011, Loss, Disguise

After all, there was a great chasm of sixty years between them—how could the developments of that era be understood or seen through by reading just one book? Even if it were possible to grasp the content, would there even be the necessary materials to put it into practice in that time? After some thought, Jing Qingshin decided that the books her father had read were somewhat more suitable.

Standing by the bookshelf, Jing Qingshin carefully browsed through the titles and finally selected two books on military strategy. These would be much more practical for Gao Shen. Once his leg healed, he would certainly return to the army. Learning more could only benefit his future development—these were the strategies accumulated and summarized by those who came after him, after all.

Having picked out what she would bring, Jing Qingshin was in high spirits, eagerly awaiting the coming of night.

On the other side of space and time, Gao Shen had already been waiting in hope for two days. He found himself thinking that perhaps she would not come again after all.

Gravely wounded, he had been placed in the most remote corner of the village, confined to a wooden bed for rest, unable to do anything. The passion and fighting spirit that had once coursed through his veins now seemed to drift further and further away from him.

Gradually, desire and expectation faded from his heart, leaving it as deep and calm as the sea. He understood that, from the moment the doctor announced he would be crippled, he had begun to exile himself. All that he had once dreamed of seemed no longer to belong to him, and it was as if everyone else had abandoned him as well. He had been angry, certainly—but in the end, he blamed no one. What value could a cripple have? He understood, yet he did not regret taking part in the battle. That was a soldier’s honor and pride.

Then there was her—Jing Qingshin—whose unexpected appearance shattered the hard-won tranquility he had managed to maintain. She had said there was still hope for him. She came from a stronger nation in the future; perhaps she truly could find a way to heal his injured leg.

He found himself staring blankly at the empty room, waiting for her arrival. But as the night darkened again and again, there was no sign of anyone. Disappointment crept into his heart as he rubbed the ancient jade pendant in his hand over and over, softly murmuring her name: Jing Qingshin. Jing Qingshin.

At that very moment, as she was having dinner with her parents, Jing Qingshin suddenly felt a tightness in her chest, her actions paused, and a peculiar sensation swept through her heart. She could not describe what kind of feeling it was.

“What’s wrong, Yuanyuan?” Her mother looked at her with concern, bowl in hand, noticing her daughter’s odd expression.

Jing Qingshin smiled at once. “It’s nothing, Mom. I just suddenly remembered there was something I haven’t done yet.”

“Don’t think about things while eating—it’s bad for digestion. Just focus on your meal,” her mother said gently.

“Okay, I know!” Jing Qingshin replied, then devoted herself to her food, deliberately ignoring the strange feeling she had just experienced.

After dinner, as usual, she accompanied her parents for a walk in the courtyard to help with digestion. Afterwards, her parents sat in the living room watching television and eating fruit.

“Mom, Dad, I’m going back to my room,” she said after eating a few pieces of fruit.

“So early?” her father asked in surprise. It was only nine o’clock, and she usually stayed with them in the living room for a while, chatting and watching TV before heading back.

“I’ve gotten really interested in a few books lately and haven’t finished reading them. I just want to go back and keep reading,” Jing Qingshin explained with a smile.

“Oh, go on then!” her father said, waving his hand.

“Don’t stay up too late—take care of your eyes!” her mother added, calling after her as she went upstairs.

“Okay, I know, Mom, Dad—goodnight!” Jing Qingshin replied, grinning mischievously and making a heart with her hands before happily returning to her room.

Her parents, left in the living room, looked at their daughter’s retreating figure with indulgent affection.

Jing Qingshin promptly locked her door and opened her wardrobe to choose her clothes. The first two times, she hadn’t really understood the situation and had traveled in her sleepwear, wandering around in her pajamas, which wasn’t ideal. Her pajamas were conservative enough—a sleeveless, knee-length nightdress—but compared to her friend Han Zhen, who dressed far more provocatively, it was still quite modest. Though Han Zhen was straightforward by nature, her style was distinctly feminine.

Having taken her mother as her role model since childhood, Jing Qingshin’s own style was simple and comfortable. Thanks to her father’s training, most of her wardrobe consisted of practical pants and sportswear, with only a few dresses and formal outfits. She disliked anything too revealing or gaudy.

Standing before her wardrobe in contemplation, she wondered how best to pair her clothes. Shorts and sleeveless tops were immediately ruled out; people in that era were still rather conservative. After some thought, she picked a long-sleeved white blouse, tying a ribbon at the collar to form a bow, and matched it with light blue cropped trousers, tucking the shirt neatly into the waistband.

Standing in front of the full-length mirror, she turned this way and that. The outfit was simple and fresh, with a touch of elegant neatness—surely Gao Shen would find it acceptable.

She then swept her long, wavy hair over her left shoulder and quickly braided it into a plait, loosening it just a bit to make it look full and natural, leaving a stray lock by her ear for a touch of playful charm.

Satisfied, she flashed a victory sign at her reflection, pleased with her slightly retro look. Times had changed, and people’s standards of beauty and fashion had evolved; nowadays, all kinds of styles could be seen on the street.

With everything ready, Jing Qingshin slung her overstuffed backpack across her chest and prepared to lie down on her bed. Suddenly, she realized her bare feet and almost forgot to put on shoes—otherwise, she would once again find herself barefoot on the ground after traveling through time.

She quickly got up and found a pair of plain white flats—simple, with no embellishments, but a pair she liked very much.

Once she was sure everything was ready, Jing Qingshin lay back on her bed, hugging her backpack to her chest, took a deep breath, and closed her eyes, waiting for the journey through time and space.

After a bout of dizziness, she opened her eyes. This time, she had fallen asleep earlier than the previous two times. Outside the window, the sky was still dark—it would be a while before dawn.

On the bedside table, an oil lamp burned, its faint flame wavering gently. Jing Qingshin’s eyes brimmed with a smile—had this been lit especially for her?

She stepped softly to the bedside and gazed at the man sleeping there, his thick brows still slightly furrowed. Unconsciously, Jing Qingshin extended her right index finger and gently smoothed the crease between his brows.