The previously calm crowd erupted.
More and more onlookers gathered, until someone recognized Song Cheng. With a scream, the crowd multiplied at triple speed…
Screenwriter Li Xiangnan was at the hospital for a wrist ganglion checkup.
While waiting to be called, he wasn’t idle—he was on the phone with his studio.
Li Xiangnan: “As long as I can meet Qin Wuyan and show him the latest script, he’ll be moved for sure!”
Li Xiangnan: “I know, I know. The problem is I can’t get a meeting with him. Last time, I finally delivered the script to his manager, but they weren’t satisfied—of course, that version wasn’t good enough… I promise, this version is flawless!”
Li Xiangnan sighed. “Ugh, why is it so hard to make my own movie? I’ll think of another way. Lately Qin Wuyan’s been in the spotlight, and Zhou Qingge is completely finished. I wonder if Qin Wuyan’s partner plans to debut too…”
The phone call ended in frustration. Li Xiangnan still hadn’t figured out a way to meet Qin Wuyan. With about ten people ahead of him, he impatiently lowered his head and glanced at the latest news.
“Top Actor Qin Wuyan’s New Boyfriend Song Cheng in a Sudden Car Accident—Live on the Scene”
Li Xiangnan raised his eyebrows. Opening it, he saw that the report was from just a minute ago, and that the hospital mentioned—the one Song Cheng had been sent to—was the very hospital he was in.
Excitement surged. An opportunity had arrived!
Song Cheng had already regained consciousness in the ambulance. He tried to sit up but was gently but firmly pressed back down by the nurse, crying out in pain.
A piece of plastic from the collision had pierced his waist, leaving a one-and-a-half-centimeter wound. Fortunately, it hadn’t punctured any internal organs; a simple suture would suffice.
The plastic piece had originally been a car ornament he bought when walking by a nice display—he never expected it could cause such damage. From now on, he resolved never to put hard decorations in the car again.
Because his identity was discovered, the whole internet now knew about Song Cheng’s accident. His phone had been left in the car. Song Cheng wanted to report safely to Qin Wuyan, but the nurse explained that the hospital had already contacted him.
By the time he reached the emergency room, the wound had been sutured. The nurse quietly wheeled him into a VIP room—like a thief—returning him to the hospital after over two months. Song Cheng’s emotions were complicated.
When the brakes failed, he had been terrified. When he hit the concrete bollard in a desperate gamble, he had feared he might actually die. A surge of frustration and unwillingness exploded from his heart. If he had had the time, he would have shouted:
This isn’t fair!
He had done so much, gathered his courage, and was about to happily enjoy life—how could he end up dying here?
Lowering his gaze, he recalled those few seconds of the accident, when his emotions had been at their peak. Suddenly, the hospital room door opened. Song Cheng looked up to see a completely unfamiliar person.
The stranger hesitated for a moment upon seeing that Song Cheng was alone, then asked, “Qin Wuyan… isn’t your boyfriend here yet?”
Song Cheng frowned. “Not yet. Who are you?”
Li Xiangnan smiled. “I’m a friend of Qin Wuyan. We’ve worked together before. I heard about your accident, so I came to check on you.”
He wasn’t lying. Qin Wuyan had cameoed in a film, where Li Xiangnan had been one of three co-writers’ apprentices. Close enough, in his mind, to count as collaboration.
Since Qin Wuyan hadn’t arrived, it was just as well to make contact with Song Cheng. He considered it a good deed—after all, being alone in a hospital room after an accident was very lonely.
Li Xiangnan talked at length about how great his script was, how meticulous his studio was, and how talented his friend-director was. Song Cheng listened quietly. After a while, he asked, “What’s the name of your studio?”
Li Xiangnan paused. “Beiyan Nanfly.”
Song Cheng’s eyes widened slightly. That familiar name surprised him. “You’re South.Li?”
Li Xiangnan froze. “…You know me?”
He worried Song Cheng might be some former schoolmate—and his school history wasn’t exactly clean. Hearing the question, Song Cheng shook his head. “No, I don’t know you.”
Li Xiangnan exhaled in relief. Then Song Cheng continued slowly, “I submitted a resume to your studio before. HR asked me to add you on WeChat, but I didn’t know it was your WeChat.”
Li Xiangnan was speechless for a few seconds. “…You’re the Song Cheng who ghosted me?”
Song Cheng smiled sheepishly. “I didn’t do it on purpose. I’d written half of it, but then I got hospitalized.”
Li Xiangnan was blank-faced. Young and with a sharp memory, the studio’s interview process was always the same: assistants screened the three-minute scripts first, filtering out the terrible ones, leaving the rest for Li Xiangnan to review. He gave all the candidates a single assignment:
A mysterious protagonist A and a normal protagonist B are a same-sex couple who cannot be together. Four years ago, they married, but separated after just one year. The starting point is “now.” Write a complete character sketch, focusing on either A or B.
This had been the initial concept for his script Pear. Li Xiangnan used it to test newcomers’ story structure and empathy with characters—after all, writing a script was similar to acting: you had to get into the character.
Honestly, after months of recruitment, he had yet to find anyone satisfactory. Song Cheng’s name had almost faded from his memory. If he hadn’t brought it up, Li Xiangnan wouldn’t have remembered they were the same person.
Li Xiangnan stared blankly at Song Cheng. Feeling slightly uncomfortable under his gaze, Song Cheng was about to say something when the hospital door burst open.
Qin Wuyan stormed in like a whirlwind. Seeing Song Cheng safe and seated, his tense body relaxed slightly. Then, noticing another person, his eyes sharpened. “Who are you?”
