Time Begins to Flow - Prologue

July 2023

This is a dream born of confusion, belonging to those who are lost.

In a haze of consciousness, with both body and spirit on the verge of collapse, everything feels surreal—from beginning to end.

On the night before the start of the school term, Ping Xin found himself in a familiar old park. As an unremarkable member of the "transmigration army," he possessed no system, no cheat codes, and no wise old mentor in a ring. All he had were his ordinary—well, perhaps not so ordinary—parents and a capable, adorable younger sister. The warmth of family was more than enough for someone who had spent his previous life in an orphanage.

Life was simple, yet fulfilling, much like his name, "Ping Xin" (平信), which suggested a quiet, steady happiness.

Sitting on a weathered wooden bench under the silver glow of the moon, Ping Xin noticed the peeling stickers that once depicted popular characters from years past. This park had once been a gathering spot for children, a place for after-school playdates and holiday meetups. But as time passed and the economy grew, the children grew up and moved on. A newer, more exciting park had been built nearby, but the real reason for the old park's abandonment was simpler: people change.

The children of yesteryear had grown into adults, their hangouts shifting to the bustling streets of Ginza and Shibuya. Even for casual meetups, the convenience of nearby train stations made this old park obsolete. Now, only nostalgic souls like Ping Xin, whose mental age far exceeded his physical appearance, still visited. At nearly 11 p.m., the park was deserted—no children, no exhausted office workers, no elderly folks seeking a quiet stroll. It was the perfect place for solitude, save for the dim glow of the streetlights.

For Ping Xin, this park was a sanctuary—a place to reflect, much like a teenager calming down after an emotional outburst, a young professional stealing a moment of peace in a restroom, or a middle-aged worker sitting in their car before heading home. Even the most social people crave moments of solitude, and "quiet" is universally cherished.

But tonight, Ping Xin's private retreat was interrupted by an unexpected visitor. Expecting perhaps a stray cat or dog, he was surprised to see a figure perched atop the climbing frame, silhouetted against the moonlight.

"What could be on Mars...?" the figure murmured.

Ping Xin adjusted his imaginary glasses, analyzing the situation with mock seriousness. Was she talking to him? And why Mars? Most people would mention the moon. Should he respond playfully, mentioning little green men, or should he pull up a Wikipedia entry for a factual reply?

Under the moonlight, he could only see her back as she sat on the climbing frame, legs swinging carelessly. Ping Xin hesitated to speak, partly out of fear of startling her (he had learned the hard way after a stray cat once caused him to step in something unpleasant) and partly because, despite living two lives, he remained introverted and socially awkward.

Still, he felt compelled to call out to her. The dim lighting made the situation precarious—if a cloud obscured the moon, the park could turn into a hazard. Yet, despite her cryptic words, he found himself oddly drawn to her.

What could be on Mars? The question sparked a rare sense of curiosity in Ping Xin, whose thoughts were usually as dry and lifeless as his chronically ill body. As he pondered this whimsical question, he stealthily approached the climbing frame, step by step, like a thief in the night.

Though Ping Xin had some interactions with the neighborhood's beauties, his social skills were best described as "dominating in internal conflicts but stumbling in external ones." After a moment of self-deprecation, he felt a strange sense of calm. But then a thought struck him: Am I developing masochistic tendencies? His steps faltered, and he was discovered.

She turned to face him, her silhouette framed by the pale glow of the moon. In Ping Xin's dream, her face was blurred, as if obscured by the haze of memory. People often unconsciously embellish their memories, a trick of the brain to produce more "happy hormones."

But who was she, really?

Dreams are often divided into two types: those born from residual brain activity during sleep and those born from waking fantasies. Ancient scholars believed dreams always had a cause, whether psychological or physiological. Yet, even with modern knowledge, the mechanisms behind dreams remain a mystery.

In his previous life, Ping Xin had tried to use a secondhand copy of The Interpretation of Dreams to connect with classmates, but his efforts were in vain. While boys preferred using palm readings as an excuse to interact with girls, and girls favored tarot cards and astrology, Ping Xin's interest in dream analysis only further isolated him. Still, the knowledge he gained became a part of him.

As an adult, Ping Xin recognized his unique mindset. To save money, he had turned to self-analysis, reading works like Freud's The Interpretation of Dreams. Both Eastern and Western theories agreed that dreams were not random—they were shaped by the subconscious, reflecting desires and emotions.

So, did this mean... she was his ideal type?

Yes, Ping Xin was an ordinary and somewhat shallow person. Having lived a solitary life in his previous world, he now found himself in the prime of his youth in this "Eastern Nation." Naturally, he yearned for the "rose-colored youth" he had missed out on. Whether driven by hormones, past regrets, or simple infatuation, he couldn't help but feel drawn to her.

After all, in dreams, anything goes, right?

"...Who knows?" he finally replied.

If this were anyone else, he might have spouted textbook facts, but she seemed different. If she were someone he wanted to spend his life with, she might share his blend of rationality and emotion—or perhaps she'd be his opposite, a fiery complement to his calm demeanor. Either way, he couldn't treat her lightly.

