Back to Auntie’s School Days - Chapter 49

Beep. The recording ended.

Amidst her soft, broken sobs, Jian Hao didn’t hesitate to press the play button once more.

The sentence “Time to eat” broke the silence of the room.

Jian Hao hadn’t drunk last night for the sake of time travel; she knew that such an event was a matter of chance, not will. Her true goal was simple: to make Tan Yanqing soften her heart, pity her, and finally admit that she was Jian Lai.

She knew she might black out after getting drunk—after all, on the day she traveled back, she had forgotten everything that happened after telling Tan Yanqing she liked her. She also wanted to leave evidence, just in case Tan Yanqing admitted it that night but refused to acknowledge it the next day.

Before drinking, Jian Hao had turned on her phone’s recording function and tucked the device into her pocket.

Waking up this morning, Jian Hao’s first thought was where she was. Recognizing the layout of the guest bedroom in Tan Yanqing’s house, she immediately remembered the recording. She bolted upright, ignoring her dizziness and nausea, to scramble for her phone.

It wasn’t in her school jacket pockets, nor her top, nor her pants… Had Auntie Tan found it and destroyed it? Before her guilt-ridden panic could set in, she turned her head and found the phone sitting right there on the nightstand.

She unlocked it. It was still recording.

She stopped the recording, held the phone with both hands while lying on her stomach, and began to listen to what had happened the night before.

It was a long, heavy, suffocating segment of audio.

By the time the world within the recording returned to silence, a large patch of the lavender-colored bedsheets beneath Jian Hao was soaked with her tears. The sheets had likely been freshly laid by Tan Yanqing; they carried a faint, floral scent of laundry detergent that felt comforting and safe.

The quiet fragrance bloomed amidst her tears. Her eyes, which had been painfully difficult to open when she first woke up, were now so swollen from crying that she could barely see. Yet, as if driven by a need for self-inflicted pain, she listened to the recording one more time.

November 27, 2025, was an overcast day in Nanqing.

At ten in the morning, the sky was still a dull gray, devoid of light. On a day like this, it would be comfortable to stay tucked under the covers at home. But because it was a workday, people had to get up for work and school. Not only were the people busy, but the animals were too; sparrows perched on the bare birch branches or on the staff-like power lines, chirping and singing.

The sounds pierced through the glass and curtains into a certain room on the first floor of a small two-story western-style house.

The room was dim. Jian Hao hugged her blanket, her head buried inside, gasping for air in short, hitching breaths between the chirping of the sparrows. It was the residual gasping that follows a long, heavy bout of crying.

Jian Hao wasn’t naturally a crier. With her personality, she could usually get over anything with a little time. But from last night until now, it felt as if she had cried out all the tears of her entire life.

“It’s enough just knowing you are still alive—”

Tan Yanqing’s gentle, smiling voice sounded in Jian Hao’s ear for the second time.

Jian Hao bit her lower lip to keep from sobbing out loud. She held the blanket, unable to bring herself to press pause. Just as she managed to stop crying and her breathing steadied, Tan Yanqing’s voice came again: “Xiao Hao?”

Tan Yanqing had called her name, but she hadn’t woken up. It was unclear why Tan Yanqing was calling her. After a while, there was a thud, sounding like a phone hitting the floor. Following that was a series of footsteps and the sound of a door opening; a minute later, more footsteps and the light sound of a phone being placed on a tabletop.

Jian Hao pulled a tissue to wipe her eyes with one hand, intending to turn off the recording with the other. But she couldn’t stop a single tear from landing on the screen. The progress bar was dragged far ahead.

The words “I’m sorry” reached Jian Hao’s ears.

Jian Hao froze instantly. Her fingertips trembled as she dragged the progress bar back five seconds.

The “I’m sorry” echoed again, and Jian Hao’s tears broke through the levee once more.

This sound felt like a car breaking down on a long journey; she had waited in place for so long without a single vehicle passing by, and just as she finally decided to walk toward civilization, there was a boom—an avalanche on the snowy mountain behind her. There was no time to dodge or defend; she was buried instantly by the snow.

And this avalanche was named “Tan Yanqing.”

Jian Hao dragged the progress bar back over and over, listening to that faint, ethereal “I’m sorry.”

How could Auntie Tan be like this?!

Saying she hadn’t looked for her for that long? Saying she was happy? Saying it wasn’t her fault? Saying “I’m sorry”?

She was trying to brush aside those seventeen years so lightly. Clearly, the one who suffered through it was her, yet she was the one turning around to offer comfort…

Jian Hao wished Auntie Tan would scold her, have a massive argument with her, instead of this—smiling and letting go of the grudge. This filled her with heartache, but also with panic.

—Auntie Tan had let go.

—Auntie Tan no longer needed “Jian Lai.”

What she needed, and what she wanted to maintain, was likely only the “goddaughter” Jian Hao.

“…”

A sharp pain pulled at Jian Hao’s heart. She thought of the day she had confessed to Auntie Tan. Before that day, had Auntie Tan already suspected she was Jian Lai? Was that why her gaze was so strange and silent after the confession?

If she had suspected it back then, just how long had it been? Jian Hao thought carefully and realized with a start that Auntie Tan’s attitude toward her had started fluctuating between hot and cold right after she turned thirteen. So… had she known since then? What happened then? Was it because her features had matured?

This was only a deduction; she would have to ask Tan Yanqing to know for sure.

The pain and the crying were enough—not truly enough, but sufficient to recognize that no matter how much her heart ached or how many tears fell, she couldn’t make up for the past.

Jian Hao turned off the recording, wiped her face with a tissue, and rose to a kneeling position to get out of bed. The floor was littered with tissues used for tears and her nose; she gathered them up and threw them in the bin, went to wash her face, and then crawled back under the covers.

