She turned toward the small mirror by the bedside table. A pale, round face stared back, a child's face. Those soft cheeks and wide eyes, hair that was messy from sleeping for a long time.
Her body had shrunk, and her hands were tiny; her legs barely reached the edge of the bed.
'I… I went back…?'
The thought came like lightning.
The landslide, her death, had brought her back. Back to her childhood, back before everything had gone wrong.
And her father… her father was still here.
Her vision blurred again as she reached out and touched his face, almost afraid he would disappear.
"Dad," she murmured, her small fingers tracing his jawline, "You're real, right?"
He chuckled softly, holding her hand. "Of course I'm real, silly. You had a nightmare, didn't you? Look at you, shaking like a leaf."
She could only stare at him, her chest tight with a thousand unsaid words.
If this were a dream, she never wanted to wake up.
If this were reality, then she would make sure this time, she wouldn't lose him again.
The fever had weakened her, so Chi Yuanfeng made her stay in bed for the day. He fed her spoonfuls of congee, cool and plain, scolding her gently when she tried to sit up too fast.
She watched him move about the small room, his sleeves rolled up, his hair slightly disheveled. The sight of him was so alive, so tangible that it made something ache deep inside her.
Every movement, every word felt like a gift from heaven.
Her memories came flooding back in fragments. Their old home, his laughter, his voice when he sang off-key while doing laundry, his warm hand holding hers as they crossed the street. Then, the later years: the hospital bills, the humiliation from relatives, his frail body lying on the bed as the heart monitor flatlined.
That final image had haunted her all through her first life.
Now, to see him alive and well again, she didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
She wanted to reach out, to tell him everything: how much she loved him, how sorry she was for not cherishing him enough, how she had lived a second life and failed to repay him, how she had died regretting that she couldn't even bring flowers to his grave.
But the words stuck in her throat.
Because how could she tell him something so unbelievable?
So instead, she said softly, "Dad, don't cry anymore, okay? I'm fine now."
He froze for a second, then smiled, a soft, shaky smile that made his dimples appear.
"I'm not crying," he said, his voice hoarse. "I'm just happy you're awake."
'Liar,' she thought, but didn't say it. She only smiled faintly and squeezed his hand.
That night, after her father had fallen asleep on the chair beside her bed, Chi Huaijin stayed awake, staring at the ceiling.
Moonlight spilled through the window, painting the room in silver. The cicadas outside sang softly, their rhythm steady and familiar.
Her mind, however, was brewing a storm inside.
So… this was really happening. She had returned to the past, back to her childhood.
If her memories were right, this was about three years before the events that would tear their family apart. Before the "real daughter" was found and brought back. Before the Chi family's internal feud. Before her father's death.
Everything was still peaceful. The future was still unwritten.
And that meant… she had a chance.
A chance to change everything.
A chance to protect her father, the man who had given up everything for her.
A tremor ran through her chest. She turned her head toward the sleeping man beside her. He was slumped forward in the chair, his head tilted slightly, his expression gentle even in sleep. His hand still rested on the edge of her blanket, as though afraid she would vanish if he let go.
She bit her lip, holding back tears.
"Dad," she whispered, "I won't let you die this time."
Her small fists tightened beneath the blanket.
"I promise. This time, I'll be the one protecting you."
The next morning, when Chi Yuanfeng woke and found her sitting quietly with a small, serene smile, he thought she looked different.
Maybe it was just the light, or the lingering fever, but there was a calmness in her gaze that made her seem far older than her years, like she had seen too much and come to terms with it.
"Huaijin," he said softly, ruffling her hair, "what are you thinking about so seriously this early?"
She blinked up at him and smiled.
"About how lucky I am," she said simply.
He chuckled. "Lucky? After scaring your old man half to death with a forty-degree fever?"
She giggled faintly. "Then… I'm lucky you're still here to scold me."
He paused, startled by the depth of emotion in her tone, but she had already turned away to sip her porridge, pretending to be nonchalant.
He didn't ask further. But that day, when he left for work, he looked back at her one last time, the way a father does when he doesn't understand what his daughter has gone through, but senses that she's grown up overnight.
And Chi Huaijin, watching him go, whispered a silent vow under her breath.
"I'll change it all, Dad. This time, I won't let fate take you away from me again."
Morning sunlight spilled gently through the half-drawn curtains, falling in slanted beams across the room. Dust motes floated in the air, suspended like tiny stars. The faint smell of porridge and boiled medicine still lingered, mixing with the crisp scent of sunlight on the sheets.
Chi Huaijin sat quietly on the edge of her bed, her small hands resting on her knees. The soft ticking of the wall clock filled the silence.
Her father was bustling about near the small kitchen area, the clatter of dishes and the occasional soft hum of an old tune drifting through the air.