Reborn in 1977, I will no longer be my brother's blood bag.

The graduation banquet is scheduled for three days later.

The entire Hongqi Commune was busy—some borrowed tables, some borrowed stools, some slaughtered chickens, and some bought meat.

It was as lively as Chinese New Year.

In contrast, Lin Xiuhe became the most idle person.

In the morning, Captain Wang asked her to go to the county to reissue the last set of archival materials.

The matter was not complicated and was completed in less than an hour.

It was almost noon when I came out of the Education Bureau. The aroma of food wafted from the entrance of the state-run restaurants on the street, and many workers were queuing up for their meals.

Lin Xiuhe was preparing to return to the commune when a voice suddenly came from behind her: "Finished?"

She turned around. Zhou Zhiyuan stood not far away, holding several blueprints in his hand, clearly having just come from the machine factory: "What are you doing here?"

"Delivering the blueprints." Zhou Zhiyuan waved the documents in his hand. "And grabbing a bite to eat while I'm at it." He glanced at the time. "Haven't eaten yet?"

Lin Xiuhe was about to say no, but her stomach rumbled loudly.

Zhou Zhiyuan smiled and said, "Let's go."

The state-run restaurant was quite crowded. The two found a seat by the window and each ordered a bowl of noodles and two side dishes.

The cicadas were chirping incessantly outside the window, but it was much cooler inside the restaurant.

At first, the two talked about going to Beijing—tickets, luggage, registration, everything was normal.

As they were finishing their meal, Zhou Zhiyuan suddenly seemed to remember something and casually remarked, "By the way, things are going quite well at the machinery factory lately. It looks like they won't be shutting down next year."

The chopsticks paused slightly. Only for a fleeting moment, so brief that an average person wouldn't even notice.

But Zhou Zhiyuan saw it.

Lin Xiuhe looked up, her eyes flickering for a moment before returning to normal: "Isn't that a good thing?"

"It's a good thing," Zhou Zhiyuan nodded, "but I've always found it rather strange."

"What's strange?"

Why did you suggest stopping construction last time?

The air suddenly became quiet.

The restaurant was still bustling, but this one table had fallen silent.

Lin Xiuhe lowered her head and took a sip of water, without answering immediately.

She knew that a test had begun.

She had this feeling since yesterday—Zhou Zhiyuan seemed to have noticed something.

After a moment, she smiled and said, "I guessed."

"You guessed so accurately?"

"Good luck."

"Really?" Zhou Zhiyuan looked at her, but didn't press further. Instead, he changed the subject, "Then guess another one."

"What?"

"Grain prices next year."

Lin Xiuhe felt a slight jolt in her heart.

This statement was too sudden and too dangerous.

Because she knew that grain prices would indeed be adjusted next year, and that it had caused a great stir in her previous life.

But now, nobody knows—at least not normal people.

She paused for two seconds, then deliberately frowned: "Do you think I'm a fortune teller?"

Zhou Zhiyuan smiled: "That's true."

The conversation ended there, but neither of them relaxed.

Because those few minutes, which seemed like casual conversation, actually constituted a round of confrontation.

After finishing their meal, the two walked out of the restaurant together. The sunlight was a bit dazzling, and people were coming and going on the street. Neither of them mentioned what they had just said.

As they approached the fork in the road, Zhou Zhiyuan suddenly stopped: "That's right."

"What?"

There's something I've been meaning to tell you.

"What is it?"

"The experienced mechanic at the machine factory said that Beijing winters are particularly cold, so bring an extra cotton coat before you go."

It's a very ordinary sentence.

But Lin Xiuhe suddenly froze—because in her previous life, someone had said the same thing to her, word for word, even in the same tone.

That was the first time she went to Beijing. At the train station, an old man reminded her: Beijing winters are especially cold, bring an extra cotton coat.

Thinking of this, she suddenly looked up: "Who said that?"

Zhou Zhiyuan was slightly taken aback, clearly not expecting such a strong reaction from her: "Old mechanic from the machine factory, what's wrong?"

Lin Xiuhe did not answer, but just looked at him, her gaze becoming increasingly complicated.

She suddenly realized that she had been doubting Zhou Zhiyuan all along—but Zhou Zhiyuan might also be doubting her.

The wind blew through the street, and the leaves rustled gently. The two stood at the crossroads, neither of them speaking.

It wasn't until much later that they turned and left.

That same evening, at the county machinery factory.

In the office, Zhou Zhiyuan opened the notebook again.

The kerosene lamp on the table flickered slightly. He turned to the last page and added a sentence below yesterday's line: "She knows far too much."

After finishing writing, he remained silent for a long time, finally slowly uttering the third sentence, which was also the first time he truly expressed his doubt: "Could she be like me?"