I Miss You Even in the Daytime [Rebirth GL] - Chapter 9

“Don’t cry, I’m sorry. I’ll be gentler.” Xu Liming reached out to pull her up, but the girl’s body was as soft as melted maltose; she couldn’t be “picked up” no matter how she tried.

Xu Liming was completely out of options. Rarely had she felt this flustered. After fumbling around, she pulled out a crumpled tissue and handed it to Lu Baitian.

Lu Baitian took the tissue and slowly sat up from the floor. She used her pants to cover her shoes, then used her sleeves to cover her pants.

“I’m not dirty,” Lu Baitian said softly, her voice a pale explanation. “I wash my clothes every day.”

“I will wash them clean.”

Xu Liming was utterly stunned. She opened and closed her mouth several times before realizing what Lu Baitian meant. She lowered her gaze, taking in the girl’s attire.

The gray sportswear was washed soft, and the pants had that whitish tint of worn-out fabric fibers, while the shoes were slightly yellowed from the sun—yet everything was neat and fresh.

Her gaze felt physical as it touched Lu Baitian from top to bottom. Lu Baitian’s snow-white face began to flush again.

“I don’t think you’re dirty.” So that’s why she was crying? Xu Liming couldn’t help but chuckle. “It’s just stretching. What are you thinking about?”

Lu Baitian’s face turned even redder.

“This… yours.” Her hand moved slightly, her pale palm opening. She finally looked up at Xu Liming. Behind her glasses, her eyes were crystal clear, a distinct black and white.

In her palm lay a black hair tie with a tiny silver star attached.

“I washed it.”

“It’s just a hair tie, no need to return it.” Xu Liming waved her hand dismissively. “Now, can we stretch, Lu Baitian?”

For the rest of the class, the girl was quiet and obedient. She did whatever she was told and didn’t cry again, though she was occasionally stiff and shaky, especially when Xu Liming got close.

But Xu Liming didn’t think much of it; it was a normal reaction for someone truly introverted.

The two waited out the class bell peacefully. Xu Liming grabbed her jacket to put it on, while Lu Baitian lowered her head to pick up her heavy backpack. Neither spoke.

Once her jacket was on, the light in front of her dimmed. Someone had stepped in front of Xu Liming. The yoga attire hugged her curves perfectly, and her hair was pinned back—simple and pure like a morning cloud.

“Xu Liming,” Lin Wan said. Her almond eyes were a pine-cone brown as her gaze landed on Lu Baitian.

Lu Baitian, half-squatting, slowed her movements of packing her bag.

“If you’re withdrawing from the competition just to spite me, don’t you think that’s too childish?” Lin Wan smiled. “You said you wanted to go abroad after graduation. One more award means more opportunities.”

“Oh.” Xu Liming straightened her back nonchalantly, looking down at Lin Wan. “There’s no need to spite you. Besides, I don’t plan on withdrawing.”

“Then what do you mean?” Lin Wan asked. “Joining someone else?”

“Lin Wan, don’t forget I’m in this major too.” Xu Liming reached up to smooth her hair. “Since I have the ability to direct my own play, why should I be a stepping stone for someone else?”

She emphasized the words “someone else,” causing Lin Wan’s brow to tighten.

“Directing yourself? You?” Lin Wan laughed softly, her crystalline lips blooming like petals. “Who would work with you, Xu Liming?”

“And don’t forget, our lead is Xia Qie.”

Xu Liming’s smile faltered for a second, but she quickly masked it. She tucked her hands in her pockets, appearing breezy. “Anything else, Class Monitor? I’m busy, so I won’t stay.”

With that, she ignored Lin Wan’s expression and turned to leave, also ignoring the small, secretly watching figure in the corner.

Back in the dorm, Xu Liming’s expression was defeated. Her long limbs were sprawled out as she collapsed into a soft lounge chair.

Tao Ning and Sun Muya stood beside her like guardian deities, chiming in from both sides.

“Xu Liming, I think you should go back and apologize to Lin Wan. Credits are important! This is the Drama Festival that university students nationwide participate in—there are awards!” Tao Ning said earnestly. “Lin Wan’s group isn’t easy to get into; even their costume designer is the Student Union Vice President.”

“And like you said, their lead is Xia Qie. Her acting is universally recognized as excellent. The actors’ state is crucial for a play,” Sun Muya added with a sigh.

Xia Qie was a celebrity at Huachuan—beautiful and a child actor, she was the school’s acknowledged “veteran” performer.

“Plus, it’s already late. Even if the school approves the budget, putting together a team is nearly impossible. And this is your first time…” Tao Ning advised.

Xu Liming shook her head. She couldn’t bow to Lin Wan, but she didn’t want to give up. It was too stifling.

Growing more irritable, Xu Liming pulled her hat over her face to block the sun. “It’s fine. You guys go take a nap. I’ll think about it myself.”

Tao Ning and Sun Muya exchanged a look and returned to their seats, leaving Xu Liming to her internal collapse.

Just then, her phone vibrated like a lifeline. Xu Liming threw off her hat and opened the screen. It was a friend request with no message attached.

Xu Liming hit “Accept.” The person’s name was just a single comma (、). Clicking the avatar, she saw a shot of morning sunlight.

Why does this person look so old-school? This avatar style reminded her of Xu Sheng. Xu Liming pursed her lips and sent a message: “Who are you?”

The other side replied with two words: “Script.”

