Prodigy’s Playground

Chapter 101 Xiaoxue’s Past

Jiang Ran slipped the photograph into the notebook Chi Xiaoguo had given him, braced himself on the windowsill, and vaulted out.

Then he turned back, closed the window, and fastened the latch.

And just like that—

From March of Worldline 0, when he first came to the Film Camera Club, to July of Worldline 1 now… four full months of strange and extraordinary experiences had taken place here.

For the moment, the curtain was falling.

Two months later, on September 1, when the Film Camera Club reopened…

Jiang Ran believed it would reveal an entirely new scene. A brand-new hope.

Leaving Donghai University, Jiang Ran took the high-speed rail straight back to Hang City.

When his parents heard the news that Jiang Ran had successfully advanced directly into graduate study at Donghai University, they were first stunned into disbelief—

Then burst into ecstatic celebration.“That’s incredible, son! I knew you could do it! I’m going to buy groceries right now—our whole family has to celebrate properly tonight!”

Jiang’s father waved his hand.

“Buy groceries for what? Come on, come on—let’s take the good wine I’ve been saving in the basement and go to the best restaurant in Hang City to celebrate our son! Call your aunt and uncle too—get everyone there!”

As he spoke, Jiang’s father turned around, patted Jiang Ran on the shoulder, and his eyes were full of pride.

“Son, Dad is proud of you! Honestly, in my eyes you were always meant for Donghai University! That’s where you should have been all along!”

“You see? What’s yours will eventually be yours. Even though it took two extra years, you still stepped into Donghai University after all—”

Jiang’s father suddenly froze mid-sentence.

Because he noticed Jiang’s mother’s sharp glance from the side, silently warning him not to keep talking.

Only then did Jiang’s father realize that in his excitement, he had said too much.

He hurriedly coughed twice.

“Cough… cough… Well, son, why don’t you tidy up your bedroom first. I’ll go to the basement and get the wine.”

With that, he quickly changed the subject and walked out the door.

Of course Jiang Ran noticed the small exchange between his parents.

But pity the hearts of parents everywhere.

He said nothing and pretended not to see it.

Clearly—

His parents were extremely cautious whenever the topic of his failed college entrance exam and attending junior college came up.

They were afraid that bringing up the past would remind him of Cheng Mengxue’s car accident, pushing him back into that period of breakdown and depression.

Jiang Ran had long grown used to this.

According to Wang Hao, Cheng Mengxue’s death had struck Jiang Ran so hard that he had sunk into depression for two entire years.

According to Xu Yan, Jiang Ran couldn’t remember the circumstances of that day and blamed himself deeply for Cheng Mengxue’s death, numbing himself and withdrawing from the world.

According to his parents, Jiang Ran had missed the college entrance exam entirely, suffered a psychological collapse, and had even shown signs of suicidal tendencies. That was why they had absolutely refused to let him repeat the exam year—even now, two years later, they still dared not bring up the subject.

This matter was something Jiang Ran often pondered, yet could never understand.

He truly could not comprehend why he would have collapsed so completely back then.

Because he had no memory whatsoever of the event.

Later, he had also investigated the car accident.

From a purely documentary standpoint, there were no suspicious elements at all. The police had already issued a firm conclusion:

It was simply an accident.

The road where the accident happened was far from the city and had no surveillance cameras.

However, the dashcam from the offending vehicle had captured the entire incident clearly.

The footage showed that the car had been speeding.

Meanwhile, Jiang Ran was holding Cheng Mengxue’s hand as they crossed the street at a zebra crossing.

Ordinarily, the car should have slowed down.

But the dashcam footage also showed that the driver had been looking down at his phone.

After that…

The accident unfolded exactly as one would expect.

The moment Cheng Mengxue saw the oncoming car, she immediately shouted Jiang Ran’s name.

By the time Jiang Ran turned his head, the car was already right in front of them.

At that moment, Cheng Mengxue was standing in the middle of the crosswalk—there was no way she could avoid the impact.

Jiang Ran, however, had already reached the edge of the road. Even if the car struck him, it would likely only clip him.

But Cheng Mengxue still reacted instantly.

At the final moment, she shoved Jiang Ran hard, pushing him onto the grass by the roadside.

And she herself—

Was sent flying by the speeding vehicle.

Dead at the scene.

Everything had been clearly recorded in the police report at the time.

The driver confessed to all charges and cooperated fully with the investigation, trial, and sentencing.

He had a respectable job, a happy family, and two young children. He had no criminal record and no motive whatsoever.

Investigators confirmed that he had been speeding because he was rushing to an extremely important meeting.

That claim was verified by multiple sources—he had indeed arrived late, and many people at the venue had been waiting for him.

