附近人100块钱上门

Drip… drip…

Lin Yu Xi clutched her nose, her eyes squinting from the pain as the faucet dripped a steady rhythm. The bathroom floor was splattered with muddy-red stains—her own blood.

She blinked slowly, raising her gaze to meet her reflection.

The face staring back was familiar, but strangely foreign.

The familiarity came from her features—the ones she knew well, that she’d always known.

The strangeness lay in her memories.

Now, Lin Yu Xi held two sets of memories—those of Yan Qiao Qiao and those of Lin Yu Xi. Two different lives that both belonged to her. But… they were completely contradictory, polar opposites. Trying to reconcile them left her feeling deeply uneasy.

Because… these two memories didn’t connect at all.

She closed her eyes.

Again, she tried to sort through the tangled, freshly implanted memories—

A military training base. Rows of teenagers in uniforms stood in formation—all girls.

Their ages ranged from eleven to sixteen. They varied in height and build, but each one had been strengthened through extensive chemical enhancement—every one of them was fit, sturdy, and ready.

In her memory, Lin Yu Xi stood in the front row.

She glanced around. All the girls were taller, which was why she had been placed at the front.

At the time, she was just eleven years old.

She had been at the military base for years, enduring relentless, day-and-night training.

They were all chosen recruits—orphans taken by the state, raised to be agents of the Time-Space Bureau. Their purpose was singular: to become exceptional time-space agents, undertake secret missions, and serve the Bureau without question.

Their identities didn’t matter. Their first lesson upon arrival was to forget who they once were.

Their thoughts didn’t matter either. From the start, they were trained for loyalty, obedience, and unwavering dedication to the Bureau.

In truth… such effort wasn’t needed.

After all, they were just orphans—abandoned and forgotten by the world.

It was their fate.

The girls at the base didn’t even have names—except for her.

Lin Yu Xi.

“Number 7!”

“Here!”

“Number 11!”

“Here!”

“Number 13!”

“Here!”

“Number 17!”

“Here!”

The instructor called out their designations, one by one.

The girls had no real names. Just numbers. They had been called this way since arriving at the base.

And the numbers weren’t sequential either. That was because many recruits had been eliminated over the years during the enhancement phase. Those who didn’t make it were reassigned to less demanding roles—some became traffic police or special guards—ordinary jobs, forever unrelated to the world of “agents” or “time-space missions.”

“Lin Yu Xi!”

The instructor called her name.

“Here!”

Lin Yu Xi straightened, her voice loud and clear.

“Number 46!”

“Here!”

“Number 47!”

“Here!”

The roll call continued, but no other real names were mentioned. Just numbers.

All these years at the training base—Lin Yu Xi had been the only exception.

She still didn’t understand why.

Why… Why did all the others have only numbers, while she had a name?

It was a question no one could answer—not the instructors, not the teachers, not the doctors or the scientists. Nobody knew why.

It was just a mystery. A mystery they all accepted.

“Why is she the only one with a name?”

The girls at the base had enhanced hearing; their ears were exceptionally sharp.

That day, while resting, Lin Yu Xi hugged her knees under the shade of a tree. She overheard Number 17’s voice not far behind her.

Lin Yu Xi didn’t need to turn to know who it was. Number 17 was the tallest girl at the base. She had always been the tallest, ever since they were young.

It was evident that the base had a specific purpose in raising these time-space agents—selecting orphans from the country using strict criteria.

First, they had to be orphans from X Country, as their missions would be carried out within its borders.

Second, they couldn’t be too tall or too old. These traits were important to ensure the missions’ success.

Little girls could easily gain society’s sympathy, which made their tasks easier. Similarly, being shorter helped them avoid unwanted attention, crucial for an agent.

Number 17 wasn’t the oldest, but she was among the oldest recruits.

She was four years older than Lin Yu Xi.

Lin Yu Xi was thirteen now; Number 17 was seventeen.

From the shade of another tree, Number 17 stared at Lin Yu Xi’s solitary figure, her voice tinged with resentment as she spoke to a friend beside her.

“She’s the only one with a name, while we’re all just numbers.”

“What’s the difference?” her friend replied, trying to comfort her. “A name is just a label, like a number. As long as it’s unique, there’s no real difference between a name and a number.”

“Exactly,” added another girl.

“Lin Yu Xi…” the second friend continued, “I remember the instructor saying they didn’t know why she had a name. It seems that, even though she’s an orphan, she’s different from us.”

“We were abandoned, unwanted by our parents, which is why we have no names. But Lin Yu Xi—her situation is different. Nobody knows her exact background or what happened to her parents, but… she was given a name. Her parents named her before they abandoned her.”

“So, in a way, isn’t that even sadder?” said the first friend. “We were cast away from birth. At least it’s clear with our parents—they didn’t want us, and we don’t need to think about them. No ties, no attachment.”

“But Lin Yu Xi—her parents gave her a name, and then left her. Isn’t that harder to accept? Wouldn’t it have been better if they had just abandoned her from the start? To give birth, to name, and then not care—that’s crueler.”

Despite their words, Number 17’s expression remained dark as she stared at Lin Yu Xi.

All these years… she had harbored jealousy towards Lin Yu Xi.

