Qin Sizheng had a long, vivid dream, lost in a boundless white fog so thick he couldn’t see his hand.
He moved forward, trying to find a path to the end, but no matter how far he walked, it felt like he was running in place. Exhausted, he sank to the ground, staring blankly.
People hurried past him on either side. He reached out to grab one, but his hand passed through them like water—insubstantial, untouchable.
Panicked, he tried another, and again confirmed: these people couldn’t see him.
He tried to speak, but his throat felt constricted by an invisible hand, utterly silencing him. Looking down, he realized his hands and feet were shackled, leaving only inches of mobility.
No one could see him; no one could rescue him. Qin Sizheng struggled with all his strength to break free, but his wrists bled and it made no difference.
“Designation PX8830, mission complete, data archiving in progress.”
Data? What data?
Instinctively, Qin Sizheng lifted his head and saw the sky above press down like a storm about to crush him. A cold, mechanical voice droned in his mind, slow and stiff, filling him with dread.
“Autonomous consciousness detected in PX8830. System will forcibly perform formatting. Processing…”
The mechanical words sent his nerves taut, each word like a sharp spike rending his veins apart.
It hurt.
All he had left was this single consciousness, unable to make a sound, forced to endure the spike splitting his meridians. The chains groaned under his struggles, but no matter the pain, he remained fully conscious, feeling every shred of it.
The endless torment seemed eternal. Gasping for breath, he finally couldn’t bear it and screamed in pain, jerking upright—and woke up.
He blinked, disoriented, trying to focus, and finally spotted a glimmer of light.
Shen Changfeng, worried he might be in danger, had arrived early. Hearing the scream, he rushed in, switching on the light to find Qin Sizheng drenched in cold sweat, sitting bewildered on the bed.
“You had a nightmare?”
Qin Sizheng’s head throbbed; the sharp pain from the dream had carried over almost completely. Even breathing made him tremble, his vision slightly blurred.
It took a moment to recognize Shen Changfeng.
“How come you’re here so early? Don’t you have work?” Qin Sizheng asked, lifting the blanket to get out of bed. His legs gave out briefly; Shen Changfeng quickly steadied him. “Your foot’s injured—remember? Be careful.”
Looking down, Qin Sizheng was a bit dazed.
Shen Changfeng guided him out of the bedroom, chattering along the way. “Don’t take that path again; you don’t want lasting damage. You’re still young; you have a long way to go.”
Qin Sizheng nodded absentmindedly. Before entering the bathroom, he instructed him, “Don’t tell Fourth Brother. If he finds out while filming, he’ll worry. A sprain heals fast.”
Shen Changfeng paused; Qin Sizheng was already in the bathroom.
Lu Xianqing had finished filming days ago, and the two of them had been at odds for a few days. Was Qin Sizheng just half-asleep?
After finishing, Qin Sizheng emerged. Shen Changfeng said, “Some checkups require fasting. Let’s go to the hospital first, then eat afterward, okay?”
“What checkup?”
Shen Changfeng immediately crossed his arms, glaring. “You promised yesterday—no backing out! Today, no matter what, we’re going to the hospital. Who falls asleep while eating? Don’t give me that ‘I forgot’ excuse!”
Qin Sizheng furrowed his brows. He really didn’t remember promising this.
Fine.
“Okay, let’s go.”
On the car ride, Qin Sizheng fidgeted with his phone, opening and closing WeChat repeatedly. Lu Xianqing’s last message was from a week ago. He wondered why Lu Xianqing hadn’t contacted him recently.
Was he that busy filming?
Watching the screen flash with Lu Xianqing’s photo, Qin Sizheng muttered to himself: Too busy to even say a word?
He hesitated—if he sent a message, would it bother him?
Qin Sizheng’s memories were in chaos. He vaguely recalled quarreling with Lu Xianqing, his own reddened eyes pressed to Lu Xianqing’s, and then… what happened next?
“I don’t want you… don’t want you…”
The familiar voice in his mind was his own, crying out that he didn’t want Lu Xianqing. But he couldn’t remember why they had fought—or why he had said he didn’t want him.
Lu Xianqing had once forced him to promise that no matter what happened, he was never allowed to reject him.
He loved Lu Xianqing so much—why would he ever say he didn’t want him? Was it because of filming?
Shen Changfeng watched him zoning out, poking at Lu Xianqing’s WeChat interface repeatedly. Though he didn’t know exactly what had happened between them, the long silence over these days suggested the distance of a breakup.
“Si Zheng, hasn’t Fourth Brother reached out to you?”
Qin Sizheng shook his head, pressing his lips together. “Do you think if I secretly visited him on set, he’d forgive me? Last time he said I could stay in his room openly this time… they wouldn’t laugh at me, right?”