Therefore, there was no possibility of intentional homicide.

All evidence pointed to nothing more than a tragic accident.

But—

There was one unresolved anomaly.

And that anomaly was—

Jiang Ran.

Although he was not the driver, had no motive, and had done nothing to intentionally cause Cheng Mengxue’s death…

Two strange questions remained impossible to explain.

First—

It had been the second day of the college entrance exam.

Why had Jiang Ran and Cheng Mengxue not gone to the exam, but instead traveled together to a remote area outside the city?

Second—

After the accident, everyone asked Jiang Ran the same thing:

What exactly had happened?

Why had the two of them gone to the outskirts of the city?

Where had he been planning to go while holding Cheng Mengxue’s hand?

These questions were not particularly difficult.

Even if Jiang Ran had simply said they didn’t want to take the exam and had decided to go out and play, people might have found it strange—but they could have accepted it.

After all, the two had been childhood sweethearts.

Neither the police nor their parents would have found that impossible to believe.

All anyone wanted was a simple answer.

Why didn’t you take the exam?

Where were you going?

That was all.

Unfortunately—

Whenever Jiang Ran was questioned at the time—

His eyes were vacant.

He could only shake his head mechanically.

“I don’t know…”

“I really don’t know…”

“I can’t remember…”

“We both don’t remember…”

“When I opened my eyes… Xiaoxue was already dead in front of me…”

At first, people assumed Jiang Ran had been too traumatized.

They believed the shock had caused memory loss.

So they did not press him too hard.

As mentioned earlier, Jiang Ran and Cheng Mengxue had grown up together and had no motive for wrongdoing.

Their families also knew each other well.

Though grief and anger were inevitable, no one believed Jiang Ran had deliberately caused Cheng Mengxue’s death.

People simply wanted an answer.

But unfortunately—

Those two questions remained mysteries to this day.

Because only two people in the world knew the truth.

Cheng Mengxue was dead.

Jiang Ran had lost his memory due to trauma.

The truth of that day, along with the answers to those questions, had been buried deep underground together with Cheng Mengxue’s ashes.

After handling Cheng Mengxue’s funeral arrangements, her parents sold their house and left for the United States without looking back.

From then on, they disappeared completely.

No one could contact them.

Cheng Mengxue had been their only child.

Everyone assumed they were simply too heartbroken to remain in this place and had chosen to flee from it.

Afterward—one month, two months, half a year later—police officers and psychologists occasionally visited Jiang Ran, asking whether he had remembered anything about why he had skipped the exam or where he had intended to take Cheng Mengxue.

But Jiang Ran could never recall anything.

His mind was blank.

Eventually, the matter faded away.

For the sake of Jiang Ran’s mental health, neither the police nor the psychologists pursued it further.

Some of these details Jiang Ran had discovered himself.

The case had public records.

Most of the rest had been told to him by Wang Hao and Xu Yan.

There was no reason for them to lie.

At this point, what would deception accomplish?

Jiang Ran had analyzed the situation.

The reason his Worldline 1 self had collapsed into depression was not simply Cheng Mengxue’s death.

It was because—

He could not remember the events of that day.

He did not know why he had taken Cheng Mengxue away from the exam.

That ignorance had plunged him into overwhelming guilt.

Yes.

More than grief, it had been guilt, fear, and self-blame.

Back then, he had not yet encountered the Old Positron Cannon or time travel.

He had not known about his unique constitution of All-Spacetime Memory.

So when confronted with sudden amnesia and the sight of his friend dying before him, his emotions had naturally collapsed.

But now things were different.

Now Jiang Ran vaguely sensed that his memory loss during the accident was very likely connected to time travel and worldline shifts.

Although the exact logic still didn’t connect fully.

Every Worldline Transition seemed to be accompanied by a period of memory loss.

It appeared to be an undeniable law of spacetime.

Therefore—

This also became one of the side missions Jiang Ran set for himself during the summer vacation:

While staying in Hang City, investigate the hidden truth behind Cheng Mengxue’s car accident.

Find the real answer.

Ding.

A WeChat notification sounded.

Opening the app, he saw it was the family group chat titled “A Loving Family.”

His uncle had sent a large red packet.

“Warm congratulations to my nephew for entering graduate study at Donghai University!”

Needless to say, his mother must have been unable to contain her excitement and had already spread the news everywhere.

Over the next few days, Jiang Ran had almost no time to rest.

The news spread quickly.

Relatives and family friends came to congratulate him one after another.

There was a banquet almost every day.

If there happened to be a day without a dinner invitation, Jiang’s father would create one himself.

Seeing his son regain confidence and excel again filled him with genuine happiness.

He drank at least two small rounds every day, his face glowing red with joy.

