Chapter 2: The Number You Have Dialed Is Dead, Please Reincarnate and Try Again

Jiang Ruotang leaned in closer to look at Lu Guifan. Having spent so many years in the entertainment industry, he’d seen plenty of attractive people, but there was something uniquely captivating about Lu Guifan.

Perhaps it was the awareness of his own mortality that sharpened his perception.

Time flowed and faded in the contours of Lu Guifan’s features. The world spun in chaos around them, but he remained like frost crystallized—unchanging, eternal.

If he had been the protagonist in my father’s films, what kind of cinematic magic would have been born?

Suddenly, Jiang Ruotang felt like he’d been blind all along. How could he have ever thought Bai Yingchuan was one-of-a-kind?

Then he laughed at himself. Jiang Ruotang, you’re on death’s doorstep, and you still have the energy to critique someone’s looks?

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to die,” Jiang Ruotang said, biting into the apple.

“Stage two lung cancer. You really are confident.”

“I mean I won’t choose to die,” Jiang Ruotang clarified.

Now that he was no longer spinning like a top around Bai Yingchuan, a fierce desire to cherish the people around him flared up in Jiang Ruotang’s fast-burning life.

He had once been full of prejudice and resentment toward his stepmother, Zhao Yunshu. But the day after learning of his cancer diagnosis, half her hair had turned white.

By all logic, with Jiang Huaiyuan gone, she could have walked away without anyone blaming her. Yet she exhausted every resource to save him.

Zhao Changfeng, her son, had been at odds with Jiang Ruotang from the moment they met. But since Jiang Ruotang’s hospitalization, no matter how sharply Jiang Ruotang spoke to him, Changfeng endured it without complaint—bringing him meals every single day, rain or shine.

Once, when Jiang Ruotang fainted in the bathroom, Changfeng nearly panicked, carrying him back to bed while shouting for the doctor. In that moment, Jiang Ruotang thought he was being sent straight to the crematorium. When he woke up, the first thing he saw was Changfeng’s scruffy face.

It was also the first time Jiang Ruotang ever said “I’m sorry” to him.

Changfeng froze, bewildered. “You’re apologizing to me? Are you… dying? Is this the clarity before death?”

“I—” Jiang Ruotang almost took it back. If he weren’t so weak, he’d have wrestled Changfeng to the ground like old times.

Later, chemotherapy made Jiang Ruotang’s hair fall out in patchy, ugly clumps, so he shaved it all off.

Changfeng bought him several expensive wigs online, but no matter which one Jiang Ruotang wore, it looked like “grass on a bald egg.”

“Return them! They’re hideous, I don’t want them.” Truthfully, he didn’t want to waste money on this. “Save your cash for a house or a girlfriend.”

Somewhere along the way, Jiang Ruotang had started worrying about Changfeng’s future—like an older brother would.

Changfeng lowered his head and muttered, “Even if I save forever, I’ll never afford a house. A P.E. teacher without tenure… who’d want me?”

Jiang Ruotang’s chest tightened.

If not for someone stealing Changfeng’s spot as a sports recruit ten years ago, he wouldn’t be stuck as a middle-school P.E. teacher now.

But life had no rewinds, no do-overs.

Propping his chin on his hand, Jiang Ruotang studied Changfeng’s handsome features and said solemnly, “Changfeng, you’re 190 cm tall with broad shoulders, a narrow waist, long legs, and big, beautiful eyes brimming with earnest sincerity. Maybe… you should pivot.”

“Huh? Pivot where?” Changfeng looked up, curiosity gleaming in his eyes.

“Find a sugar mommy to marry. Then I can die in peace.”

“Is Lu Guifan on a business trip? Is that why no one’s keeping you in check?”

Jiang Ruotang endured Changfeng’s “fury”—or rather, his carefully restrained punches.

---

Three months later, Lu Guifan returned. He still wore that dark trench coat, now paired with a knit cap and new black-framed glasses. The lenses were thin enough that Jiang Ruotang could clearly see the depth of his eyes.

Lu Guifan brought him a wig—one with strands so real they felt soft yet resilient, comforting to the touch.

Excited, Jiang Ruotang tried it on in front of the mirror. “This is the best I’ve looked since getting sick.”

“Mn.” Lu Guifan’s response was quiet.

Jiang Ruotang’s eyes burned, tears spilling over.

He knew. This wig was made from Lu Guifan’s own hair. He recognized the scent.

Though his life was counting down, every day felt fuller now—reading, sketching, even watching Lu Guifan’s lecture videos.

Then one morning, Jiang Ruotang woke up to over a dozen missed calls—all from Bai Yingchuan.

“Tch. Is the current ‘top star’ calling to ask if I’m dead yet? Should he start preparing joss paper?” He laughed.

Opening WeChat, he was stunned to find multiple messages from Bai Yingchuan.

Unbelievable.

[Ruotang, how’s your health? Want to come back to work? They say having a job gives life purpose.]

Hah. Lin Lu, you’re shameless. I blocked you after getting fired, yet here you are, still trying to exploit me.

[Yingchuan misses you. He’s not used to you being gone. He’s up for the lead in Director Fei’s new film—if he lands it, he’ll solidify his status as a serious actor. Will you join us? It won’t be hard—just accompany Yingchuan to chat with Director Fei.]

Director Fei had always despised Lin Lu’s two-faced, honey-tongued act and considered Bai Yingchuan “a pretty face with no soul.” Last time, it was only by invoking his father’s name that Jiang Ruotang secured Bai Yingchuan a supporting role. Now, without Jiang Ruotang, Director Fei wouldn’t even spare them a glance.

