Lu Pingzhang had been furious last night—he held Qiao Jin down and went at him until three or four in the morning. Luckily, Qiao Jin kept himself in good shape, and the ingrained discipline of a working man’s body clock still woke him up on time.
He stayed in bed for a while, dragging his feet through his morning routine. It wasn’t until after he’d washed up that he realized—his phone was still at the club from last night.
When faced with the decision of whether to go see Lu Pingzhang or Fu Linxiao to retrieve it, he didn’t hesitate—he chose Fu Linxiao.
If Fu Linxiao hadn’t been completely scared out of his mind by now, he’d definitely have grabbed the phone for him.
The weather was getting colder by the day. Last night’s strong winds had stripped the trees bare, and this morning, the branches were completely lifeless. Fallen leaves piled on the road in soft, overlapping layers that gave way gently underfoot.
It had been a while since he’d seen such a clear, clean sky. Despite the soreness all over his body, Qiao Jin felt oddly cheerful.
He drove to Fu Linxiao’s company first, only to find that he wasn’t there, so he had to head to his home instead.
Fu Linxiao lived on the sixteenth floor. Thankfully there was an elevator—Qiao Jin’s legs weren’t up for any more strain.
He stood outside and rang the bell. It took a while before there was any noise from inside.
When Fu Linxiao finally opened the door, he looked absolutely irritated: “Who the hell rings the bell this early in the morning? You trying to get yourself killed?”
Qiao Jin stood outside, looking crisp and composed, a stark contrast to Fu Linxiao’s disheveled, overindulgent mess of a state.
“It’s already this late and you’re still in bed? Not going to work today?” Qiao Jin asked, neat in a pressed suit, hands tucked in his pockets, tilting his head slightly as he looked him over.
Fu Linxiao groaned and shut the door behind him, leaning back against it as he stretched, voice rough with sleep. “Took the day off.”
Qiao Jin watched the motion, taking him in, and gave a knowing smile. “What, hiding someone in there?”
Fu Linxiao dropped his gaze and gave a short laugh, saying nothing.
“Who was it?” Qiao Jin asked.
Fu Linxiao thought for a second but couldn’t remember the name, so he dodged the question. “Let’s talk business.”
The all-nighter had taken a visible toll on him—his face looked worn and exhausted.
Qiao Jin had also been up all night, but he didn’t look nearly as rough. That probably had a lot to do with his habit of always appearing calm, well-dressed, and put together in public.
“Where’d you end up after the poker game last night?” Qiao Jin asked casually, eyeing him. “You really went all out.”
“Bar,” Fu Linxiao sighed, barely able to lift his voice. “I’m begging you—can we just get to the point?”
Qiao Jin let out a matching sigh, dropping the teasing. “I left my phone at the club last night. Did you happen to grab it before you left?”
“Su Ran took it,” Fu Linxiao said, rubbing at his messy hair, face scrunching in regret. “He said he had stuff to do near your office today and he’d drop it off.”
Qiao Jin let out a quiet “ah” and looked at him.
“He didn’t?” Fu Linxiao looked back at him and patted his pajama pockets. “I’ll call him.”
“No need. He probably left it at reception already,” Qiao Jin said. “I’ll check when I get to the office.”
Fu Linxiao stayed leaning against the doorframe, hand still resting on the handle.
Qiao Jin couldn’t help but chuckle. “Go back to bed. You look like your kidneys are about to give out.”
Fu Linxiao didn’t bother defending himself, just weakly raised a hand in dismissal.
Qiao Jin hesitated. “You sure you won’t faint after I leave?”
“I’ll live,” Fu Linxiao replied. “Please—go. Just talking to you in this cold air sobered me up more than I wanted.”
Still laughing, Qiao Jin turned and stepped into the elevator. As he descended, he remembered wanting to ask Zheng Rongguang if he’d gotten divorced, but reflexively checked his pocket and realized—no phone.
