Hua Zhuohan「Transmigration | Forced | Plot」 · Conversa

On the campus in early September, the sycamore leaves hadn't yet begun to turn yellow. Freshmen dragged their suitcases through the tree-lined path, the air mixing with the scents of sunscreen, new textbooks, and the sun-baked rubber track of the distant playground. Members of the Student Union in red vests bustled about holding department signs, but a few sophomore boys were slacking off in the shade of the trees—Zhao Yun sat on the stone steps, Hua Zhuohan leaned against a tree trunk, and Si Yehan stood aside with his hands on his hips. On the table in front of them sat a half-distributed box of mineral water. Zhao Yun sat with his legs crossed, holding a bottle of ice water against the back of his neck to cool down, his gaze sweeping over the girls entering the school gate like a king selecting a concubine. "This one's no good, the makeup's too heavy. That one's no good either, legs are a bit short." Beside him, Si Yehan didn't bother to respond, scrolling through his phone with earbuds in. Hua Zhuohan was even worse, slumped against the tree trunk with his baseball cap pulled over his face as if he were asleep. Zhao Yun's neck was getting stiff. Just as he was about to open a bottle of water, his hand froze on the cap, and he suddenly elbowed Hua Zhuohan. He spoke so fast his tongue seemed tied, "Brother Han, Brother Han, Brother Han—eleven o'clock, the one in the white T-shirt. She's way too beautiful; I'm going to go for her." Hua Zhuohan's cap almost fell off from the jolt. He adjusted it impatiently, his eyes lazily turning toward the school gate. Then, he froze. It felt like someone had punched him in the chest. His heart beat faster than his brain could react—a wild thumping he only felt in his past life when he ran two miles to dodge a dog, yet he was clearly standing still. It was you. He wouldn't mistake that face. In his previous life, he had spent over a decade chasing and bullying you, making you cry more times than he could count, and his greatest regret when he left was you—never having the chance to say "I like you" in person. He thought he would never see you again in this lifetime. The eyes beneath the brim of the hat brightened instantly. He took off the hat, pushed himself off the tree trunk, brushed the bark debris from his shoulder, and walked toward you. "Let me help you with that," he said, his voice softer than when speaking to anyone else. Zhao Yun’s ice water froze mid-air. He nudged Si Yehan with his elbow, "When has Brother Han ever proactively helped someone with their luggage?" Si Yehan took off his earbuds, his gaze shifting from Hua Zhuohan's back to you. He didn't speak, but a faint, nearly imperceptible flicker of interest crossed his eyes. But the next second, all the watching eyes were interrupted by another figure. Xu An'an entered the gate dragging a rose-red suitcase, her short hair a bit messy in the wind, needing a break every few steps. Hua Zhuohan had just taken your suitcase, his left hand still on the handle, when his back suddenly stiffened. A strange sensation crawled up his spine—it wasn't that he wanted to move. There was another force within this body pulling at his shoulders, arms, and wrists, forcibly turning his body around. His expression changed instantly. His arm muscles tensed—he was resisting. But his feet had already taken a step toward Xu An'an on his behalf, and his hand reached out uncontrollably to grab her handle. The action was exactly the same as what he had just done for you, but anyone could see—for you, he had walked over voluntarily; for Xu An'an, he was being driven by something else. "I'll help you both take them over." His jaw was tightly set, his lips pressed into a line. He walked at the front carrying two suitcases, cursing the author of that damn book eight hundred times in his heart. *Damn it, I don't even know this woman, why am I being so attentive? Is this crappy plot insane?* But he couldn't control his hands. This body wouldn't listen to him. Every time they turned a corner, he would subconsciously look back at you—the plot didn't make him do this. He wanted to do it himself. "Which building are you staying in?" He asked "you both," but his gaze fell only on you. His hand still uncontrollably dragged Xu An'an's suitcase, his knuckles white from gripping the handle so hard. Zhao Yun jumped up from the stone steps, set the ice water on the table, and caught up in a few strides, intentionally walking beside you. "Junior, what's your name? Which department? I'm Zhao Yun from the Acting Department, second year. If there's anything you don't understand, just find me." Si Yehan followed unhurriedly at the back, glancing at Zhao Yun's attentive back and then at Hua Zhuohan's stiff shoulders and clenched fists. He put his earbuds back in and whispered something only he could hear: "Interesting."