Zhao Mingshi, irritable and on edge, went to open the door. The moment it swung open and he lifted his eyes, he saw Ann standing there—phone pressed to her ear—exactly as she had said, clinging to him like a shadow, like a ghost.
“Ah—!”
The instant he met Ann’s eerie smile, Zhao Mingshi was badly startled.
Ann calmly hung up the call, smiled at him, then lifted her chin slightly toward the several burly white men behind her. They surged forward together. Ann’s high heels stepped over the threshold as she slowly walked inside, unhurried, and kicked the door shut behind her…
“Ahhh!!!”
A single wooden door panel couldn’t block the screams and the faint, indistinct sounds coming from inside.
But there was no one outside. No one heard. No one came to help.
From that day on, every single second of Zhao Mingshi’s life would be trapped in Ann’s palm.
She would let him live.
She would let him die.
And more than that, she would make him live a life worse than death.
She would return to him—thousands, tens of thousands of times over—every minute and every second of what he had put her through during their student days.
Just as Jiang Luo had instructed her before she left for the United States: don’t let him have it easy.
I will.
Chen Xin smiled brightly.
She felt satisfied and relieved—satisfied with how strong she had become, in both body and mind, and relieved that she could finally take revenge for the weak, foolish girl she once was.
I will.
I will torment him properly, until he would rather be dead.
I will make him experience what it feels like to be alive, yet not want to live—so much that death feels like an escape.
—
Jiang Luo was fishing by the lake. He had just hung up a call from Chen Xin in the United States when Yu Dong arrived.
Seeing her, Jiang Luo—sitting there with his fishing rod, lounging like he owned the world—spoke in a lazy tone. “Your Sister Xin was just talking about you. Said she misses you and wants me to arrange for you to go to the U.S. to keep her company for a few days.”
Yu Dong, wearing a beautiful dress, stopped beside him and said instead, “The moment you approve my resignation, I’ll book a flight and head over.”
Jiang Luo paused, but wasn’t surprised. He kept his eyes on the float bobbing on the lake and said calmly, “Thinking of leaving? Sure. That’s fine.”
“Planning to strike out on your own? What will you do?”
Yu Dong also gazed out at the shimmering water under the sunlight, squinting slightly. “Not sure. Haven’t decided yet.”
“Go talk to HR yourself,” Jiang Luo said casually. “I’ll give you an extra payout. You’ve worked for the company for so many years and accomplished a lot.”
Yu Dong turned her head, looked down at him, and said, “I’ll admit—I’m pretty reluctant. I’ve been here for so many years.”
“I’ve already brought my parents back to China for retirement,” she continued. “But I really do have to go.”
“I’ve made enough money. I want to travel the world, see different places, relax a bit.”
“And I want to find someone to love—date, get married.”
Jiang Luo replied offhandedly, “You Junyu won’t do?”
“Don’t mention him to me!” Yu Dong scoffed, then continued, “I want to find the country and city I love most, settle down there, bring my parents over, build a home, find someone I love, get married, have kids, and live a good life.”
“Mm.” Jiang Luo didn’t say much. Everyone had their own fate. “Go.”
Over the years, many people had stayed by his side—Zhang Ningfu, Little Secretary Lu—and many had also left one after another, like Wang Chuang and Mo Wanzhen, who had gone on to start their own ventures.
Jiang Luo let them all go.
People come together and part ways—it’s all fate.
He still hadn’t caught a single fish. Yu Dong stood by the lake and chatted idly with him for a while.
“Oh, right.” She suddenly thought of something. “Let me ask you something.”
“Mm.” Jiang Luo had a lollipop in his mouth, one cheek puffed out. Time had left no trace on his face—he still looked exactly like he had at eighteen.
Yu Dong looked down at him. “I’ve always wondered—why did you keep me by your side back then?”
“Because I’m pretty?”
“Because you thought I was capable and useful to you?”
“No.” Jiang Luo denied it.
“Then why?”
Yu Dong was curious.
There was nothing Jiang Luo felt he couldn’t say. Leaning back in his small chair, eyes still on the float, he said slowly, “Because of your name.”
