Chapter 98: Digital Letters, To You in the Future

Inside the study.

The final set of code was assembled.

The purple display module clicked into the very bottom of the logic chain.

Xiao Sizi let go of the mouse and let out a long sigh.

She rubbed her sore eye corners.

She clicked the mouse one last time to start the program.

The screen background turned pure white.

On the right stood a pixelated man in a black trench coat.

On the left, the pixelated little girl in Tang attire with twin buns appeared.

The little girl stepped forward.

Her movements jerked and paused, carrying a slightly comical mechanical feel.

The little girl crossed the pure white screen and walked to the tall man's side.

Swish!

A huge white dialogue box popped up above the little girl's head.

Inside the box, two rows of black characters with pixelated fuzzy edges appeared clearly.

Not the Song typeface typed by a computer, but Feibai Script drawn stroke by stroke with the mouse.

【Father, Mother.】

【Sizi is cured in the future, and moreover, I have even learned to subdue the Daichong!】

Crude visuals, stuttering frames, rough pixels.

No special effects, and no sound.

This program, lasting only eight short seconds, completed all its set instructions.

It stopped on this final frame.

The Great Tang's Taiji Palace, Lizheng Hall.

Inside the charcoal basin, a piece of fully burned silver-bone charcoal cracked, making an extremely faint "crackle" sound.

Li Shimin stood by the window, his feet as if nailed to the bluestone slab by several steel nails.

The Great Tang's emperor recognized the familiar structure of the handwriting. It was the brushwork he had taught stroke by stroke on rice paper while holding his daughter's hand.

"Sizi..." Li Shimin's voice trembled.

He did not call those flying insects Daichong.

He knew that was his daughter's deliberate use of the Great Tang's childish term so he could understand.

Zhangsun Huanghou rose from the embroidered couch.

She took two steps forward, her body swaying slightly.

Li Shimin reached out and firmly supported his wife's arm.

Zhangsun Huanghou leaned against Li Shimin's shoulder, covered her mouth with both hands, and tears burst from her eyes.

Cured.

These three words felt heavier than a thousand weights to her, even more so than the Great Tang's iron cavalry trampling the Turkic royal tent.

Her daughter, in the space-time of a thousand years later, had learned those magical rules and the methods to deal with calamities.

Using this set of extremely cold and rigid "code" spells belonging to the future, she had sent back a talisman of safety.

Li Shimin turned and grasped his wife's palm.

Their ten fingers interlocked tightly.

The Great Tang's emperor and empress, before this line of crude code, laid down all their dignity and defenses.

Only a pair of ordinary parents who had finally waited for their daughter's news of safety remained.

Morning.

Sunlight streamed through the glass sliding doors of the balcony, spilling onto the wooden dining table.

The steady hum of the range hood came from the kitchen.

Lin Xuan stood at the counter, holding a wooden spatula.

Butter melted in the frying pan, sending up fine bubbles.

He cracked an egg; the egg white and yolk fell into the pan, the edges quickly turning a crispy golden brown.

Two slices of lightly toasted whole wheat bread were filled with the fried egg, lettuce, and two slices of bacon.

Cut in half and placed on a white ceramic plate.

Lin Xuan turned off the gas stove and took two cups of warm pure milk out of the microwave.

Xiao Sizi pushed open the bedroom door.

She wore the autumn school uniform, blue and white.

On her feet were a pair of clean white sneakers.

Her eyelids were still slightly swollen, the mark left from crying in front of the computer screen last night.

"Go wash your hands," Lin Xuan said, pulling out a dining chair.

Xiao Sizi walked into the bathroom.

The sound of running water started.

A moment later, she came out shaking water droplets from her hands and sat down at the dining table.

Lin Xuan pushed the plate full of sandwiches toward her.

"Stayed up late working on the Personal Computer last night; I'll drink half a cup more of milk today."

Lin Xuan lifted his own cup and took a large gulp.

Xiao Sizi held the Glass cup with both hands.

The warm liquid flowed down her throat, dispelling the chill of the late autumn morning.

She took a bite of the sandwich, the lettuce making a crisp crunching sound.

Fifteen minutes later, breakfast ended.

Lin Xuan grabbed a tissue and wiped the cookie crumbs from the corner of Xiao Sizi's mouth.

He turned and walked to the entrance hall, picked up that pink double-strap schoolbag, and checked the water bottle and pencil case in the inner compartment.

"Come here." Lin Xuan beckoned to her.

Xiao Sizi walked over.

Lin Xuan picked up that bright red scarf from the shoe cabinet and shook it open.

He squatted down halfway.

He wrapped the red scarf around the back of Xiao Sizi's neck.

He crossed the two ends and tied a neat knot.

His fingers smoothed out the tiny wrinkles in the fabric.

"It's been so long since you started school; the teacher said seats need to be rearranged."

Lin Xuan stood up and hung the schoolbag on her shoulders.

"Get along well with your new classmates; go on."

Xiao Sizi nodded.

She pushed open the security door and stepped into the morning light of the corridor.

Eight o'clock in the morning.

Year One Class Three classroom.

The morning reading bell had not yet rung.

The classroom was filled with the noise peculiar to children.

Several boys chased back and forth in the aisle between the desks, while girls gathered by the windowsill exchanging newly bought stickers.

The homeroom teacher, Teacher Li, walked into the classroom carrying a cardboard box.

She picked up the blackboard eraser and tapped it twice on the podium.

Chalk dust shook loose.

"Return to your seats and be quiet." Teacher Li raised her voice.

The classroom fell silent instantly.

The boys scrambled back to their places.

Teacher Li placed the cardboard box on the podium.

"Today we are rearranging seats; come up according to your student number to draw a slip of paper."

"Whatever row and seat number you draw, that is where you sit."

"It's all up to luck; no one is allowed to choose."

Xiao Sizi sat in the first row.

She looked at the cardboard box on the podium, a hint of thoughtfulness in her eyes.

In the Great Tang, whether in the Hongwen Guan or the Imperial Academy, the arrangement of seats followed extremely strict rules.

Princes sat in front, children of powerful ministers in the middle, and children of officials of slightly lower rank in the back.

Respect and inferiority, high and low, depended entirely on the father's official position.

But in this era.

A scrap of paper with a number written on it disrupted all origins and classes.

Random, equal.

It was Xiao Sizi's turn by student number.

She walked up to the podium.

She reached her hand into the cardboard box, drew out a crumpled paper ball, and unfolded it.

"Row five, left second."

Xiao Sizi glanced at the characters on the slip of paper.

The seat by the window in the second-to-last row.

She put away the slip of paper, walked back to her original spot, and packed her textbooks and pencil case into the pink schoolbag.

She lifted the schoolbag and walked down the aisle toward the back.

Reaching the fifth row, she stopped.

At the left-second seat, a girl was already sitting.

The girl was named Xiao Ya, wearing the same blue-and-white school uniform.

But that uniform was clearly washed until it turned white, and even a few frayed threads had worn out at the cuffs.

The size of the clothes was too large, hanging loosely over her small frame; it was obviously old clothes passed down from older brothers or sisters.

Xiao Ya's sitting posture was extremely constrained.

She pulled the chair very close, legs pressed together.

Her two arms were pressed tightly against her ribs, elbows drawn inward.

A rectangular double desk; she occupied less than a third of its surface.

She feared crossing the line by even a hair's breadth.