Chapter Nine: The Tale of the Zebra

Chen Wan was the first girl to ever enter Li Mu’s room.

In his youth, Li Mu had been shy and reserved. Before graduating from high school, he’d never had any intimate interactions with girls, let alone brought one home. Even after entering university and starting work, none of his relationships had lasted long enough to warrant meeting his parents. So, this was truly the first time Li Mu had brought a girl into his own room.

His room was small, barely fifteen square meters at most. It held a 1.5-meter-wide bed, an old desk, a bookcase with glass doors, a wardrobe, and a Red Cotton-brand acoustic guitar.

Though the space was cramped, it was meticulously tidy. When Chen Wan stepped inside, she was immediately greeted by a faint, distinctive fragrance—the scent of clothes washed in laundry detergent and sun-dried under a blazing sky—fresh and comforting.

Several unusual posters hung on the walls: one of Kurt Cobain, one of the Tang Dynasty Band’s grand banner, and most strikingly, a cool-toned poster depicting railway tracks vanishing into mist, with a short-haired man crouched at the center, his face buried in his knees. Aside from this image, the poster bore not a single word.

“This poster is so odd,” Chen Wan remarked, her expression curious. “There’s no writing—what is it?”

“It’s from Dou Wei’s album ‘Black Dream.’” Li Mu replied casually, “I picked it up at a street stall for one and a half yuan. Probably a bootleg; the official version has Dou Wei and ‘Black Dream’ written on it, but this one doesn’t.”

Back in those days, Li Mu had been a passionate music lover—fond of both pop and rock, a fan of Michael Jackson, Black Panther, and Nirvana. He could strum a bit of guitar, had a decent singing voice, and with his tall, slender build, fair skin, and handsome features, he might not have made thousands of girls swoon, but he was certainly well-liked.

During university, he’d used his guitar and singing to win the virginity of two girls in succession.

Thinking of this, Li Mu felt a deep nostalgia for his university days…

Chen Wan’s gaze fell on Li Mu’s rather battered Red Cotton guitar. Curiosity sparkled in her eyes. “You can play guitar?”

“A little, just for fun.”

Chen Wan immediately pleaded, “Play me something, will you? There are boys at our school who play guitar and sing ‘You at the Same Table’—it’s quite nice.”

“University students these days really aren’t very creative,” Li Mu said with a helpless shake of his head.

Chen Wan persisted, “Come on, play one for your sister. Play something by Xu Wei—‘My Autumn!’”

Li Mu smiled, intrigued. “Xu Wei’s first album is pretty melancholy. How come a rich, pretty girl like you likes it?”

Ignoring his teasing, Chen Wan replied, “If it sounds good, I like it.”

Li Mu nodded, smiling, and sat on the edge of the bed. He reached for his old guitar in the corner.

That guitar had been a gift from his mother in eighth grade, costing just over two hundred yuan—about the cheapest wooden guitar you could buy. But it had a surprisingly good tone, and after years of playing, it sounded even better.

Li Mu picked up the guitar and tuned it using harmonics on the first string, a slightly more advanced method. He hadn’t played in a while because of the college entrance exams, and it was a bit out of tune.

Sitting on Li Mu’s chair, Chen Wan watched him tune with practiced ease and straightened her posture, ready to listen intently.

Li Mu strummed the first chord of “My Autumn,” then paused. “It’s boring to just sing what you ask for. How about I play you something you’ve never heard before?”

“Something I haven’t heard?” Chen Wan’s eyes brightened. “Sure, go ahead!”

Li Mu nodded, recalling the chords. After a simple, melodious fingerpicked intro, he began to sing in his slightly husky voice:

“Zebra, zebra, don’t fall asleep yet,
Let me see again your wounded tail,
I don’t wish to touch the scars of your pain,
I just want to lift your hair,
Zebra, zebra, you’ve gone back to your home,
And I’m wasting my cold, lonely years,
In your city, not a single door opens for me,
I’ll still have to return to the road…”

Before thirty, Li Mu had loved rock. After thirty, he’d grown to love folk music. Song Fatty was one of his favorites, especially this song, “Zebra, Zebra.” It was no longer empty lamentation or feigned sorrow; instead, it carried a touch of world-weariness and resignation, telling the story of a man’s special bond with a wounded zebra. Of course, the zebra wasn’t literally a zebra—most people later believed it symbolized a woman who’d been hurt.