He gave himself a self-deprecating smile and, catching his reflection in the polished elevator mirror, adjusted his cufflinks and watch.
When Qiao Jin arrived at the office, he hadn’t even gone inside before Su Ran spotted him and walked over.
Leaning against the front of Qiao Jin’s car with an easy smile, Su Ran handed him a paper bag. “I figured you’d be anxious. Your phone.”
Qiao Jin took it, pulled the phone out, and tried to hand the bag back.
Su Ran didn’t take it. “Stopped by a dessert shop and got you some breakfast.”
“I already ate,” Qiao Jin said.
“So did I,” Su Ran replied easily, unfazed by the brush-off. “You can eat it whenever you get hungry. Or give it to one of the girls in your department.”
Qiao Jin accepted it with a polite thank-you, holding the bag casually in one hand.
Su Ran’s eyes flickered slightly. “Was that Lu Pingzhang who came looking for you at the club yesterday? Are you two…?”
Before Qiao Jin could answer, Su Ran gave a small, apologetic shake of his head. “Wait, sorry—is that something I can even ask?
Qiao Jin smiled but didn’t say anything.
“Sorry,” Su Ran said quickly, “I was just asking casually. Didn’t mean to pry into your personal life.”
“It’s fine,” Qiao Jin replied, glancing down at his phone. The battery percentage looked about the same as yesterday.
Su Ran leaned in to look too. “No one called you.”
“Thanks,” Qiao Jin said politely. “Linxiao said you had errands nearby. I hope I didn’t make you go out of your way.”
Su Ran kept the polite smile on his face, but his eyes were bright and clear in the autumn breeze. He looked straight at Qiao Jin and said, “What if I told you I didn’t have any errands at all—that I came just to bring your phone? Would you believe me?”
“Of course.” Qiao Jin slid the phone into his pocket, the movement calm and mannered. His tone was as even as before, like the conversation hadn’t shifted at all. “That’s totally normal between friends. I’ll treat you to a meal sometime.”
Su Ran held his smile for a beat longer, then finally looked away. “Sounds good.”
A delivery guy passed by with a box and headed into the building to drop off mail.
Qiao Jin’s gaze followed him into the lobby. Su Ran said, “You should go in—it’s freezing out here.”
Qiao Jin turned back to him and gave a polite nod before walking briskly into the office without any hesitation.
Yu Feng was at the front desk signing the mail. When he saw Qiao Jin walk in, he greeted him with a smile: “Good morning, Director Qiao.”
He’d traded his sporty outfit—one that suited him well—for a new, generic business suit, which instantly gave him a more mature air.
Qiao Jin gave him a quick pat on the shoulder and complimented, “Not bad at all—suits you.”
“Th-thank you,” Yu Feng said, ears turning a little red. He opened one of the mail parcels and skimmed the contents.
The receptionist beside him suddenly exclaimed, “A donation certificate… Yu Feng, are you donating your corneas?”
Qiao Jin paused mid-step. Maybe because he’d once been on the receiving end of something like this, his sensitivity to these words was especially sharp.
He turned to glance at the donor card in Yu Feng’s hand.
Yu Feng looked even more embarrassed and tucked the card back into the envelope with a smile. “If there comes a day when I no longer need them, maybe they’ll help someone else.”
The two girls at the front desk gasped in admiration. “That’s so cool!”
Qiao Jin echoed them with a smile. “So cool.”
“No, no, it’s really nothing,” Yu Feng stammered, face flushed now. “It’s pretty common. A few of my college roommates signed already—I was the last one.”
Qiao Jin didn’t think much of it at the time. It wasn’t until he reached the door to his office that something clicked in his mind—and his heart gave a sudden jolt.
Among Yu Feng’s college roommates… was Lu Boyang.
In that instant, something flickered through his mind—an elusive feeling, too swift to grasp, but strong enough to make his heart pound uncontrollably. It was as if his body was reminding him: stop ignoring what you already know.
November 22nd.
The date drifted hazily through his mind.
November 22nd.
