Time Travel: My Comfortable Life After Going to the Countryside

That evening, Liu Xiangyang went to the building opposite again. It was already dark, and the streetlights were dim and couldn't illuminate very far. He squatted in the shadows, leaned against the wall, lit a cigarette, and slowly smoked it.

Around 10 o'clock, a figure walked over from the outpatient building.

Liu Xiangyang looked closely—it was Zhou Zhiming.

He walked to the entrance of the small building, looked around, went up to the second floor, pushed open the door and went inside.

After a while, another figure walked over.

The woman, wearing a light-colored coat, walked quickly; it was Tang Xiaohong.

Liu Xiangyang breathed a sigh of relief when he saw it was her. He then saw her go up to the second floor, and Liu Xiangyang's lips twitched.

He stubbed out his cigarette on the wall, stood up, dusted off his trousers, and looked up at the window with the curtain drawn.

"I'll let you die a full-bodied ghost then." He turned and walked into the night.

The next afternoon, it was Zhou Zhiming's class.

He looked exceptionally smart today, in a new white lab coat with the collar perfectly pressed, and his hair was impeccably styled. He entered with a smile on his face, his steps light as if he were walking on clouds.

"Attend class."

He opened his lecture notes, his gaze sweeping across the classroom, pausing for a second when it landed on Zhao Xiaoman's side.

Zhao Xiaoman kept her head down and didn't look at him.

Zhou Zhiming smiled and began his lecture.

It talks about common respiratory diseases.

He spoke with more enthusiasm than usual, his voice loud and clear, and he cracked a joke every now and then. Some people in the audience laughed along, and the atmosphere seemed quite good.

Liu Xiangyang sat below, twirling a pen in his hand, his face expressionless.

Zhou Zhiming spoke for a while, then suddenly stopped, his gaze drifting towards Zhao Xiaoman.

"Zhao Xiaoman."

Zhao Xiaoman raised her head.

Zhou Zhiming looked at her with a smile on his lips.

"Zhao Xiaoman, please repeat the typical symptoms of lobar pneumonia that I just described."

He stood on the podium, a smile playing on his lips, his gaze fixed on Zhao Xiaoman's face, waiting to see her make a fool of herself.

Then the door opened.

Everyone turned to look.

Several people were standing at the entrance—the one in the front, a man in his fifties wearing a Zhongshan suit, was the hospital director, who had only appeared once before at the opening ceremony. The two men next to him were in uniform and were from the security department. Behind them were two young men with serious expressions and stern faces.

The smile on Zhou Zhiming's face hadn't even faded before it froze on his face.

"Comrade Zhou Zhiming," the dean's voice wasn't loud, but it was clearly heard throughout the classroom, "come out here for a moment."

The classroom was completely silent.

Zhou Zhiming stood on the podium, motionless.

Several seconds passed before he finally opened his mouth, his voice dry and unlike his own: "Dean, this...this is..."

"Come out and talk," the dean interrupted him.

Two uniformed men walked in and stood on either side of the podium.

Zhou Zhiming took a step back and bumped into the blackboard with a dull thud.

"Dean, I...I didn't do anything, what are you doing..."

His voice began to tremble, his face turned as white as paper, and fine beads of sweat appeared on his forehead.

People below began to whisper among themselves.

As if provoked by the whispers, Zhou Zhiming suddenly raised his voice: "I didn't do anything! What right do you have to arrest me! I want to see my superiors! I want—"

The dean took out a brown paper envelope from the inner pocket of his Zhongshan suit, pulled out a piece of paper from inside, and shoved it in front of Zhou Zhiming.

Zhou Zhiming's words came to an abrupt end.

He looked down at the document, feeling as if his bones had been removed, his legs went weak, and he slid down.

Two security guards held him up from both sides to prevent him from collapsing to the ground.

The thing flashed past his eyes—a color photograph in which he was naked and lying on top of a woman whose face was covered by clothing, while his face was directly facing the camera.

Zhou Zhiming's lips trembled, and he couldn't utter a single word.

The dean put the photo back into the envelope without even glancing at him.

"take away."

Two security guards carried Zhou Zhiming out. His legs were weak and he could barely move. He was practically dragged out. As they passed the door, he suddenly struggled to turn around and glance back into the classroom.

No one knew what he was looking at. Liu Xiangyang sat below, twirling the pen in his hand. Zhao Xiaoman stared blankly at the doorway.

The door closed, and Zhou Zhiming's screams echoed down the corridor. He cried out, "I'm innocent!" "Someone's trying to frame me!" But the sound grew fainter and fainter until it was no longer audible.

The classroom was so quiet you could hear the wind outside the window.

Several seconds passed before someone muttered something under their breath:

"What happened?"

"What's wrong with Teacher Zhou?"

"What is that? Why did Teacher Zhou's legs go weak when she saw it?"

"It looks like a photograph."

A buzz of discussion slowly rose and grew louder. The dean stood at the door, not leaving.

He turned around, faced the classroom, raised his hand and pressed it down, and the murmurs gradually subsided.

The dean's gaze swept across the classroom, finally settling on the podium—the spot where Zhou Zhiming had just been standing. The lecture notes were still open, and the chalk lay broken in two on the floor.

He cleared his throat: "Students, don't panic. Comrade Zhou Zhiming is currently under investigation by the organization for personal conduct issues. Further details will be announced after the investigation is completed."

The people below exchanged glances.

The dean continued, "The training will not be affected. A new teacher will take over Comrade Zhou Zhiming's class tomorrow, so please attend classes as usual."

He paused for a moment, then said, "I hope everyone will take this as a warning, focus on their studies, and not let down the organization's trust." With that, he turned and left.

The door closed again, and the classroom was silent for two seconds before suddenly exploding with a "boom".

"A matter of conduct? What kind of conduct problem?"

"Didn't you see that photo? She's definitely having an affair!"

"I've suspected Zhou Zhiming is acting strange for a while now, especially the way he looks at the female trainees..."

"Don't talk nonsense, what if it's not true?"

"No? Can't they just be taken away directly?"

Wang Dazhu sidled up to Liu Xiangyang, his face filled with shock: "Xiangyang, did you see that? Zhou Zhiming's legs went weak just now! What exactly is that photo?"

Liu Xiangyang glanced at him and shook his head: "I'm far from the podium, I didn't see it."

Wang Dazhu scratched his head, then turned to Zhao Xiaoman: "Xiaoman, do you know?"

Zhao Xiaoman paused for a moment, then shook her head.

Wang Dazhu looked puzzled: "That's strange, everything was fine yesterday..."

Liu Xiangyang stood up and patted him on the shoulder: "Stop thinking about it, let's start class."

Wang Dazhu said "Oh," still looking completely confused.

Liu Xiangyang walked towards the door. Zhao Xiaoman watched his back, then suddenly stood up and followed him.

There weren't many people in the corridor; most were still discussing things in the classrooms. Liu Xiangyang walked to the railing, stopped, and looked down.

Zhao Xiaoman caught up and stood next to him; the two exchanged a glance.

Zhao Xiaoman's lips twitched and turned up, and Liu Xiangyang smiled too. The two just looked at each other without saying a word.

Sunlight streamed in through the window, falling warmly onto the floor.

Zhao Xiaoman suddenly reached out and grasped his hand, and Liu Xiangyang pulled her hand back, pointing to the first floor: "Look there."

Zhao Xiaoman looked in the direction he pointed and saw Zhou Zhiming, limp and being carried by two security guards towards the security office.

"He looks like a dead dog."

-

Stop raising it, it's already at 50 words, if you keep raising it it will really die.

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