Shen Changfeng’s eyes widened in shock, as if seeing a ghost.
Qin Sizheng’s ears reddened slightly, but he quickly continued, “Or maybe I shouldn’t… Fourth Brother only has two months left of filming. I’ll prepare a gift for him first. What should I buy? A watch? A belt? Hmm… maybe a tie. He doesn’t really wear ties… better a watch, then.”
Shen Changfeng’s face drained of color. “Si Zheng… what’s today’s date?”
Qin Sizheng smiled at him, noticing he didn’t know, but then he couldn’t remember it either. He glanced at his phone: November 19.
?
Something was wrong.
Shen Changfeng’s heart sank—part of Qin Sizheng’s memory was missing, as if someone had sliced cleanly from yesterday back two months, erasing it entirely.
Looking at the date, Qin Sizheng tried desperately to recall yesterday’s events, only for a flood of memories to crash back in. No, Lu Xianqing had finished filming already, and he had received a package revealing what Lu Xianqing had once done.
A splitting headache followed. He could barely hold his phone, his face pale, trembling.
“Don’t think, don’t think,” Shen Changfeng comforted him, patting his shoulder. “You’ve been too tired lately. After the checkup, get some proper rest. I’ll tell He Xing not to give you any work for now.”
Qin Sizheng wanted to stop thinking, but his mind raced uncontrollably. Memories flashed like a revolving lantern, one after another, too fast to grasp.
Seeing him in pain, Shen Changfeng tried to distract him. “The hospital side is ready, but you may still have to sign something. I’ll try to block it for you.”
Qin Sizheng nodded pale-faced, putting on his hat and mask when leaving the car. The checkup was tedious, but finally done, he was exhausted and leaned against a wall to rest.
“You okay?”
Opening his eyes, he saw a female doctor in a white coat. He nodded. “I’m fine.”
“Come rest in my office. You look exhausted,” Xu Fei said, finishing her night shift. Seeing a familiar figure leaning against the wall, she first worried he was sick, but after asking, she relaxed.
Even with his mask, the boy looked drained and haggard. Xu Fei wanted to hug him, but restrained herself, asking politely.
Qin Sizheng’s tone was distant: “No, thank you.”
Xu Fei thought for a moment, lowering her mask. “You don’t remember me, do you? I’m Hong Xue Feifei.”
Qin Sizheng’s eyes widened. “It’s you?”
She pulled the mask back up. “It’s still early, not many people around. If they recognize you later, it’ll be troublesome. Come to my office. Your results won’t be ready for a while, and I won’t ask for your signature, take photos, or do anything else. I promise.”
Qin Sizheng smiled faintly. “I trust you.” He nodded slightly to Shen Changfeng, then they went to Xu Feifei’s office.
She poured a cup of hot tea on the desk.
“You don’t look well. Are you tired? I missed yesterday’s charity event; they said you performed really well.”
“Mm… it’s okay.” Qin Sizheng wasn’t used to facing fans. Seeing the red and glimmering excitement in Xu Feifei’s eyes left him flustered.
She sensed his mood was off, but kept the boundary between fan and idol. “Darling, stay happy. No matter what, we’ve always got your back.”
Qin Sizheng looked at her, realizing that in this unfamiliar world, maybe only they genuinely liked him, without scheming or expectation of return.
Shen Changfeng knocked. “Si Zheng, it’s time to go.”
Qin Sizheng stood and said goodbye to Xu Feifei. At the door, he heard her voice, restrained but sincere: “The stars shine bright, rivers join the sea. Stay well—we’ll always be behind you!”
He turned back and smiled. “Thank you, Doctor Xu.”
Xu Feifei clenched her fists, recalling how he had looked at her the same way years ago, eyes twinkling. Four years had passed, and the boy had finally grown up.
The checkup results were normal. Shen Changfeng repeatedly asked the doctor about Qin Sizheng’s memory gaps. The doctor explained: aside from the foot injury, he was perfectly healthy. Minor memory confusion could result from recent stress, which could be relieved by addressing the source of the stress.
Nothing serious.
Still uneasy, Shen Changfeng noted that Qin Sizheng looked anything but fine—sleepy, forgetful, and wilted like a frostbitten eggplant.
He grilled the doctor, only to be told repeatedly: Qin Sizheng was healthy.
Even Shen Changfeng could only believe that Qin Sizheng’s troubles were caused by recent stress. He considered calling He Xing to ask Lu Xianqing what he truly intended—did he really reject Qin Sizheng?
But seeing how Qin Sizheng had acted in the past few days—seeming to hide and avoid meeting anyone—Shen Changfeng didn’t dare call out impulsively.