Li Xiangnan jumped, quickly introducing himself. “Hello, I’m Li Xiangnan—”
Qin Wuyan’s voice cut him off sharply: “You’re not hospital staff? How did you get in here? Leave immediately, or I’ll call the police!”
Xiao Zhao and Ban Yunfang, standing behind him, immediately sprang into action and shoved Li Xiangnan out of the hospital room.
The room fell silent. Qin Wuyan’s brow still carried a trace of anger, but as he composed himself and turned, he noticed Song Cheng watching him with uncontainable amusement.
Qin Wuyan’s breath caught. “Do you know how much you just scared me? And you’re laughing?”
Song Cheng blinked and said, “Qin Wuyan, I remember now.”
Qin Wuyan frowned, confused.
Two seconds later, his eyes widened. “Remember what?”
Song Cheng grinned: “Everything.”
Qin Wuyan stared at him, cautiously approaching to confirm. “Really?”
Song Cheng nodded. “You can ask me if you don’t believe me.”
And Qin Wuyan did.
“When we met for the second time, what was I wearing?”
Song Cheng replied without hesitation: “A flashy moon-blue suit. Because you couldn’t go out in your outfit, I had to stay in your car. I even suspected you might be trying to trick me into something bad, but then I thought, well, you’re a celebrity—you wouldn’t do that.”
Qin Wuyan: “…Who’s Murong Ye?”
Song Cheng: “That’s the protagonist of that awful, trashy film your rival Lin surname made. I’ll never forget you forcing me to watch that waste of life.”
Qin Wuyan cleared his throat lightly and continued: “Back in senior year, what subject did Teacher Jiang teach in your class?”
Song Cheng glanced at him. “I’ve never had a teacher named Jiang in my life.”
If he could remember all that, it really meant his memory had recovered.
Qin Wuyan pressed his lips together but didn’t move. Instead, he asked another question: “Four years ago, what was the last thing you said to me?”
Song Cheng paused.
Their eyes met. After a moment, he spoke slowly: “Nothing. I’m not joking… I’m sorry.”
The room went quiet. About a minute later, both spoke at the same time.
Qin Wuyan: “Actually, I don’t care anymore…”
Song Cheng: “I’m sorry.”
They closed their mouths simultaneously. Song Cheng pursed his lips. “You first.”
Qin Wuyan was silent for a few seconds. “Sorry for what?”
Was it for having liked someone else before, or…?
Song Cheng: “Sorry for lying to you by saying I liked someone else.”
Qin Wuyan paused, eyes lowered. There was no overwhelming joy as he had once imagined—probably because he had already guessed this to some extent. And, as he had said, he really didn’t care. Truth or lie no longer stirred strong emotions, only a faint sense of relief.
When he lifted his head, a rare smile softened his face. He looked at Song Cheng gently: “It’s okay. It’s all in the past.”
Song Cheng: “Aren’t you going to ask why I lied to you?”
Qin Wuyan shook his head: “No. My principle in life is to not ask about things that would make myself or others unhappy.”
Song Cheng raised an eyebrow. “Since when do you have principles?”
Qin Wuyan: “Just today.”
Song Cheng pursed his lips but eventually smiled. He spoke up: “I know you meant well… All those things I hid before, you probably already know. Back then, I was young and didn’t understand much. I felt ashamed and had to hide everything for you to be willing to spend time with me. Thinking back now, it was so childish. What was there to be afraid of? What could they possibly do to me…”
Qin Wuyan sat down beside him, careful to avoid his injuries, and drew him into his arms. Tenderly, he said: “Don’t think about it. From now on, no one can control you or treat you badly.”
Song Cheng: “It’s actually fine. I was scared as a kid, but looking back, it was nothing. It was just taking a lot of lessons. Followed them, and no one bothered me.”
Qin Wuyan suddenly sensed something off.
He tilted his head, puzzled. “Lessons?”
Song Cheng nodded.
Qin Wuyan: “Just lessons?”
Song Cheng: “Yes.”
After a moment, Qin Wuyan asked: “When were these lessons?”
Song Cheng thought for a moment. “First and second year of middle school…”
Qin Wuyan: “And elementary school?”
Song Cheng: “I don’t remember. Who really remembers elementary school?”
Song Cheng spoke matter-of-factly, but Qin Wuyan thought differently. Most people do remember elementary school—forgetting it is unusual.
Doctors performed a full examination on Song Cheng—both physical and memory tests. They confirmed Qin Wuyan’s guess: Song Cheng believed he had recovered all his memories, but in fact he only recalled middle school onwards. Early childhood and elementary school remained vague in his mind. Previously, during fragmented memory recovery, he had even remembered events from ages five or six.
Qin Wuyan worried whether this was problematic. Even though Song Cheng hadn’t recovered memories before, he had been aware of that limitation. Now, Song Cheng assumed his memories were complete.
The doctor was slightly puzzled as well. Reviewing scans, they saw the bruising had healed naturally. Logically, there should be no memory issues.
They consulted the hospital’s neurology expert. The specialist immediately picked up on a clue: “Did he experience some trauma as a child?”
Qin Wuyan nodded: “His mother died in a car accident when he was young, and he had a rough time afterward.”
The expert nodded: “Exactly. Forgetting those painful events helps him live more easily. The brain activated a protective mechanism, selectively erasing childhood memories and keeping only those he could accept. Previously, the brain couldn’t do this because his body was functioning well, like there was a membrane blocking it. Once the membrane broke, the brain took the opportunity to make this choice. The human body is amazing, and the brain even more so. Don’t worry too much; the body always knows best.”