After the filming of “The Best of Us” ended, Ming Qi and Yu Qinzhou boarded a flight to Country C.
Their first stop was the manor where Yu Qinzhou had lived for many years.
The manor sat in the outskirts of Country C’s capital. It was enormous, occupying nearly half a mountain. Even though Yu Qinzhou hadn’t returned for almost two years, the estate remained spotless, untouched by dust.
The first thing Ming Qi did after arriving was look for photos of Yu Qinzhou’s youth.
Seeing how eager he was, the man chuckled and handed him an album from the bedroom drawer.
“Actually, I don’t really like taking photos,” he said. “Most of these were secretly taken by A-Yue when he came to the manor to keep me company.”
Later, that album had been given to him as a birthday gift.
Yu’s father and the old master of the Yu family never cared about his birthdays, but the Min family was different. Every year, they sent expensive gifts. Among them, Min Zhengyue was especially unique—his gifts were cheap, but always landed perfectly in Yu Qinzhou’s heart.
The first page of the album was a baby photo.
A small child lay in a cradle, black grape-like eyes looking straight at the camera with a smile so pure it melted hearts.
Ming Qi blinked in surprise. “This is you?”
“Mm.” Yu Qinzhou nodded. “Min Zhengyue stole this from my grandfather. He got beaten up when he was discovered.”
Ming Qi could imagine it—Yu Qinzhou had grown up alone overseas, and this photo was probably one of the old master’s few keepsakes. It must have been stolen right from under him.
He kept turning the pages.
Ten-year-old Yu Qinzhou. Twelve. Fifteen. Eighteen.
Some photos were blurry, taken casually, but the boy’s tall, clean silhouette still stood out.
Ming Qi’s gaze lingered on the eighteen-year-old.
A simple white shirt, standing in a sunlit garden, casually glancing toward the camera—like a brushstroke of ink dropped onto paper, leaving a deep impression.
“Like it?”
Yu Qinzhou noticed his gaze. He pinched Ming Qi’s fingers in teasing amusement.
“You’re staring without blinking.”
“I like it,” Ming Qi admitted honestly.
Then he leaned over and kissed Yu Qinzhou’s chin, whispering, “I was thinking… if I had met you back in high school, I might’ve really had a white moonlight since then.”
That youthful Yu Qinzhou was so clean, so perfect—he could easily be the school heartthrob who made anyone’s heart skip.
Just a single photo was enough to move someone.
Flipping through the entire album felt like briefly participating in Yu Qinzhou’s life before twenty.
Even if it was fragmented and imagined, Ming Qi was satisfied.
He closed the album carefully and returned it.
“Take good care of it.”
But Yu Qinzhou opened it again, turned, and brought out a box from the room.
Inside was a stack of photos.
“These are—”
“Your photos. And ours.”
Ming Qi looked down as long fingers selected a picture—him half-asleep with his face buried in a pillow—and slipped it into the album.
Then came a photo from the island: the two of them side by side, smiling at the camera. Ming Qi’s smile was bright, while Yu Qinzhou looked at him with gentle eyes. The sunlight bathed them in warmth.
Ming Qi lightly traced the page. “But this is supposed to be your personal album.”
“You are part of my life,” Yu Qinzhou said softly. “With you in it, it’s complete.”
So is my life.
He finished inserting the photos, closed the album again, and locked it in the drawer.
“When we go back, we’ll bring it home,” he added. “And print Xiao Ba’s photos too.”
After all, their child.
Ming Qi laughed quietly. “Right. A family of three should be complete.”
…
After that, they rested, adjusted their time difference, and didn’t do much else.
The next afternoon, Yu Qinzhou drove Ming Qi to the street corner from his memories.
The sky over the bustling city had turned from deep blue to gray, as if rain was coming. People hurried home, but the two of them walked unhurriedly.
“I saw you right up ahead,” Yu Qinzhou said.
Following his finger, Ming Qi looked forward—a crosswalk.
Streetlights lit up as Yu Qinzhou held his hand, guiding him across.
“I told you to follow behind me,” he said softly, “but you were scared, so you grabbed my hand yourself. Just like now.”
They stopped at a bench.
Behind it was a grassy field where children were playing. Yu Qinzhou glanced over and suddenly smiled.
“Baby, we’re really lucky.”
In the middle of the children sat an older man, bending down to take skewers of candied hawthorn from a rack and handing them to a child, who spun around happily like he had found treasure.
Yu Qinzhou led Ming Qi over.
A shadow fell over them. The old man looked up.
Yu Qinzhou smiled. “Boss, two skewers. One strawberry, one hawthorn.”
The man hurriedly agreed, handing them over.
Ming Qi took them—but stopped Yu Qinzhou from paying.
“That time you bought me candied hawthorn,” he said, “today I’ll buy yours.”
He handed over the strawberry skewer.
“Is it sweet?”
Yu Qinzhou took a bite.
“Sweet.”
He smiled.
How could it not be sweet?
The child who once ate candied hawthorn with him had, years later, become the person he loved most—standing beside him, walking through memories, and toward a future already full of completion.
—The End—