After Exchanging Souls with the Sixteen-Year-Old Me, I Realized

Ye Ziqian was lying on the mat in a rental house in the city village, the light from the mobile phone screen shining on his face, making his thirty-year-old face pale and pale. The ceiling fan creaked and turned in the middle of the night. The ash accumulated on the blades was crumbling, and a wisp of it was carried down by the wind and floated on his pillow. He didn't move, and he didn't bother to move.