The day Lu Boyang passed away.
The day he had his corneal transplant.
The first time he met Lu Pingzhang.
He remembered—on the day they met, Lu Pingzhang held him in his arms.
Caught in the wave of a sudden, splitting headache, Qiao Jin shut his eyes. When he opened them again, they were dry and aching.
He quickly stepped into his office, sat down, tilted his head back, and squeezed a few drops of eye solution into his eyes. As the sting and burn of the drops settled in, his memory resurfaced—clearer now, sharper:
—The past, piece by piece, was beginning to make itself known.
That day, Lu Pingzhang’s hand lingered near his eyes for a long time.
He had held him so tightly—so tightly that Qiao Jin had almost drowned in the overwhelming sorrow.
No, it wasn’t just sorrow.
Sinking into the wide, soft leather chair, Qiao Jin replayed that long-ago memory over and over, dissecting every single detail, unwilling to let any slip away.
The hum of his computer powering on cut through the silence like the sudden blast of air conditioning in a hospital room—buzzing, low, unsettling.
Qiao Jin opened his eyes, his vision stinging unbearably from the medicated drops.
Someone like Lu Pingzhang—with his identity and status—was never a cautious, tentative person. If it had only been grief, his voice wouldn’t have sounded so full of hope. Of longing.
There had been grief, yes—
—but also something else.
Something lost… then found.
Lying in bed, Fu Linxiao answered Qiao Jin’s call, ready to joke about the ordeal of a “lost and found” phone—
—but the moment he heard that voice, hoarse and nearly torn apart, he froze.
“Half an hour,” Qiao Jin rasped. “That’s how long it took.”
Fu Linxiao glanced at the clock on his nightstand. “What’s wrong with your voice?”
“I’m fine.” Qiao Jin’s voice was rough, ragged. “Are you free right now? I need you to look into Lu Boyang.”
Fu Linxiao went silent for a few seconds. “Didn’t you say you weren’t going to dig any further?”
“I’ve changed my mind,” Qiao Jin said, voice low and pleading. “Please… the sooner, the better.”
Fu Linxiao couldn’t reconcile this broken, worn-out voice with the sharp, composed man he’d seen outside his door that morning. “What happened? What’s going on?”
The silence that followed was vast.
From both ends of the call, only the ticking of clocks and the quiet sounds of restrained breathing filled the space.
Then, at last, Qiao Jin spoke—soft and trembling:
“I think… my corneas came from Lu Boyang.”
“…Fuck,” Fu Linxiao swore under his breath, and then the line cut off abruptly.
“Wait for me.”
The hands of the clock on Qiao Jin’s desk kept moving, but too slowly.
Stacks of documents awaited his signature. A secretary came in once to remind him, saw him deep in thought, left a cup of hot water, and quietly walked out.
His mind was a blank void. He tried to link the Lu Pingzhang from last night to the “Mr. Lu” he’d first met three years ago—but failed.
Then he tried again—to connect “Mr. Lu” from three years ago to Lu Boyang.
That time, he succeeded.
He raised a hand and touched his own eye, mimicking how Lu Pingzhang had once touched “Lu Boyang’s” eye—tenderly, reverently.
Then, his phone rang.
The jarring ringtone jolted him back to reality.
He stared at the screen: Fu Linxiao.
The name stared back at him like a tidal wave poised to crash down.
He didn’t answer right away. Only after the ringtone ended and restarted a second round did he finally swipe to connect.
Neither of them spoke at first.
Qiao Jin watched a plane pass by in the sky outside, watched the staggered rise of skyscrapers in the distance, then broke the silence:
“Say it.”
His voice was steady now—a world apart from earlier.
Fu Linxiao drew in a breath and said quietly but with certainty:
“I found it. It’s true.”
Qiao Jin finally had his answer.
In the sunlight-drenched office, Qiao Jin sat motionless in his chair, defeated and silent, as he began to retrace and reconstruct everything that had happened over the past three years.