She didn’t cry again. Her head was just dizzy, and her stomach hurt enough that she only wanted to lie down.

Only then did she notice it was already ten o’clock, but she didn’t care at all about being late for school. She knew Auntie Tan would have requested leave for her, and would likely even provide cover for her with Jian You.

Sure enough, when she checked WeChat, she saw messages from Jian You.

【Tan Yanqing said you’re so exhausted from studying that you don’t even have the strength to speak. Baby, Mom isn’t forcing you to get into Tsinghua or Peking University; a decent school is fine. It’s hard to find a job after graduation anyway, and I don’t expect you to support me. Don’t push yourself too hard. But if you want to prove something to yourself, Mom won’t stop you—just make sure you take care of your health first. Don’t ruin your body before you even finish your studies.】

【I requested a day off for you. Tan Yanqing’s house is empty, so just rest well there. I’ll come pick you up when the shop closes tonight.】

Jian Hao gave a small smile and replied:

【Okay, Mom. I just woke up and I feel much better~】

【Kiss.jpg】

Jian You was likely busy and didn’t reply. She then opened her chat with Tan Yanqing.

【Don’t rush to school when you wake up. I had your mom request leave for you.】

【Transfer 500.00】

【If you’re too lazy to cook, order whatever you want to eat.】

As she was reading, another message appeared.

【I see you’re awake. Are you feeling unwell?】

How did she see I’m awake?

Oh, Auntie Tan has cameras. She’d forgotten.

She typed out 【No】, then hesitated and deleted it.

She replied: 【A little. My head is dizzy, my stomach feels bad, I feel like throwing up, nauseous.】

She followed it with a crying emoji and added: 【I can’t even open my eyes.】

Tan Yanqing’s reply popped up instantly: 【Try eating something first to see if it helps. If not, I’ll take you to the hospital.】

Jian Hao: 【Oh.】

She typed:

【I could smell the ribbonfish last night, but it’s a pity I didn’t get to eat it…】

【I really want to eat that fish right now…】

Tan Yanqing:

【I didn’t eat it; I saved it for you. Heat it up before you eat.】

【When I took you to the room last night, your phone fell. I checked the screen and it’s not broken. Check if it still works. If it’s broken, buy a new one.】

So the thud was the phone falling, and the footsteps were Tan Yanqing coming back into the living room to pick it up after putting her in bed? Which meant… that “I’m sorry” was said after Tan Yanqing had sat by her bed watching her for a long time?

Jian Hao replied: 【It’s not broken, it works.】

Tan Yanqing didn’t reply again. She was likely busy. But if she was so busy, how did she notice her waking up on the cameras so quickly?

Jian Hao scrolled up through the chat and saw the orange-red transfer. She hadn’t intended to take Tan Yanqing’s money—Jian You had taught her from childhood not to take things from others. But she blinked, and two seconds later, she accepted the money and sent: 【Thanks, Auntie~ Love you~】

Then she opened the transfer feature and sent 【88.88】 back. The top of the screen showed “is typing…”, but no message came through for a while; she was probably confused about what this “88.88” (a lucky number meaning wealth/fortune) meant.

Under the covers, Jian Hao curled into a ball, the blue-white light of the phone hitting her face. She smiled and sent a voice message: “Order whatever I want, right? Thanks, Chef Tan~”

The continuous crying had seemingly ruined her voice; it was raspy, carrying the haze of someone just waking up and the nasal tone of someone who had been weeping. But because she was smiling and teasing, the voice sounded soft, like a feather brushing against the ear.

Tan Yanqing didn’t accept the money, nor did she reply.

Jian Hao didn’t mind; she knew she had to take things slowly. She got out of bed, smoothed the covers, and pulled open the curtains to let the sunlight into the room.

Before the curtains were opened, the sky looked overcast. But after she pulled them back, she saw the sky was a deep blue and the sunlight was brilliant.

It was an ordinary day. Every day after that was also quite ordinary. Jian Hao went to school and came home; during her breaks, besides studying, she occasionally helped out at Jian You’s shop or went with Guan Xinting and her classmates to check out new trendy stores…

At school, she laughed and chatted with her classmates. Her change was noticed by everyone, who said the old Jian Hao was back.

But there was still a difference: the Jian Hao who used to be in the lower-middle tier was now seeing her grades rise into the top ten of the class, and they remained stable, never slipping back.

Guan Xinting was incredibly curious about Jian Hao’s crush on Tan Yanqing. Seeing her acting like everything was fine, she asked: “I haven’t heard you mention Auntie Tan in a long time. What? Did you really give up?”

Jian Hao hadn’t made any deliberate efforts to contact Tan Yanqing, nor had she pressed her about the past. She acted just as Tan Yanqing had said in the recording: she didn’t intend to continue that night. The “liking” from that night had become something very, very far away.

Both of them had “forgotten” it.

But there was also something very, very close—so close that neither could forget. That was Jian Hao’s confession to Tan Yanqing on her birthday.

Jian Hao smiled and replied: “Giving up after being rejected once? What kind of pursuit would that be? But I have to be quiet and settle down for a while, otherwise Auntie Tan will find me annoying.”

As she spoke, Jian Hao twirled her pen, looking down at the exam paper on her desk. What she saw wasn’t the questions, but Tan Yanqing—both in her school uniform and her police uniform.

Finally, the image of Tan Yanqing standing beside her on the night of the massive fireworks display froze in front of Jian Hao’s eyes.

If we don’t talk about the past, let’s talk about the present.

Auntie Tan, I’m going to start chasing you.