He told Qin Sizheng that his body was fine, handed over the checkup results, but couldn’t help sighing repeatedly. Qin Sizheng couldn’t help but laugh and frown. “Why? Do I have some terminal illness?”
“You still have the heart to joke? Look at your complexion! Fans on set might think the company is skimping on your meals, starving you!”
“Maybe they are?”
Seeing that Qin Sizheng’s spirit was still low, Shen Changfeng kept him talking to prevent him from dozing off. They chatted from when Qin Sizheng first became his assistant until now. Qin Sizheng eyed him suspiciously. “You’re not trying to get a raise, right? You haven’t gotten a single cent from me!”
“Who’s asking for a raise! And anyway, my pay has always come from Fourth Brother, not you. Have you ever given me any? Qin ‘skinflint’!”
Qin Sizheng pressed his lips, smiling. “Is there a difference whether he pays or I pay? It’s all family money. Mom said he’ll have to hand over his salary card to me in the future; I manage all his earnings.”
Shen Changfeng froze for a moment. It seemed Qin Sizheng had forgotten about the argument with Lu Xianqing again. He stared at him uneasily, only to be noticed.
“Why are you staring at me like that? Is there something on my face?” Qin Sizheng touched his face and then looked again—clean, nothing at all.
“Yeah… right, a whole extra nose you’ve grown.”
Qin Sizheng squinted and smiled, dimples deepening. Shen Changfeng froze; the prolonged smile gave him a surreal feeling, as if time had shifted.
“Better to smile than always have that serious face. Cool might look good, but it’s not sweet.”
Qin Sizheng gestured playfully, “I’ll give you a chance to take back what you just said. Say it again properly, or I’ll hit you.”
Shen Changfeng surrendered. “Alright, alright, ‘Supreme Handsome Qin Sizheng, you’re the best, okay? You’re childish!”
They laughed and teased all the way. Surprisingly, Qin Sizheng didn’t feel sleepy. Only a bit hungry, he nibbled on a candy while fiddling with his phone. Shen Changfeng looked down—there were short clips filmed by Lu Xianqing.
When the videos switched to the “Qingshan You Si” CP content, Qin Sizheng’s ears flushed red. Shen Changfeng felt uneasy; his memory seemed to be shrinking backward again.
“Don’t watch too long, you might get motion sickness,” Shen Changfeng said, taking the phone and giving him a candy. “You don’t want to eat outside where people can see, ending up hungry.”
Back home, Qin Sizheng insisted on cooking himself. Shen Changfeng watched nervously, afraid he might cut himself while drowsy.
“Should I do it? Why should an assistant rest while you cook?”
“I just want to. Now get out, go!” Qin Sizheng shooed him, efficiently preparing a meal for both of them, even juicing some fruit. They collapsed on the sofa, too full to move, watching boxing together.
Qin Sizheng eagerly explained all kinds of professional knowledge. Later he climbed up to punch the bag for a long time. Shen Changfeng warned, “Take it easy, your foot isn’t healed yet!”
“Just a bit longer, one more round.”
Shen Changfeng sighed. “Five minutes!”
Qin Sizheng gave him an OK sign and resumed passionately boxing, completely different from yesterday’s lethargic self—full of energy, like he could replace the professional boxers on TV at any moment.
Worried, Shen Changfeng called a familiar doctor about possible causes for memory loss. The doctor suggested a detailed checkup. Today, taking advantage of the checkup, Shen Changfeng arranged it—he didn’t mention Qin Sizheng’s name, saying it was his brother who was ill, sending the scans for review.
The response, after a long wait, confirmed what the morning checkup showed: nothing wrong.
Watching the energetic Qin Sizheng, Shen Changfeng silently hoped he wasn’t overthinking. Perhaps Qin Sizheng was just stressed, and in time, he would recover.
“By the way, Sizheng, there’s a magazine cover shoot tomorrow. He Xing can’t make it, so I’ll take you,” Shen Changfeng informed him.
Qin Sizheng briefly acknowledged, continuing to box. “Tell He Xing not to worry. You’re enough. She’s busy with Fourth Brother; she doesn’t need to worry about me.”
Seeing him sweating, Shen Changfeng worried about his foot. “…Stop now. There’s still time, come rest a bit for your foot, don’t push it.”
Qin Sizheng paused, removing his gloves, negotiating: “Fine, I won’t box. But tomorrow I’ll sneak over to see Fourth Brother, give him a surprise. You come with me.”
Shen Changfeng: “…Right, he forgot again.”
