Chapter 1 — See You in the Next Life

The doctor told me I only had a year left to live. My family instructed me not to waste money on medical treatment, telling me I should save it for my younger brother instead. At that exact moment, I realized that I had never truly been loved in my entire life. I decided to hire a boyfriend. But one day, I left some money along with a note and slipped away quietly: I am done playing, take the money and get lost, don't let me lay eyes on you ever again. A few days later, he tracked me down at the hospital, pinned me against a wall, and asked in a low, intense voice: Now, how about we reverse roles and I hire you instead?

When the doctor handed me the test results, I was still clutching the queue ticket I had just drawn. Non-Hodgkin lymphoma, stage three, conservative prognosis, roughly one year remaining. The doctor spoke with utter indifference, not even bothering to raise his head to look at me, as if he were simply reading an inconsequential piece of news. I sat there, my head feeling as though it had exploded, leaving behind nothing but a dull, persistent buzzing in my ears. Twenty-seven years old, and I had not yet even begun to live for myself, yet now I only had a year left?

Is there a family member with you? The doctor asked, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

I blanked, my lips dry, and gave a faint shake of my head. No.

Stepping out of the hospital, I sat alone on a roadside bench, the phone screen in the palm of my hand blinking a few times. After hesitating for a long while, I finally dialed my mother's number. The moment the call connected, my throat constricted, and I spoke tentatively, Mother, I went for a checkup today, and the doctor said I probably won't survive another year...

On the other end of the line came a brief silence, followed by my mother's voice cutting through like a knife: You can't survive another year and you're still not dead yet? Let me tell you, these days doctors just try to scare people to swindle money out of them!

Mother, I really am very sick... I began to choke up.

Sick, so what? Your brother's college entrance exams are next month, why are you pulling this stunt now? Whether you live or die doesn't matter, but your brother's future must not be delayed!

She hung up ruthlessly, and I caught her final curse before the line went dead: Such a bloody waste of space!

The call had ended, but the words You live or die don't matter echoed incessantly in my ears. Indeed, what was I? From childhood to adulthood, in the eyes of my family, I was merely a cash machine for my younger brother. In middle school, I washed dishes part-time at the cafeteria to save up for his video game console. In high school, my mother took my scholarship money to pay for his cram school. After graduation, the moment my first month's salary was wired home, my mother called to lecture me: Can't you be more sensible, try to earn more money, and stop making your brother suffer.

For twenty-seven years, I had never bought myself a pretty dress, and my lipsticks were all promotional samples given out by the company. I never even dared to take sick leave when I fell ill, terrified of pay deductions that would prevent me from sending money home on time. I glanced at my bank account balance and laughed bitterly. It turned out I was just a God of Wealth passing through their lives...

A surge of fury welled up in my chest, and I bolted back to my rented room. Dragging the newly purchased laptop hidden inside the closet out onto the floor, I smashed it down hard. After shattering the machine into pieces, I even used my feet to stamp over the wreckage. Why... why even when I am about to die, do I still have to provide for these people?!

I tore up every single receipt for my brother's cram school tuition. Gathering the heap of shredded paper, I threw them into the dustbin, and then thoroughly deleted my parents' contacts from my phone. This time, I was truly resolved never to look back.

I flung open the wardrobe doors; inside hung only cheap, drab black and gray clothes. I grabbed them one by one, ripping them down until the closet was completely empty. Only then did I collapse like a deflated balloon, sitting flat on the floor before the wardrobe, sobbing uncontrollably. Reaching twenty-seven years of age, I turned out to be this utterly pathetic. Falling ill, yet not even daring to make a phone call for fear of hearing those words again: You live or die don't matter.

Yet, I was unwilling to just die like this.

The next morning, I put on the only dress I owned with a hint of bright color, my face deathly pale, and stepped out the door. Down on the street, near the bridge piers, a group of people held up signs soliciting donations. Among them stood a young man in quiet solitude. Unlike the others, his sign bore no pleas for sympathy, but simply read in large characters: Renting myself out, refusing charity.

I stared fixedly at those words for a very long time, feeling an inexplicable ache in my heart. Perhaps it was because those three words, refusing charity, were far too similar to what I had yearned for my entire life, yet could never attain.

I walked up to him and blurted out abruptly: I want to hire you for three months to be my boyfriend, are you willing?

He raised his head, looking startled by my sudden appearance. He was still very young, with short black hair that was neat and clean, bright, clear eyes, and quite a handsome face. At first glance, I was already satisfied.

Why do you want to hire me? he asked hesitantly.

I curved my lips slightly, a hazy, sickly smile accompanying the gesture: Because I find you pleasing to the eye.

Have you ever loved anyone before? I continued.

He hesitated for a moment before answering: Never.

I looked at him and said slowly: Three months, twenty thousand yuan. You eat with me, watch movies with me, walk the streets with me, and pretend to fall in love with me. You are not allowed to catch actual feelings. When the time is up, you vanish.

He looked at me, lowering his gaze in deep thought for a moment. He glanced at me once more, looking hesitant: Are you serious?

I nodded, trying my best to put on a stern facade: You need money, I need companionship. Mutual benefit, isn't that right?

He studied me for a moment, a flash of unreadable emotion passing through the depths of his eyes, before finally giving a nod: Alright.

I let out a soft laugh, as if completing some sort of ritual: Remember, you are not allowed to like me.

He raised his head and repeated softly: Rest assured, I won't trade with my own feelings.

Since I only had a year left to live anyway, I would fool myself for once, pretending to be loved, and I wouldn't lose anything. I nodded, stuffing the cash from my handbag into his hands, a chilly smile blooming on my lips: This is the deposit, remember not to get emotionally attached.

He said nothing further, carefully counting the money once before looking up to smile at me: My name is Xu Zhiyan.

I smiled back, but did not tell him my name. My name was no longer important anyway. Three months from now, I would disappear without a trace, as though I had never existed.

As we walked past a convenience store, I caught my reflection in the glass window—my face as pale as a ghost's. I lowered my head to adjust my hair, and caught sight of him standing beside me, watching me intently. His gaze was remarkably bright, clear as a pristine lake. In that fleeting second, I wanted to tell him all about my illness. But I held back. Everyone leaves eventually, so it was better to leave behind only a gentle dream.

Just three months, and I would play this romance out to the very end. Three months later, I would slip away quietly on some early morning, without saying goodbye to anyone.

I turned around and smiled faintly, as though speaking to myself: Don't let him find out, I am dying.

I never imagined that hiring a boyfriend to live with me would be so difficult to get used to. On the very first day Xu Zhiyan moved in, he thoroughly cleaned my entire rented apartment. I stood at the doorway of the living room, watching his retreating figure as he bent down to mop the floor, and suddenly felt a dizzy sense of being caught in a dream.

I don't need you to be this earnest, I couldn't help speaking up to remind him, It's only for three months anyway.

He turned his head to look at me, offering a gentle smile: But during these three months, I am your boyfriend. If the place is a bit cleaner, you will be more comfortable living here.

When he said those words, his expression was completely calm, his tone so serious that it almost made me mistake us for an actual couple. I froze in place, hurriedly turning my head away, my heart skipping a fierce beat for reasons unknown.

In the days that followed, I quickly realized that having someone around to take care of you felt truly... damn it, far too comforting. Every single morning when I woke up, a freshly prepared, steaming hot breakfast was already waiting on the table. The fried eggs he made were round and even to an unbelievable degree, served alongside a glass of warm milk. I tasted a bite; it was even more delicious than the food from outside shops.

He would always ask: Is it good?

And I would only give an indifferent nod, though a sweet, secret warmth bloomed quietly in my heart.