Chen Pingchuan's bedroom was spacious and tidy. It contained a bed with white sheets, a bookshelf crammed with books, a standing wardrobe over two meters tall, and an empty study desk.
He took off his backpack, tossed it near the bedside table, and then threw himself backward, collapsing onto the soft mattress. The sensation was like sinking into a warm embrace, making him drowsy.
However, Chen Pingchuan had no intention of sleeping. He just stared blankly at a poster of some unknown person on the wall, lost in a daze.
Even though this still feels strange, aside from those childish high school classmates, this really seems like the life I've always yearned for.
Huh? The life *I* yearn for?
Chen Pingchuan didn't know why strange images and absurdly funny phrases kept popping into his head.
It's not important. I can't figure it out anyway.
After a week of adjusting, Chen Pingchuan had mastered a new skill: if he couldn't figure something out, he simply stopped thinking about it.