In the end, Ping Xin stuck to his cautious, straightforward approach.

If only she had mentioned the moon instead of Mars. Ping Xin loved the story of To the Moon, and he wondered how she would react if he shared it with her.

For some reason, he found himself wanting to see her cry—a strange, twisted desire reminiscent of a schoolboy teasing the girl he likes.

As he watched her stand atop the climbing frame, arms outstretched as if embracing the world—or perhaps the neon-lit sky of Tokyo, the vast expanse of space, or even Mars—he couldn't help but feel intrigued. He didn't know what she was thinking or what she wanted to do, but that was part of the charm.

Ping Xin had always admired those who chased their dreams with unwavering determination. Most fell like Icarus, but a rare few shone with a brilliance that left him in awe. He had always been a bystander, watching from the sidelines.

Who was she? What kind of person was she? What kind of light would she emit?

Would she be like the moon goddess, serene and untouchable? Or the night goddess, mysterious and waiting for dawn? Or perhaps the goddess of beauty, captivating all who saw her?

Yet, despite his fascination, Ping Xin felt a pang of frustration. He wanted to defeat her, to break her with sheer force, to see her crawl on the ground with broken wings. Would she rise from the ashes or fade into obscurity?

This destructive impulse, he knew, was a twisted form of love—a defense mechanism to prevent overwhelming attachment. Ping Xin loved many people and things, and with that love came an equal measure of destructive desire.

But why did she look so sad and lonely? It was impossible to ignore.

For some reason, Ping Xin felt angry. He couldn't bear the thought of her being alone, like a balloon drifting into the sky, lost forever. They were alike, both out of sync with society and others. Yet, while she was admired, he was shunned.

So, he decided: I will catch her!

With that resolve, Ping Xin began to climb the old, well-maintained structure. Though his body was weak, he pressed on, determined to reach her. The fear of heights that had haunted him since childhood—thanks to a reckless "free fall" experience with his father—threatened to overwhelm him, but he pushed through.

As he climbed, their conversation continued:

"...Why am I here?" she asked.

"Who knows?" Ping Xin replied. After all, they were strangers.

"...What should I do next?"

"...Who knows?" Your future is yours to shape, and your potential is limitless.

"...Why do people always part ways?"

"Who... knows...?!"

"...Why do you always stand by my side?"

"Maybe because we're alike. So... why don't we get to know each other? My name is Asukama Ping Xin."

This time, Ping Xin didn't evade the question. He answered honestly, following his heart. From the moment he was reborn into this world, he had vowed to live happily, freely, and true to himself.

Even as he nervously twirled his long bangs and avoided direct eye contact, he felt a sense of clarity. Talking to a beautiful stranger was still daunting, but he was ready to take the first step.

But she didn't seem to mind. Instead, she smiled naturally, radiating the same captivating charm she always did.

The Power of a Smile to Make Others Pay for Me.jpg

The sheer force of her smile was almost overwhelming, and Ping Xin couldn't help but feel the urge to take a deep breath. The woman across from him, however, noticed that the seemingly ordinary teenager—despite being blessed with the dual buffs of a transmigrator from Yan Country and a high schooler from Dong Country—was awkwardly avoiding her gaze, completely dodging the impact of her smile. Not that she cared, at least not until she discovered who he really was.

"Why did you come here?" she asked, restarting the conversation.

This time, the male lead didn't evade the question. Beneath his thick bangs, his eyes shone with genuine emotion. Avoiding her gaze was the best he could manage.

"...Probably because I wanted to stand by your side," he replied.

It was strange. Normally, Asukama Ping Xin was an introverted, socially awkward person. Someone like him shouldn't have been able to say such things to a beautiful—no, stunning—woman upon their first meeting. It was as if he were being led by the impulsive hormones of adolescence.

Wake up! Have you been bewitched by a woman? Have you forgotten the spirit of steel?!

The image of a white duck with a red headband and black sunglasses flashed through his mind, only to be dismissed just as quickly. Ping Xin thought to himself, I'm sorry for being human, but I'd do it again!

Still, he needed to convey his feelings to her properly, if only for the sake of a promise...

A promise?

Had he made a promise with someone?

The man who had twice betrayed his friends and chosen to survive alone—could he really have something like that?

"...What's wrong?" she asked.

Was she smiling? Ping Xin couldn't tell. Her face was unclear, but he assumed she was, because she always seemed to be smiling in front of him.

"No, it's nothing, just..."

Ah, he still couldn't see her clearly. Of course, it was just a dream, after all. A sense of loss washed over Ping Xin, as if something important had slipped through his fingers. In front of those blue eyes, even the lies he often told himself stuck in his throat. A simple "it's nothing" lodged itself in his chest, making his already frail body feel even weaker.

But some things had to be said, just as some actions had to be taken.

"...Do you want to go?" Ping Xin asked.

"Huh?"

Clearly, she was surprised, even if he couldn't see her face.

