“Guest!” a voice called out slowly. “Wake up!”
Qi Xia slowly opened his eyes to find himself still sitting in a taxi, speeding down the highway.
He sat up in a daze and instinctively glanced at the azure sky, his entire body trembling with shock.
“Sir, what’s wrong?” the voice beside him pressed.
Ignoring the question, Qi Xia reached up to touch his shoulder—no wound.
He hurriedly rolled down the window.
A rush of sweet, fresh air flooded his nostrils, accompanied by the roaring wind of high speed, slapping against his face.
Fresh air.
Cool wind.
“I escaped?!” he blurted uncontrollably, his face alight with irrepressible joy.
Was this taxi the key to breaking the cycle?
Like the “Boat of the Styx,” could it freely traverse that eerie “Land of Finality”? And was the woman named “Xu Liunian” its ferryman, Charon, shuttling passengers between the living world and…
Qi Xia turned back—only to freeze. There was no Xu Liunian in sight.
Beside him sat a burly man in sunglasses, his skin darkened to a glossy sheen by years of UV exposure.
“Sir, why the sudden outburst?” The driver eyed Qi Xia nervously. “You’re not on something, are you?”
“You… I…” Qi Xia felt a flicker of recognition, but the memory slipped away. “Where are we going?”
“Don’t scare me like this,” the taxi driver muttered, his tough exterior betraying a hint of unease as he swallowed hard. “You hailed me to Jinan. We’ve already driven 300 kilometers—don’t tell me you’ve got amnesia now.”
He pointed to the meter, which displayed a fare of over 900 yuan.
“What?!” Qi Xia stared at the road sign ahead—they were indeed entering Jinan.
In an instant, everything came back to him. He *had* seen this man before.
Because the day before the earthquake, he *had* taken this very taxi, hell-bent on reaching Jinan.
“I went back a day?” Qi Xia fumbled for his phone, his expression twisting in confusion as he checked the date. “September 27th… The day *before* the earthquake… How?”
His hand flew to his chest pocket—a small slip of paper was still there.
“Good… It’s still here.”
“Sir… seriously, what’s going on?” The driver, now thoroughly unsettled, fished out his phone, thumb hovering over the emergency call button.
“Relax. I’ll pay the full 2,000 yuan round-trip fare as agreed,” Qi Xia said, his voice steadying. Whatever had happened, it seemed he’d been given a second chance.
“Really?” The driver exhaled slightly, though suspicion lingered. “You had me thinking you were high or something…”
“No. Just a nightmare. A *terrible* one.” Qi Xia leaned into the wind rushing through the window, the September air soothing his nerves. “But I’m awake now.”
“Kids these days—stay up all night, sleep all day. No wonder you get bad dreams,” the driver grumbled, adopting a paternal tone.
“Right,” Qi Xia replied absently.
For him, this was a reset.
The earthquake would strike at noon tomorrow—but today, the *real* deadline was money.
An hour later, the taxi pulled into Jinan.
The driver, obliging, switched on the navigation to Lixia District’s Second Ring East Road.
“Kid… this address…” The driver squinted at the screen. “Isn’t this the provincial lottery center?”
“Just drive,” Qi Xia said, closing his eyes again.
Soon, the car halted outside the lottery office. Qi Xia counted out 1,000 yuan and handed it over. “Wait here. Or leave—your choice.”
“Like I’d just ditch you,” the driver huffed.
At the entrance, a staff member was already waiting.
“Mr. Qi?”
“Yes.”
“We’ve been expecting you. This way.” The man ushered him inside, explaining, “The claiming process is streamlined now. Once your ticket’s verified, we’ll issue a bank check immediately.”
“I’m in a hurry. Fast as possible.”
“Of course.” They reached the verification counter.
“May I see the ticket?”
Qi Xia handed over the crumpled slip from his pocket. The staffer passed it to the verifier, who inspected it with meticulous care.
“Prize amount: 1.9 million yuan. One moment.” The verifier began scanning the barcode.
As Qi Xia waited, the staffer tilted his head. “You don’t seem very excited, Mr. Qi.”
“Excited?”
“Nearly two million! Most winners are over the moon.”
“Maybe.”
“Last month, a guy won a million—showed up in a *winter coat* and a mask, like it was some heist. I mean, who treats a million like *that* nowadays?” The staffer laughed at his own anecdote. Qi Xia’s silence turned the air awkward.
“How much longer?”
“Ah, patience. We’ve had fraud cases lately—have to be thorough.”
Qi Xia’s eyes narrowed. “Meaning?”
“No offense! Just protocol. You’re clearly no scammer,” the man backpedaled.
Soon, the verifier smiled. “Authenticated. We’ll prepare your check.”
Qi Xia smirked inwardly.
Of course it was real.
This “winning” ticket had cost him *two million* in dirty cash. After taxes, the remaining sum would be squeaky clean.
Laundering money through lottery winnings—one of the simplest tricks in the book.
“Congratulations, Mr. Qi!” The staffer beamed. “Shall we arrange a donation?”
“Mandatory?”
“Oh, no. But most winners contribute—”
“Then I donate *zero*.”
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