If I Wait Thirty Years | Chapter 67 | The Face of the Past | Novela.app

Chapter 67 - The Face of the Past Liang He stepped out of the room and headed straight for the communal washroom. The corridor was dim, lit only by a flickering fluorescent bulb that hummed with a low, rhythmic buzz. Once inside, he leaned over the long concrete trough that served as a sink and began splashing cold water onto the back of his neck and the bridge of his nose with desperate urgency. The water was bracingly cold, a sharp contrast to the heat still simmering in his blood. It had been more than a decade since he had last suffered a nosebleed, yet here he was, a grown man and a university teacher, undone by a moment of shared breath and proximity. The sheer absurdity of the situation made him feel a flicker of embarrassment. He was supposed to be the stoic anchor, the "Teacher Liang" who commanded respect with his quiet discipline, yet his own body had betrayed the depth of his agitation. He waited for a moment, his head tilted back, eyes fixed on the stained, yellowing tiles of the ceiling. He tried to regulate his breathing, forcing the image of Qiu Yun’s defiant, playful smile from his mind. He felt he had regained his composure and lowered his head, only to see a single, brilliant drop of crimson splash into the basin, blooming like a dark flower against the grey cement. He sighed, a sound of weary resignation, and tilted his head back once more. The metallic tang of rust—the unmistakable scent of iron in the blood—slid down the back of his throat. It was a visceral reminder of his own humanity, a physical manifestation of the "displacement reaction" that seemed to be occurring within his very soul ever since this girl had crashed into his life. After several minutes, the bleeding finally subsided. Liang He cleaned himself thoroughly, ensuring no trace of the incident remained on his collar or skin. He stepped back out into the night air, the cool breeze of the 1988 spring evening helping to settle the last of his inner turmoil. He made his way back toward the gathering where the students were congregating. The atmosphere was lively, filled with the carefree chatter of the Class of 1987. Among them, Wang Chen was particularly animated, her voice rising above the rest as she checked her watch repeatedly. She had been boasting for days about her boyfriend, a man she claimed was both handsome and established, working at the local Radio Equipment Factory. "He's here! He's finally here!" Wang Chen suddenly exclaimed, waving her arm toward the entrance of the courtyard. The students turned their heads in unison, their curiosity piqued. Qiu Yun, who had been sitting quietly on a wooden stool, trying to settle her own racing heart after Liang He’s departure, looked up as well. She saw a young man walking toward them, silhouetted against the distant streetlights. He wore a dark jacket and moved with a confident, easy stride that suggested a man comfortable in his own skin. As he stepped into the circle of light provided by the courtyard lamps, Wang Chen rushed over to him, beaming with pride. She took his arm, her face glowing with the kind of youthful adoration that only a first serious love can produce. "Everyone, let me introduce you," Wang Chen said, her voice ringing with triumph. "This is my boyfriend, Sima Feng." The name hit Qiu Yun like a physical blow, knocking the air from her lungs. She froze, her gaze locking onto the newcomer’s face. The man standing before her was approximately twenty-three years old. He had a sharp, clean jawline, thick brows that slanted slightly upward, and eyes that held a familiar, restless spark. He was lean and vibrant, a far cry from the weathered, broken man she remembered from the prison visiting room or the faded photographs of her childhood. Yet, the resemblance was undeniable. The way he tilted his head, the slight curve of his lips as he smiled at Wang Chen—it was a living ghost. This was the man who would one day become her father. This was Sima Feng, in the prime of his youth, years before the tragedies of the future would carve lines of sorrow into his face. Qiu Yun felt the world tilt on its axis. The sounds of the students’ greetings and Wang Chen’s giggles became a muffled roar in her ears. The reality of her situation—the impossible nature of her journey through time—suddenly took on a terrifying, tangible form. She wasn't just living in the past; she was standing face-to-face with the origin of her own existence, a version of her father who didn't even know she existed, and who was currently in love with her own roommate.