Finally—

Nearly a week later, this endless cycle of feasting came to an end.

Jiang Ran sat on the sofa, rubbing his stomach.

He felt as if he had gained several pounds.

Ding.

Another WeChat notification.

He was starting to feel a little nervous about them.

Opening it, he realized it wasn’t a personal message, but a public account push notification.

He tapped it.

It was the headline announcement from the Donghai City University Student Film Festival.

“Award-Winning Works Announced for the 17th Donghai City University Student Film Festival!”

“Damn.”

Jiang Ran suddenly sat upright.

The results were finally out.

Although he still hadn’t found time to watch the sample video Xu Yan had sent to his email, it was still his script, so he cared deeply about the outcome.

He opened the page eagerly.

Refresh.

Grand Prize!

No.

Alright—scroll down.

First Prize!

Also no.

What the hell?

Scroll further.

Second Prize! Outstanding Award!

Nothing.

Nothing.

“What’s going on?”

Jiang Ran scratched his head.

Everyone who had read the script had praised it endlessly.

They couldn’t all have been flattering him just to make him happy, right?

Not even a minor consolation prize like the Outstanding Award?

That…

Was a little disappointing.

He opened WeChat, intending to send Xu Yan a message.

His fingers hovered above the keyboard for a long time.

After thinking it over again and again, he couldn’t figure out what words of comfort to write.

And besides—Xu Yan had probably just seen the results herself. It might not be the right time.

Suddenly—

His phone rang.

And the caller was Xu Yan.

“…Uh…”

Jiang Ran quickly organized his thoughts.

If Xu Yan started complaining, he would first comfort her, then curse the judges, and finally blame himself for writing a poor script.

Yes. That seemed like a good plan.

He pressed the answer button.

“JIANG RAN!!!!!”

Xu Yan’s voice exploded through the phone—excited, ecstatic, nearly delirious with joy.

“Ah?”

Jiang Ran responded blankly.

Was this… the correct reaction?

“Jiang Ran!!”

Xu Yan burst out laughing.

“Jiang Ran, you’re rich! You’re seriously rich!”

Jiang Ran thought for two seconds.

“…Is it the prize money from the student film festival? But I just checked—we didn’t win anything.”

“We got the Grand Prize!”

“Oh? Really? Let me check again!”

Maybe he had misread it.

Jiang Ran hurriedly glanced at the page still open on his phone.

But…

The Grand Prize entry was called Spring Rain, not Prodigy’s Playground.

And the notes clearly said it was produced by the Jiaoda Film Club.

For a moment he had no idea how to respond.

Had Xu Yan been so upset that she’d snapped?

“Forget about the awards list!”

Xu Yan laughed.

“I got a call from the organizing committee this morning. We really did win the Grand Prize—but it can’t be announced publicly yet. They told me to keep it confidential. That’s why I didn’t tell you earlier. I just finished handling things.”

“Why?”

Jiang Ran asked, puzzled.

“If we won the Grand Prize, why hide it?”

“Hehe—you’ll never guess!”

Xu Yan’s excitement practically overflowed through the phone.

“Because—”

A famous director has taken interest in our script and wants to adapt it into a feature film!

“So to avoid spoilers and keep the story secret, the production company bought the full rights to the script for a huge price. Everyone involved has to sign a confidentiality agreement.”

Jiang Ran blinked.

“Something like that actually happens?”

His script being chosen by a major director?

When he thought about it, the decision not to announce the award made sense.

If the short film were released now, all the suspense would be spoiled. Who would watch the director’s version later?

Still…

For Xu Yan, it was a bit of a pity.

This had been her final year participating in the film club—and her last chance to compete in the festival.

“As long as you’re okay with it.”

Jiang Ran said.

“I personally don’t mind.”

“Of course I’m okay with it!”

Xu Yan was still buzzing with excitement.

“You have no idea how much the company paid for our script!”

“How much?”

“Twelve million! After tax!”

“…How much?!”

Jiang Ran shouted in the living room, making his mother in the kitchen lean out to look at him.

How… much?

Jiang Ran’s eyes widened.

Twelve million after tax?

Was that even normal?

And they even covered the taxes.

How much did that director and production company like Prodigy’s Playground?

“Well, it’s hard to explain over the phone. Let’s talk in person.”

Xu Yan sent him a café location on WeChat.

“You also need to sign the confidentiality agreement. I brought everything. Let’s meet at this café!”

“Alright.”

After hanging up, Jiang Ran still felt as if he were floating.

It didn’t feel real.

Was this actually happening?

He didn’t have time to think too much.

“Mom, I’m heading out!”

He shouted, grabbed his jacket,

Opened the door—

And ran downstairs.