Encounter

This story may be rather subdued, so I'll say that up front.

Meeting the right person is the most wonderful thing in life.

After dying, she transmigrates and arrives ten years in the past. She discovers that this is not her world: some things are the same, and some are different. So she cannot act like someone who knows the future.

Her previous life was hard, and this time she hopes to live a carefree life. Keeping to herself seems like a good idea. But then, of all things, she meets someone.

I don't believe that someone can go through death without being psychologically affected, and this story will grapple with that.

This isn't told from the female lead's first-person perspective, but I am a woman, and the female lead's surname is Su. I'll try to avoid making her a Mary Sue, though whether I succeed is a matter of opinion.

It's a very short story, 46,000 characters. Happy ending.

Here's a poem I've adapted.

Meeting You

Meeting you is the most beautiful thing in this life.

If I meet you in summer, it will surely be the most beautiful encounter of my life.

Perhaps beneath the leafy shade, where dense branches block out the sunlight, you'll walk down a tree-lined path, bathed in dappled light.

I meet you beneath the metasequoias.

Perhaps by a pond, where rippling water gives off a cool, refreshing scent, you'll sit on a rock, cloaked in a fine mist.

I meet you beside a stand of reeds swaying in the breeze.

Perhaps amid the bustle of the city, where a torrential downpour washes the streets, you'll hop along beneath the eaves.

I meet you before the neon lights of a shop.

If I meet you in autumn, it will surely be the most beautiful encounter of my life.

Perhaps on a lawn, where the sound of children playing and laughing fills the air, you'll dodge a ball that has gone astray.

I meet you in the middle of the grass.

Perhaps in front of an ancient building, where weathered stone walls exude the passage of time, you'll run your hand over the rugged stones, lost in thought.

I meet you in this quiet stretch of time.

Perhaps in the peaceful countryside, where fallen leaves spread out like a colorful painting, you'll wander among the trees.

I meet you amid the drifting, fluttering leaves.

If I meet you in winter, it will surely be the most beautiful encounter of my life.

Perhaps in a little cafe by the street, where a few tables and chairs are arranged casually, you'll lean beside a table and savor your drink.

I meet you in the rich aroma of coffee.

Perhaps in a warm living room, where a lazy cat curls up before the fireplace, you'll sit in an armchair with a book in your hands.

I meet you to the crackling of firewood.

Perhaps beside a frozen river, where every plant and tree is wrapped in layers of silver frost, you'll reach out and pluck an icicle.

I meet you in the dazzling whiteness of the snow.

If I meet you in spring, it will surely be the most beautiful encounter of my life.

Perhaps in a field just beginning to thaw, where green sprouts brighten the brown earth, you'll weave a willow branch into a ring.

I meet you in the cool breeze.

Perhaps deep in a cobbled alley, where rose vines wind around the nearby fence, you'll gaze at the newly opened blossoms.

I meet you in the warm sunshine.

Perhaps in a theater with a wonderful performance, where the crowd discusses the plot as they leave, you'll stand beneath a light in the corner.

I turn back amid the jostling crowd and meet you.

Meeting you, I can't help but hope that we can walk quietly together through this world, and keep walking, always.

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