Mountain weather changed in the blink of an eye. That afternoon brought a heavy downpour, soaking the forest until everything glowed with washed-clean green. But by dusk, the sun broke out again, leaning over the far ridge and spilling slanted light across the mountain.
Shen Jianqing’s injuries had improved a lot, and life seemed to settle back into calm. The scar on his face remained, though—a mark that constantly reminded me of everything he had been willing to do for my sake.
The woods outside the stilt house were quiet, not even a birdcall. I had no idea how he had endured all those long years of loneliness.
I stood under the corridor roof for a moment, when a hoarse, broken sob drifted out from deep within the forest.
I froze mid-step and listened closely.
“Uu… uu… kunu… uu—uu…”
Someone really was crying.
I looked toward the sound, but everything was swallowed by the dense trees—not even a shadow in sight.
The evening breeze stirred the leaves; shadows shifted and trembled.
Anywhere else, the scene might’ve felt eerie—like something supernatural.
But I didn’t believe in ghosts. If anything, curiosity stirred in me.
The low, rasping sound was clearly a man’s voice. What on earth could make a grown man cry like that?
I instinctively glanced back toward Shen Jianqing’s room. He should be inside resting—maybe already asleep.
With that thought, I cautiously stepped into the forest.
The rain had washed everything clean. The air smelled fresh; the soil was soft, giving way under each step and leaving small imprints. Fallen leaves blanketed the ground in a quiet, desolate layer.
The deeper I went, the louder the wailing grew—its despair and sorrow almost tangible, sinking straight into my chest.
Who could be hurting so badly?
I walked on, scanning the area. I pushed aside a branch blocking my view, and the forest suddenly opened up. Beneath a massive old tree sat a gray-black figure, curled over and crying his heart out.
His face was buried in his hands; all I could see was the black crown of his head. His back rose and fell with each sob.
For someone that big to hide in the woods crying like this, something serious must’ve happened. I decided it was best to leave—if he realized I was watching, things would only get awkward.
I had just begun to quietly step back when my foot landed on a fallen branch.
Crack!
…Well. That was awkward.
The crying stopped immediately. The man lifted his head, eyes swollen and streaming.
It was Asong.
His face was streaked with tears and snot; his eyes were so red and puffy he could barely open them. His chest hitched uncontrollably as he tried to calm down.
Why was he here—and why crying like this?
But then again, his mind was like a child’s now. Crying this hard wasn’t all that surprising.
“Meng-ou…” Asong hiccuped out between sobs.
I stepped forward. “What’s wrong? Why… why are you crying out here?”
Asong tilted his head, confusion swimming in his clear eyes.
He couldn’t understand me—and I couldn’t understand him.
He studied me with that furrowed brow, looking torn between thinking and panicking.
Had he remembered something?
But after a long moment, whatever flicker of thought had appeared faded away, leaving only pure, innocent vacancy. He slumped to the ground, cheeks streaked with dried tears, gesturing frantically as he babbled words I couldn’t decipher.
“Did you… lose something?” I asked hesitantly. I knew he wouldn’t understand, but the words slipped out anyway.
Asong panicked all over again. He pounded the ground, tears welling anew, crawling across the dirt inch by inch as he searched. His face was full of terror and despair—he wasn’t willing to overlook even a single patch of earth.
He had definitely lost something—that was the only reason he was this distressed.
Seeing him so pitiful made my chest ache. After all, Asong had only ended up like this because he betrayed the Miao village to save my companions.
Our arrival had thrown their once-peaceful lives into chaos. I’d always felt guilty toward Lu Qi and Asong. If I could help with something now, even in the smallest way, then of course I should.
With that thought, I crouched down and began searching the forest floor with him, inch by inch.
But I couldn’t understand a word he was saying, and I had no idea what he’d actually lost. All I could do was rely on instinct and guesswork. I picked up several things that looked like they might interest him, only for him to glance at them once and turn his head away.
What on earth was it?
The sun sank slowly, the forest dimming by degrees. As the light faded, the air grew cold. A biting chill settled between the trees.
