Drama Queen Reborn as a Top Student!-Chapter 36 - 035 Born great, died gloriously

Qingzhou Martyrs’ Cemetery.

Nightfall descends, and under a sky dotted with stars, the cemetery remains solemn and tranquil.

Shen You’an holds a bouquet of baby’s breath and steps toward a gravestone.

On the pale granite base, a stately black headstone stands upright.

Shen You’an crouches down and places the baby’s breath before the gravestone.

Suddenly, her gaze freezes.

In front of the gravestone, a bouquet of yellow and white chrysanthemums gently sways in the night breeze, as if whispering endless remembrance.

Shen You’an lifts her eyes and looks at the black-and-white photo engraved on the gravestone, delicately brushing away the dust that has settled.

The man in the photo has sharp eyebrows and bright eyes, stunningly handsome, his gaze radiating vigor; even through the aged photo, one can sense his exceptional charm and refinement.

And yet, he has forever been frozen in the most beautiful age, never to grow a single wrinkle, nor to see his temples fade to gray.

"So, there are still people in this world who remember you."

Shen You’an arranges fruit offerings and a candlestick. In the night breeze, the candlelight flickers softly, and the man’s features etched on the gravestone seem almost palpable.

Shen You’an cannot help but tear up. She hugs her knees and squats before the gravestone, staring at the handsome man in the photo, murmuring constantly.

The world is vast, but she is homeless.

Whenever she feels wronged, saddened, or lost, she comes here to speak to her resting father about hardships and injustices she faces in life.

She leans against the gravestone and sleeps through the night. When the first rays of dawn fall upon her, she dries her tears and faces a new day with strength.

On her journey through life, Shen You’an once resented her father for leaving her alone. Yet it is also her father who, through sacrificing his life for his ideals, taught Shen You’an the meaning and value of life.

Just like the epitaph carved on his gravestone: A great life, an honorable death.

Even if life is as fragile as an ant’s, there must still be an unyielding spirit.

Stars shimmer across the horizon; beneath the night sky, in the quiet cemetery, only the girl’s low murmurs fade away in the wind.

~

Crystal-clear dewdrops descend silently in the night and slide off tender leaves and stems with the glow of dawn.

In an instant, the floating clouds and fleeting dew bear witness to the passage of time.

A tranquil morning approaches slowly.

Leaning against the gravestone in slumber, Shen You’an suddenly opens her eyes wide.

The early sunlight pours unabashedly onto her body; Shen You’an instinctively squints her eyes.

In her mind, fragments of a nightmare gradually dissipate into nothingness.

Shen You’an steadies her slightly unregulated breath; it has been a long time since she last had a nightmare.

She can no longer recall the specifics of the dream—just vague, shadowy impressions.

Childhood struggles, humiliating oppression in the entertainment industry, and that freezing winter night...

No matter how warm the summer morning may be, Shen You’an can still feel the bone-chilling cold piercing through her, as though even her blood had frozen.

The following morning, a street cleaner found the body of a woman frozen to death by the roadside.

The community collected her remains and buried her. The words on her gravestone—in their brevity—summed up a lifetime.

Among the strange interplay of lights and colors from the dream, Shen You’an shook her foggy head.

Someone came to the gravestone alone and placed a bouquet of baby’s breath down.

He stood before the gravestone for a long, long time. The woman in the photo possessed extraordinary beauty, yet her eyes always seemed to carry a weary sadness.

"I’m late."

This clear male voice seemed to come from the depths of time and space, laced with a sorrow so profound it was heart-wrenching.

Shen You’an’s soul trembled.

The deep emotion embedded in the voice could not help but move anyone who would hear it.

A thick fog rolled in. The man collapsed in front of the gravestone, his fingers brushing over the woman’s eyes in the photo, as though wiping away her tears.

Heavy rain suddenly poured down, cleansing the world of all its filth and grime.

When the sun rose again, all the earth remained as before.

Except him—he would forever remain amidst the drizzles of spring from that year.

His love, never expressed in words, burned fiercely like fire, consuming his life.

Shen You’an desperately wanted to decipher the man’s face. But no matter how hard she tried, the fragments of the dream slipped away like sand through her fingers.

Was it merely an illusion or something that had truly occurred in some unknowable time-space? Shen You’an could not know.

She only felt an overwhelming sadness, her chest heavy to the point of suffocation.

Regulating her breath, a conjecture gradually surfaced in her mind.

When the neurons in the brain’s nervous system function, they generate electrical charges, forming natural biological currents. According to the principles of electromagnetism, moving charges create magnetic fields, which in turn impact the nervous system.

The brain stores vast amounts of information during the day, which it synthesizes into different combinations of illusory scenes at night. This process is a unique treatment method within the brain’s nervous system.

This is the origin of dreams.

Why did she have that dream? Surely, some daytime trigger activated her neural storage, causing the brain to unconsciously connect internal information in a chaotic fashion. Combined with earth’s geomagnetic activity, this led her, after so long, to be haunted by nightmares.

Shen You’an furrows her elegant brows as her brain whirls with rapid thoughts.

The sun is blinding, and the chirping of insects and birds ushers in the morning, intensifying the serene solemnity of the cemetery.

Suddenly, something clicks in Shen You’an’s mind, her clear eyes sparkling with an unbelievable light.

As she leaves, the chrysanthemums and baby’s breath at the gravestone lean against each other, basking in warm sunlight within the stillness of the cemetery.

Shen You’an walks out of the cemetery and takes a cab to the hospital.

Standing outside the ward, she watches as the middle-aged man on the hospital bed eats breakfast, listening somewhat sheepishly to the woman next to him chastising him.

"Brother, I’m telling you—you don’t have to put up with her. She’s the one who wronged you. You must divorce her."

Zhang Jian’s face looks bitter as he chews on a meat bun, finding no enjoyment in its taste.

Luo Wan beside him continues to lecture him patiently and earnestly.

Shen You’an does not listen further. She heads to the payment counter, settles a week’s worth of medical and nutrition fees, and upgrades his room to VIP status.

Her uncle, over the years, has been worn out by work and family. Taking this chance to let him rest and recuperate is a consolation.

Ever since that dream, her chest has felt as though weighed down by a heavy stone.

Driven by a desperate need for clarity, Shen You’an goes to a nearby internet café.

In the enclosed space where smoke, instant noodle odors, and foot stench mingle terribly, Shen You’an almost feels sick.

Through the night, teens who stayed up gaming slump over their computers, while chaotic game screens continue playing on, their pale and weary faces illuminated by faint light.

Shen You’an finds a computer. Sitting down, she powers it on, and her slender fingers clack rapidly across the keyboard, the disordered keystroke sounds standing out distinctly in the sealed silence.

The screen flashes a surveillance video—footage of Zhang Jian collapsing drunk at an intersection the night before.

As the morning’s first sunlight creeps in, countless passersby ignore the drunken man.

A boy in white strides through the light and stops at his side.

He answers a call and dials 120, staying with Zhang Jian until the ambulance arrives, even thoughtfully feeding him water in the meantime.

The video’s resolution is low, and the boy’s figure is somewhat blurry, but it does not obscure his outstanding build and presence.

"Rong Xianning..."

Shen You’an stares at the boy on the screen and finally, deep in her memory, finds a faint shadow that matches.