbye to Teacher Hou, Wang Yan led Fang Yin away.

Watching Wang Yan’s upright posture and confident stride, and Fang Yin’s silent, trailing steps, Teacher Hou shook her head: “Both poor kids.”

Wang Yan and Fang Yin said almost nothing to each other—a forty-year-old man inside, with an eighteen-year-old girl—he had nothing to say yet. He needed to nurture her, and he needed time to adapt, to rediscover his own youthful spirit.

They got the books, returned to the classroom—just as Teacher Hou’s class began.

Wang Yan called out: “Report.”

Inside, Teacher Hou signaled them to enter.

Chen Xun, Qiao Ran, and Zhao Ye were fooling around; they froze when they saw Wang Yan and Fang Yin enter.

Chen Xun and Qiao Ran thought of the earlier scene; Zhao Ye was just curious.

Seeing Wang Yan and Fang Yin enter, Teacher Hou said: “Put your books on your seats. Fang Yin, sit there.”

He gestured toward the second row by the window, down the aisle—he had already switched seats.

Fang Yin walked over, hugging her books.

She said to Wang Yan: “Is it fine for you to sit at the very back?”

Wang Yan smiled casually: “No problem. I’m tall, and I’m used to it.”

Teacher Hou shook his head: “Go put your books away.”

After the two had put their books away, Teacher Hou called them to the front of the podium and said: “Come on, let’s have our two new classmates introduce themselves. Everyone, welcome.”

The classmates clapped halfheartedly.

“Who wants to go first?”

Fang Yin looked at Wang Yan.

Wang Yan made a gesture inviting her to go ahead.

Fang Yin, nervous, hesitated and said: “Hello everyone, I’m Fang Yin. Thank you.”

The audience remained silent.

Teacher Hou said: “Clap, clap—Fang Yin is a bit shy. Everyone, please help her out in the future.”

After the halfhearted applause faded, Wang Yan spoke with clear, strong voice: “Wang Yan.”

Everyone waited for him to continue, but after a moment, he said nothing more.

Teacher Hou cleared his throat: “Come on, let’s welcome Wang Yan.”

After the perfunctory applause died down, Teacher Hou said: “Return to your seats. Let’s begin class.”

“In the last class, we covered...”