Not her looks or her abilities—every girl there was exceptional. Those who survived were not only above average in appearance but also highly capable. They were all trained under the same instructors, and while they differed slightly, they were evenly matched.

Especially Number 17. In many ways, she was among the best.

But what she envied about Lin Yu Xi was something entirely different.

Her name.

She longed for a name too.

It didn’t need to be unique, or beautiful, or special.

Any name would do.

She simply didn’t want to remain as “Number 17.”

…

A female doctor studied the lines on an instrument screen in the base’s medical room and nodded.

“Alright, Yu Xi, you can sit up now. Go ahead and remove the patches yourself.”

Lin Yu Xi obediently sat up, peeling off the wires and electrodes attached to her.

“Everything looks good—actually, excellent,” the doctor said with a smile. “Your fitness levels and enhancement results are still among the best here. I’m confident about your chances in tomorrow’s selection.”

“Thank you,” Lin Yu Xi said softly, her voice filled with sincere gratitude.

This doctor had watched over them since they were young, caring for them all this time. The girls liked her for her kindness.

As Lin Yu Xi stood to change back into her clothes, she noticed something new on the doctor’s desk—a framed photo.

Curious, she moved closer and saw it was a family portrait.

The doctor stood with her husband behind their young son, who was leaping playfully, a toy in hand, a joyful smile lighting up his face.

“Is this… your son?” Lin Yu Xi asked, pointing at the photo.

“Yes,” the doctor replied with a smile. “He’s starting kindergarten soon, so we took this family picture yesterday as a keepsake. I really like it. Watching you all grow up made me realize how much my little one has grown, so I printed an extra copy to keep here.”

Lin Yu Xi nodded, her gaze lingering on the happy family. She couldn’t look away.

“How nice…” she whispered. “I wish I had a picture like that… with my mom and dad.”

The doctor looked up, surprised. She paused her note-taking, turning towards Lin Yu Xi.

“Do you think about your parents?” she asked gently.

Lin Yu Xi nodded.

The doctor smiled. “All these years, you’ve never mentioned it.”

“Because… no one ever talks about it,” Lin Yu Xi replied, her gaze shifting from the family photo to meet the doctor’s eyes. “Nobody here thinks about their parents. There’s no love, no hatred—just indifference, like strangers.”

The doctor nodded thoughtfully.

“That’s true. I’ve been with you all for so long, watching you grow up. You all speak to me freely, but… in all these years, you’re the only one who’s brought up parents.”

She paused, considering her words.

“Yes, you’re the only one. Like you said, the others don’t think about their parents. I suppose it’s because of your name.” She smiled gently. “A name is the first connection parents give to a child. Usually, it’s chosen by parents or grandparents, always with the parents’ approval.”

“Names seem simple, but they carry weight. Your surname shows where you come from—it’s part of your heritage. Your given name carries your parents’ hopes, emotions, or blessings.”

“Yu Xi… I don’t know why your parents chose that name. It’s quite unique, but I’m sure it had special meaning for them. Maybe that’s why, unlike the others, you think of your parents. Because you have a name, while they don’t. Your name makes them real to you, gives you an image of them—a hope.”

The doctor’s gaze moved back to her desk, to the framed photo of her family. Her expression softened as she looked at her son, who was about to start kindergarten. She spoke, her voice tender.

“Yu Xi, you’ve never met your parents. You don’t know what they look like, and nobody has told you anything about them.”

“But even so, even though you know nothing of them… you still miss them?”

Lin Yu Xi didn’t hesitate. She nodded firmly. “Yes, I do.”

The doctor blinked, taken aback. She hadn’t expected this.

“When do you think about them?” she asked. “Is it when you’re falling asleep at night? When training gets too hard? When the instructor scolds you? Or, like now, when you see others with their families?”

Lin Yu Xi shook her head, her eyes clear and serious.

“Every day,” she said softly.

The doctor’s eyes widened, and Lin Yu Xi added.

“Every moment.”

The doctor felt a lump rise in her throat. She reached out, gently wrapping Lin Yu Xi in an embrace, her hand resting atop her head.

She wanted to comfort her, but the words escaped her.

These children were sharp, much too perceptive for empty reassurances. Lies, no matter how well-intentioned, would only add to their pain.

Instead, she changed the subject.

“You’ll be fine tomorrow,” she said encouragingly. “I know you all better than anyone. Your strength, speed, reflexes—you’re among the best. You’ll make it.”

“Who knows, by tomorrow, you might already be a Level Three Time-Space Bureau agent, ranked higher than me!” She smiled, shaking her head. “No, once you finish your mission, once you return triumphantly from capturing humanity’s greatest criminal, I’ll treat you to a celebratory meal. How about that?”

…

“Number 17, victory!”

The instructor held Number 17’s hand high, declaring her entry into the final match.

“The final selection… Number 17 versus Lin Yu Xi!”

“Whoever wins this match will be promoted to Level Three Time-Space Bureau agent and receive the honor of wielding the only entangled-state time-space particle in history—to return to the past and carry out this critical mission!”

“Now… let the match begin!”

Bang!

Number 17, already filled with rage, launched herself at Lin Yu Xi.

The jealousy she had harbored for so long now poured out, fueling her attacks.