Meanwhile, He Xing, wanting to confirm Qin Sizheng’s background and ensure Jiang Zhen wasn’t lying, personally visited the orphanage.
The director, an older woman with deep wrinkles, treated the numerous gifts He Xing brought as precious, politely asking if she intended to adopt.
He Xing didn’t touch the offered tea. Though slightly put off by the director’s flattery, she maintained courtesy. “I’m here to inquire about someone. I’m Mr. Han Zhang’s secretary.”
The director’s hand wavered, setting down the cup, forcing a natural smile. “I think you came to the wrong place. Sizheng didn’t stay here long and only returned a few times. Han Zhang said the same when he came.”
He Xing nodded without comment. After a pause, she changed the topic. “When was he left at the orphanage? According to Mr. Han’s investigation, it should have been shortly after birth. Is the surveillance from that time still preserved?”
The director’s eyes widened at a photo of Qin Sizheng’s biological father, Han Yu, then quickly looked away.
“If you want to adopt, we can show you suitable children, but I can’t disclose personal histories. Even if not, they were abandoned—there’s no real background to speak of.”
He Xing didn’t rush. She placed another photo on the table. “Do you know this woman?”
The director countered, “What do you mean by asking that?”
He Xing smiled, tapping the table, her finger resting between the two photos. “I said I’m Mr. Han Zhang’s secretary, and you immediately said Sizheng didn’t stay here long. Even if Han Zhang had come before, when I show you Han Yu’s photo, you mistake him for Han Zhang. The person you know is Han Yu, not Han Zhang.”
The director picked up her reading glasses, putting them on with a pretense of solemnity. “I’m old, my eyes aren’t good, and besides, they’re brothers. Mistaking one for the other isn’t unusual, right?”
He Xing slid a photo of Wen Li toward her. “Do you know her? She’s an award-winning actress—of course you would recognize her. Yet you deflect, asking me why I’m asking.”
The director lowered her gaze, guilty.
He Xing leaned back in her chair, smiling. “When I arrived, I saw trucks bringing building materials, and later a large plot cleared for construction. The orphanage’s funds come from government allocation and social donations. They have money now?”
The director eyed He Xing warily. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t have a meaning? Building a whole new structure costs a lot. This orphanage hasn’t expanded in thirty years, and suddenly there’s a large sum. As a responsible citizen, I should report it, let them check if the funds are legitimate—don’t let anyone scam you.”
The director clenched her teeth, jaw muscles twitching with anger.
He Xing raised her head, exclaiming softly, “Let me guess—someone gave you a sum of money to hide the fact that Qin Sizheng was left here, and promised to expand the orphanage. If you refused, they could block next quarter’s funding. Am I right?”
The director’s eyes widened. “How do you know?”
He Xing thought to herself: in this industry, anything dirty exists; this is just basic maneuvering.
The director wasn’t inherently bad; concealing Qin Sizheng’s past didn’t harm her, and it allowed more children to have food and shelter—a temptation she couldn’t refuse. Yet if she refused, she couldn’t bear the consequences either.
He Xing stood to leave. The director finally unclenched her jaw. “I had no choice. Isn’t he living well now? Famous, glamorous, wealthy… do you know how important this is to him?”
He Xing stopped, turning her back to smile faintly. “Qin Sizheng didn’t have a choice either. When he was abandoned, he couldn’t even tell his parents he felt wronged.”
The director was speechless.
He Xing turned to her. “In your eyes, Qin Sizheng was never the chosen one. His parents abandoned him for profit, and for a building, you abandoned him too.”
The only person who steadfastly chose him was then discarded like trash.
She looked up at the blazing sun. When she arrived, clouds had covered the sky; now the clouds had cleared.
Driving back to Lu Xianqing, she found him three days barely eating, just drinking water, looking completely drained. She tried to get Shen Qing to visit, but he couldn’t even enter.
Previously, even in his worst moments, Lu Xianqing actively sought treatment. He understood himself better than anyone and cooperated with psychological interventions without resistance.
Now, he seemed to have developed a highly self-contained persona—organized, meticulous, yet refusing to acknowledge his illness. He believed he was already healed, cured by Qin Sizheng, needing no one else to intervene in his feelings or life.
He Xing was anxious, frustrated, and out of options. She couldn’t exactly tie Qin Sizheng at home—doing so would not treat Lu Xianqing and could backfire, causing problems for both.
She parked on the roadside and couldn’t hold back, burying her face on the steering wheel, crying.
A person who has never felt the sunlight can endure hardship, but once touched by warmth, basked in sunlight, and then sent back to darkness by that very light—that is a fatal blow. Ordinary people would struggle to bear it, let alone Lu Xianqing, already unwell. For him, it was catastrophic.