If we didn’t find it soon, we’d have to give up. We had no source of light out here. Once night fell, we wouldn’t be able to see our own hands, let alone search for something.
I bent down and felt around for a long time, until my back ached. Asong, however, continued searching tirelessly.
“Let’s look again tomorrow. It’s dark. You should go home,” I said as I pressed my aching lower back and reached out to help him up.
But Asong brushed my hand away stubbornly, refusing to even lift his head.
I let out a helpless sigh and planned to go find Uncle Lu Qi to bring Asong back.
I had barely taken two steps when something bumped beneath my foot—hard, totally different from the soft ground.
I lifted my foot.
Beneath a few fallen leaves lay a neat, square object.
That was…
I narrowed my eyes and focused on it.
A white-and-blue plastic card. At the top, in clerical script, were the words Yancheng University. And beneath that—a red-background ID photo.
The girl in the picture smiled brightly, her eyes clear, her expression innocent. That familiar face was so fresh and lovely—I’d heard Qiulu say countless times that she was the beauty of the History Department.
Beside the photo were two lines of text: College of History.
And—Wen Lingyu.
It was Wen Lingyu’s student ID.
When we first enrolled, the school had issued each of us one of these. When we set out for this trip, we had all brought our cards along to verify our identities if needed.
Seeing something so familiar—so shockingly familiar—made my emotions churn.
My hands began trembling uncontrollably. For the first time, I truly understood what it meant for something to feel “like a lifetime ago.”
All the things I’d once taken for granted, all those small pieces of normal life—now they were appearing before me so abruptly, as if from a different world. As if those years had already drifted far, far away.
“Jieke-meng!”
While I stood frozen, the card was suddenly snatched out of my hand. I looked up to see Asong clutching the thin card tightly, his face still streaked with tears and snot—yet now lit with pure joy.
“Ah—jieke-meng!” he babbled, wiping dirt off the card with his sleeve as carefully as if he were holding the most precious treasure in the world.
And perhaps to him, it was.
Wen Lingyu was gone. He had become what he was—someone who had forgotten his past, his family, even himself.
And yet he guarded this one belonging of hers like it was the rarest treasure in existence.
Watching his foolish, earnest expression, I felt nothing but sympathy.
He didn’t even know her name.
The girl he admired so deeply, cared for so much—he didn’t even know her name.
“Her name is Wen Lingyu,” I said softly as I stepped closer.
Asong instinctively hid the card behind his back, wary. When he saw I meant no harm, he slowly brought it out again.
I pointed to the card and patiently repeated, “Wen Lingyu. Wen Lingyu…”
For a moment, something flickered across his dull eyes. He looked at me, then at the card, his brows knitting together tightly, lips pressed into a line. After a long while, he finally murmured, “…Yu?”
He understood?
Delight rushed through me. I pressed on, “Yes, yes! A-Yu. Wen Lingyu—that’s her name.”
Hunched over like a grade-schooler, he lowered his head and repeated softly, “Yu… Yu…”
If he could remember her name, maybe their story wouldn’t end in quite so much regret. Maybe, at least in this one small way, I could do something right.
I let out a long breath, the weight in my heart lifting just a little.
Then—behind us—a cold voice cut through the air.
“What are you doing?”
I turned sharply.
Shen Jianqing stood beneath a tree, his expression icy, his eyes dark and cutting as he stared at me and the Asong beside me.
There was no warmth in his gaze at all—he looked at us like we weren’t even living beings.
Shen Jianqing… was angry?
I glanced at Asong—and suddenly realized that from where Shen Jianqing stood, my head was blocking his view of Asong lowering his own. A hidden angle always invites the worst misunderstandings.
I opened my mouth to explain—but Asong suddenly let out a frightened yelp. He looked at Shen Jianqing with terrified eyes, then turned and bolted.
With his long legs, he disappeared into the forest in seconds.
And I was left standing there—alone—facing the sudden storm brewing on Shen Jianqing’s face.
“I was just helping him look for something. That’s all,” I explained.
Shen Jianqing said nothing, his face dark, the scar across it burning red.
Just as my nerves began to tighten, he finally spoke.
“Who said you could come out here alone?”