Xu Liming jumped out of her seat, startling Tao Ning and Sun Muya. They stared at the losing-it Xu Liming. “Xu Liming, are you crazy?”

Xu Liming truly felt she was going crazy. She hadn’t been this excited when River Wind won the award in her past life. She sat back down, pretending to be composed as she replied: “Hello. Could you please send the outline?”

A document popped up on the screen. Upon opening it, she was met with dense lines of text.

Xu Liming paused. This person was completely defenseless—without even knowing who she was, they had sent the full script.

The title was The Third Life. A strange name.

She focused and began to read with suspicion.

As time ticked by, Xu Liming went from lying down to sitting up, and finally stood up directly. Her hand holding the phone was slightly unsteady.

She set the phone down and pulled herself out of the story, feeling a sudden sense of emptiness.

It was a brilliant script. Xu Liming let out a long breath. It was infinitely better than anything she could have written. From the plot to the protagonist’s dialogue, it was cleverly constructed—every word a gem. Each sentence seemed to have tiny hooks that reeled her in; just reading the cold text left her unable to extricate herself.

Imagining them on stage, Xu Liming felt like she was sitting on needles; she couldn’t stay still.

“The story is great, I love it. Are you a Playwriting major? What’s your name? Would you be willing to join us for the Drama Festival?”

“I’m Xu Liming from the Freshman Directing class.”

“Classmate?”

She had never been this desperate for a reply from Lin Wan. She clicked the chat box repeatedly until the prompt “The other party is typing” appeared at the top.

Her heart was in her throat.

“I’m not participating,” the other person replied.

Her heart plummeted to the bottom.

Xu Liming paced anxiously, typing out a long paragraph of persuasion. But before she could send the “mini-essay,” another message popped up.

“The script is a gift for you.”

“Just use it.”

There was such a thing as a free lunch? Xu Liming was dazed by this windfall. She double-checked the words on the screen, deleting her essay character by character.

How could someone give up such a benefit?

“Could you please tell me your name?” Xu Liming edited another message. “I don’t mean anything else, but even if you don’t participate, I need to credit the screenwriter.”

The other side seemed busy. Xu Liming’s screen stayed quiet for a long time before two characters popped up.

“Comma (Dun Hao).”

Comma? What kind of name was that? Xu Liming’s fingers lingered on the screen for a long time before she continued typing, but this time, no matter what she sent, there was no more response.

Xu Liming stopped dejectedly and clicked the person’s avatar again. The Moments were very clean—only two or three posts per year, all various skies colored by morning glow.

Some were fiery and magnificent, others quiet and vast.

Xu Liming clicked through every picture. There were no people, no hint of gender or age.

“Muya, is there someone like this in our college? The script is incredible, maybe they’re from Playwriting.” Xu Liming held out her phone to Sun Muya. “You’re in the Student Union, you know more people.”

Sun Muya bit her finger as she scrolled through the profile. Tao Ning leaned in too. The two looked for a long while without finding anything.

“I don’t have this person on WeChat, and I asked others—no one knows. Could it be an alum?” Sun Muya looked at Xu Liming’s laptop screen. “With writing this good, they might have graduated long ago.”

“No, no, no.” Tao Ning snatched the phone back, pointing at one of the photos. “Look at this one. It shows the arch of the library. The new library was only finished at the end of last year. This person definitely hasn’t graduated.”

“He said he’s giving you the script for free? Isn’t that a scam?” Tao Ning handed the phone back. “The heart is hard to read. Be careful.”

Xu Liming took the phone, tucked a stray hair behind her ear, and stared at the photo in silence.

“I don’t think so,” she said.

Xu Liming spent the afternoon investigating “Comma’s” identity without luck. She even got called out several times by her English teacher for dazing off in class.

She finally toughed it out until the end of the day’s classes, rubbed her brow, and took out her laptop.

March was mostly overcast. Dark clouds weighed heavily on the teaching building. Outside was a gloomy blackness. People left the classroom one after another, and soon only Xu Liming remained, her face illuminated by the ghostly glow of the computer.

She had read the script for The Third Life several times and was now completing the script analysis and overall rehearsal planning.

When she finally looked up, the outside was pitch black. The wind shook the trees like countless swaying ghosts. Xu Liming shivered, closed her laptop, and jogged out.

It was 10:00 PM. The dorm would lock in half an hour. She had to get back before then.

Perhaps because it was about to rain, the campus was empty and silent. Only a few scattered students were running under the long tree-lined paths. Xu Liming couldn’t help but quicken her pace, diving into the dormitory building.

The lights on the stairs were broken again; only the green glow of the emergency exit signs remained. For a moment, countless campus ghost stories flooded her mind. Xu Liming tensed up, using the weak light from her phone as she strode up the stairs.

Almost there, almost there, she told herself. She sprinted up the last few steps, only to slam into something. Her body tilted violently. Her waist was wrapped by something that pulled her to fall to the other side.

That “thing” landed silently with her. Xu Liming fell entirely on top of “it.” Though it didn’t hurt, she was terrified. She scrambled to use her phone for light, and a pale “ghost face” half-hidden by black hair suddenly appeared in her sight.

“AHHH!!!” Xu Liming screamed.

While screaming, Xu Liming struggled to scramble back. In her panic, her hands gripped the “thing” several times before she managed to stand up shakily.

The thing was still lying on the ground. The fingertips that had touched it twitched; the sensation was soft and warm. Not a ghost.

It was a girl.