Chen Wan had never heard this song or seen the lyrics. She listened, picking out the words as Li Mu sang, and an imagined scene began to unfold in her mind.

Li Mu’s voice was excellent, and his life experience—over thirty years—gave his singing genuine feeling.

“Zebra, zebra, do you still remember me? I’m the fool who only knows how to sing…”

As Li Mu sang this line, Chen Wan rested her chin on her hand, quietly moved. The song, though not explicitly tragic, seemed to carry a gentle sadness across the grasslands, drawing her in completely.

When the song ended, Li Mu’s thoughts drifted back to his previous life—the encounters, the near misses, the regrets. In retrospect, none of it was particularly bitter or sweet, but it left him thoughtful. Yesterday, he’d shifted the first switch in the tracks of his past life, and with it, the train of fate would now travel a different path, passing through entirely new scenery.

Li Mu knew he would never go to that second-rate university as before. All the people he’d met there would now pass him by in this life. He wouldn’t go to Yanjing to be a downtrodden programmer, either—those colleagues, friends, and strangers would vanish from his world. On the very first day of his rebirth, he had chosen to overturn everything. In changing his own fate, he had also nudged Chen Wan onto a new course.

Chen Wan didn’t understand why Li Mu fell silent after the song. She only felt an unexpected sadness welling up inside her. The lyrics weren’t overtly tragic, but the atmosphere they created was deeply moving.

With reddened eyes, Chen Wan asked, “What’s this song called?”

“Zebra, Zebra.”

“Who wrote it?”

“Uh…” Li Mu suddenly remembered that Song Fatty, born in 1987, would still be in middle school right now. Well, shamelessness it is—after all, the real author is just a kid now.

“I wrote it myself,” he said.

At thirty-something, Li Mu had perfected the art of telling such lies with a straight face and steady heart.

“Really?!” Chen Wan’s worldview seemed to shatter. She suddenly found herself looking up to this boy with newfound admiration.

“Mhm. An exclusive original—you’re the first to hear it.”

This was no lie. In this world, Chen Wan was indeed the first to ever hear this song.

Chen Wan was even more moved. Remembering the poignant lyrics, she pressed, “Why use a zebra as a metaphor for a person?”

Li Mu lifted his head, gazed at the ceiling at a forty-five-degree angle, and replied with a sorrowful sigh, “Zebras can’t fall asleep alone.”

That single line added another layer of melancholic elegance to the song.

Li Mu said to himself, That has to be a perfect performance.

Chen Wan truly began to admire this “young man” of eighteen. She wanted to ask more, but just then, someone pounded on the door, shouting loudly, “Li Mu!”

It was Zhao Kang!

Li Mu jumped up at once, excitement in his stride as he ran to open the door.

He hadn’t seen Zhao Kang in over a decade, so naturally, he was thrilled—even though in this life, it had only been two days since they last met for the college entrance exam.

“Kangzi!” Li Mu opened the door and immediately embraced the acne-covered boy.

Zhao Kang grimaced and pushed him away, eyeing him in astonishment before spitting, “Damn, two days and you’re even better-looking. Where’d you get your hair cut? Why’d you shave? Aren’t you afraid Aunt Li will give you a beating?”

Li Mu couldn’t help but laugh. “Why so many questions?”

“Hell, I just can’t stand good-looking people like you.” Zhao Kang gritted his teeth and clicked his tongue. “There’s no way we can stay friends. Let’s break it off—go fetch your bamboo mat and a kitchen knife, and let’s do a modern version of Guan Ning cutting the mat.”

Zhao Kang wasn’t handsome—dark-skinned, with only passable features, and at this age, his face was covered in pimples. It was a bit tragic. Still, in Li Mu’s memory, he was the classic class clown—if guided well, he might become a real comedian one day.

Li Mu feinted a kick and cursed, “Stop spouting nonsense. Are you coming in or not? If not, let’s just go eat.”

“I’m not going in,” Zhao Kang waved. “Hurry up and lock the door, let’s go.”

“Hold on, I’ll call my sister—she’s coming with us.”

“Your sister?” Zhao Kang asked in surprise. “Where’d you get a sister?”

Li Mu grinned, “Just found one. Wait a bit.”