Lin Lu had taken credit for Jiang Ruotang’s work for years, but now, with the whole industry watching, he was stuck—unable to close the deal.

[Ruotang, Yingchuan needs you now.]

Reading that, Jiang Ruotang could practically hear Lin Lu’s saccharine tone. He nearly laughed himself breathless.

After a decade of anti-scam PSAs, he was finally immune to “Yingchuan needs you.”

He changed his WeChat status to: [The number you have dialed is deceased. Please reincarnate and try again.]

The moment he updated it, another message popped up—this time, unmistakably from Bai Yingchuan himself:

[I know you’re online. Why aren’t you answering?]

Jiang Ruotang rubbed his chin. Oh? So it’s really him this time.

Then he scrolled past another WeChat Moment from that shipwreck profile:

“If someone makes you unhappy, kick them out of your world. For good.”

Jiang Ruotang smirked and blocked Bai Yingchuan on everything.

See you in the next life. Feel free to dance on my grave.

---

Today was Jiang Ruotang’s birthday. Lying in bed, he scrolled through videos of Lu Guifan’s lectures and academic interviews.

“If my high school teachers had been this good-looking, I’d have aced my exams.”

“Unless they surgically removed your love-struck brain first.”

Lu Guifan’s voice came from the doorway. It was already 8 PM—he’d come straight after work.

“Remove my love-struck brain? Then I’d be brainless.” Jiang Ruotang grinned.

“I got permission from the head nurse. For your birthday, I’m taking you to a movie.”

“Let’s go!”

Outside, snow had begun to fall. Jiang Ruotang shivered, his chest heavy as if pressed by stone, each breath a struggle.

But he didn’t want to go back.

As if reading his mind, Lu Guifan draped his coat over Jiang Ruotang’s shoulders, then turned and knelt slightly, offering his back.

“This road is lined with billboards and screens. If you want to see him, I’ll carry you this way. If not, we’ll take the alleys.”

Jiang Ruotang knew he meant Bai Yingchuan’s ads—ubiquitous, inescapable.

“Why take the alleys? Don’t we deserve to walk in the light too?”

Lu Guifan adjusted his grip and kept walking. “He is good-looking, though.”

Resting his head against Lu Guifan’s shoulder, Jiang Ruotang realized—this idiot thinks I still care about Bai Yingchuan.

“Please. In terms of looks, you’re more elegant, cultured, and substantial. If I were going to fawn over anyone, it’d be you.”

“I expected you to say, ‘Better to fawn over roast pork than him.’”

Lu Guifan’s body was warm. With every word he spoke, the vibration of his voice traveled straight to Jiang Ruotang’s heart.

If he could, Jiang Ruotang would stretch this road endlessly—to stay forever on Lu Guifan’s back, listening to his breaths, breathing in his scent.

If only… I could start over.

Not waste time on the wrong people.

Drowsiness crept in. His body grew colder, breaths slower, mind sinking as if weightless.

He knew the end was near.

And Lu Guifan seemed to sense it too, halting mid-step, tilting his head slightly upward.

Silly. If you cry in this cold, your tears will freeze.

That beautiful face—don’t let it frost over.

Darkness swallowed him, pulling him into an abyss.

Yet his body felt lighter, as if breaking free from gravity, floating upward.

Then—

A loud alarm blared, “Ding-ding-ding-ding!” like a summons to reincarnation.

Jiang Ruotang jolted upright.

Soft blankets. A spacious room. On the desk across from him sat a brand-new but outdated computer.

A knock at the door.

“Ruotang, are you up? Breakfast is ready!”

That voice—Auntie Juan? Warm, fond, slightly exasperated. His eyes burned.

But she’d left after his father’s death… ten years ago.

He scrambled out of bed, his feet landing on childish fuzzy slippers, and yanked the door open.

Auntie Juan smiled at him.

And over her shoulder, at the dining table downstairs, sat his father.

His heart pounded like thunder.

Was my father’s death and my cancer just a nightmare? Or is this the dream I don’t dare wake from?

He sprinted downstairs and hugged Jiang Huaiyuan with all his strength.

His father, mid-bite into a soup dumpling, choked in surprise. They’d been estranged for months over his relationship with Zhao Yunshu—this sudden affection was unexpected.

“Ruotang… what’s… what’s wrong?”

Jiang Ruotang touched his father’s hair—still jet-black, untouched by hardship.

“Dad… I’ve been thinking… Auntie Zhao isn’t so bad.”

“Huh?” Jiang Huaiyuan stared, half-convinced this was sarcasm.

“When you see her later, don’t wear that plaid sweater.” He pinched his father’s cheek.

Jiang Huaiyuan didn’t even mind, just delighted in his son’s playfulness. “Why not?”

“It ages you. You’ll look like her dad.”

“Cough—cough—!”

Jiang Huaiyuan nearly became the first director in history to choke to death on a dumpling.

Then Jiang Ruotang dashed back to his room and grabbed his phone.

The date read: August 27—ten years ago. Three days left of summer vacation.

If this wasn’t a dream, if everything in his memory was real, then today was the day he’d receive that text from Lin Lu.

Right on cue—“Ding!”

Lin Lu: [BREAKING NEWS! The Bai Yingchuan you love is transferring to our school! Same class as us!]

Jiang Ruotang’s throat tightened. So this was what “heart racing, hands shaking” felt like.

He lowered his eyes and typed back, deliberately slow:

[Not my problem. Stopped liking him ages ago.]