"If you want to know what's on Mars, let's go see it for ourselves. Together."

"Hmm... but it's so far away. How would the two of us even get there?"

It was strange. Normally, she was the freest and most任性 of the four, but in front of him, she seemed at a loss. Even her usual cryptic remarks and evasions were preempted by him.

"So what? Does that matter?"

"Huh?"

"Do you want to go or not? Which is it?"

Like a sick tiger opening its eyes on a rock or an aging warrior gripping his weapon once more, Ping Xin's presence suddenly became overwhelming, rivaling even his father's past bravery. Across two lifetimes, he had held onto only two things: music and his sense of self.

"Staying true to oneself" was a vague, grand, yet deeply personal concept, but it had defined Ping Xin's previous life. Whether it was realizing the unfairness of fate as a child or enduring the malice and pain of the workplace, nothing had ever made him turn back.

In his free time, he'd watch popular anime or play games, but only as a distraction—he never spent much money on them. Despite his busy schedule, he always found time to read and enrich himself. One line he particularly loved was, What doesn't kill me makes me stronger.

During a lonely summer, a young boy had taken those words not as superficial self-comfort but as absolute rebellion, absolute belief, and absolute self. Unlike the cringe-worthy angst and edgy quotes that filled social media, this phrase had guided him throughout his life, transforming him from a reckless fool into a relentless fighter.

And now, he was angry.

The person before him, this woman, was so much like him. Talented, unique, yet blessed with a better environment than he, an orphan, had ever known. She likely had good teachers, friends, strict yet loving parents, and maybe even childhood friends to support her. That was all well and good.

But why did she seem so much like his past self—calm, detached, and transparent, like a bubble on the ocean's surface, ready to vanish at any moment? This man, who had spent his short life fighting against others, fate, and even himself, reveling in the blood and sparks that flew from those battles, couldn't understand her.

It wasn't jealousy or anger he felt—it was sorrow for her.

Most of the time, Ping Xin was a rational person, but his empathy was strong, creating a strange paradox. He could coldly analyze his own fate and make the most logical decisions, even if it meant calling to reschedule appointments while lying on the ground after being hit by a car. When he lost a game, he didn't get angry but instead reflected on his mistakes, even reviewing replays to find where he went wrong. His calm demeanor was almost saintly, and his emotional detachment made him seem like a low-budget Terminator.

Yet, he could cry at touching moments in stories, cheer loudly in theaters with fellow fans, and even bring props to support PreCure, Ultraman, and Kamen Rider. At home, he'd play his instruments and roar, unleashing his true self.

His few remaining hobbies and emotions were what kept his fragile existence intact. But what about her? Didn't she have something she was willing to fight for until she burned out? The boy with a slight self-destructive streak only wanted to see the most beautiful, the best, the most brilliant things in the world, chasing that fleeting light until the end of his life.

What a waste. He wanted to make her burn, to make her shine, to turn her into the brightest star in the sky.

"...So, do you want to go?"

"...Yes!"

"Then it's a promise. Let's pinky swear."

The boy extended his hand and slowly walked toward her. His legs were trembling, but it didn't matter. Bending slightly to lower his center of gravity was just a safety precaution, nothing out of the ordinary. Step by step, he approached her.

She smiled brightly—

And then she remembered. It was you.

"...Huh?"

Suddenly, the girl slipped and, as expected, began to fall backward.

Ah, Icarus, who sought the ultimate light, must have died like this... Ping Xin could foresee the outcome.

The climbing frame was about three stories high—less than 10 meters. That was more than enough to kill someone, as the human body was fragile. In his previous life, he had died just as inexplicably, falling asleep one moment and waking up in a nurse's arms the next, like an unfinished, abandoned novel.

Would she die?

Maybe, maybe not. The people in this world seemed sturdier than those in his previous life, so it was hard to say. But Ping Xin didn't want her to die.

So, he jumped—

As everyone knows, Galileo, the "father of observational astronomy," "father of modern physics," "father of the scientific method," and "father of modern science," conducted an experiment on free fall at the Leaning Tower of Pisa.

The results showed that, unless it was a comedy where characters hovered in mid-air, Ping Xin would never be able to catch her as he fell. But what if he gave himself an initial velocity?

He might die—from the ridiculous height, from trying to save someone he'd just met and didn't even know the name of, from his own frail, sickly body.

But none of that was a reason to back down. If he ran away now, he'd lose—lose for a lifetime.

Besides, trading one life for another wasn't a bad deal, was it?

In the end, perhaps it wasn't fate that had caused her to fall but Ping Xin himself. If that were the case, then there was even less reason to escape. Of course, the most important reason was that Ping Xin didn't want her to die. Absolutely not!

Maybe I can't catch the stars in the sky, but I can catch you—

And so, he jumped and caught her.

With her warmth in his arms, the sensation of falling, and a flash of golden light...

He landed.

And the dream ended.

Naturally, she was gone.

Was it all real?

No.

Was it all fake?

Also no.