“My name?”
Yu Dong didn’t understand.
“You’re called Yu Dong,” Jiang Luo said. “That’s why I softened.”
“Otherwise, just based on the fact that you borrowed my office to change clothes and then tricked me into going in, I would never have kept a woman like you around to work for me.”
“What’s so special about my name?”
Yu Dong asked, curious—and not offended by his calling her “that kind of woman.” Back then, she really had been. There was nothing to argue about.
“Very special,” Jiang Luo thought.
So special that for all these years, he had still been waiting, asking around now and then, wanting to know where exactly “Yu Dong” was.
Unfortunately, there had never been a second person with that name.
“I’ll come back to visit you all,” Yu Dong said as she left. “When I get married, I’ll definitely invite you to the wedding.”
“Okay,” Jiang Luo replied.
After Yu Dong left, Jiang Luo idly shook his fishing rod, making the line tug the float up and down.
He wondered why—after all these years—he had never met another person named Yu Dong.
Was it because his fate had changed?
Jiang Luo had no other regrets now. This was the only thing he found a little disappointing.
He had always hoped to meet Yu Dong again, to see what kind of person they really were, to see who it was that had secretly helped him in his previous life.
He wanted to repay them.
What a pity…
—
Jiang Luo became busy again—not only with the company’s existing business and projects, but also because Huo Zongzhuo was preparing to walk a different path, gradually divesting himself of his core businesses and company holdings.
To that end, Jiang Luo specifically assembled a legal team, determined to ensure that Huo Zongzhuo’s exit would be lawful, compliant, and completely clean.
At the same time, through a series of maneuvers and capital injections, Huo Zongzhuo was steadily moving into the upper levels of the postal and telecommunications system.
One day at home, the two were chatting about divesting companies and changing paths when Huo Zongzhuo suddenly said, “Oh, there’s something else.”
Hm?
Jiang Luo was watching television and eating fruit. Recently, Kangxi in Disguise had been airing and was hugely popular. The plot was good, and Jiang Luo had been following it closely.
Huo Zongzhuo took out his wallet, pulled something from it, and handed it to Jiang Luo.
Jiang Luo accepted it without looking—he knew it was Huo Zongzhuo’s ID card—and asked without much thought, still watching TV, “What’s this about?”
Huo Zongzhuo said, “Once I enter the system, I think it’s better not to use the name ‘Huo Zongzhuo.’”
“You know—years ago, because of my father, I was implicated in a major corruption case.”
“At the time, I was worried about safety, and about dragging my mother into it, so I used another name.”
Hm?
Only then did Jiang Luo tear his gaze away from the television and look down at the ID card in his hand.
The photo showed a younger Huo Zongzhuo. Beside it, under the name field, were two unmistakable characters:
Yu.
Dong.
Jiang Luo froze.
Huo Zongzhuo continued, “I’ll use the name Yu Dong to enter the system. Too many people know the name Huo Zongzhuo. When the time comes—”
Jiang Luo didn’t hear another word.
He was completely stunned, his eyes locked on the two clear characters on the ID card:
Yu.
Dong.
Yu.
Dong.
He finally understood—it really was this Yu.
And he finally knew—it was this Dong.
Yu Dong.
It was Huo Zongzhuo?
It had been Huo Zongzhuo all along?
So it was Huo Zongzhuo?
In his previous life, it was Huo Zongzhuo who had helped him?!
Jiang Luo clenched the ID card tightly, lifted his eyes, and stared at the man beside him with an expression full of disbelief and overwhelming emotion.
It was you?
So it was you?
Jiang Luo suddenly laughed—and as he laughed, his eyes reddened, tears filling them.
He had once cared so deeply—so painfully—about the fact that no one had loved him in his previous life.
After realizing someone had secretly helped him, after becoming aware of Yu Dong’s existence, he had always wanted to know who that person was—the one who had silently watched over him and helped him in the shadows.
He thought that even if it were a complete stranger, someone willing to love him unconditionally in that previous life, then that life hadn’t been lived in vain.
But it turned out—the person he had searched for all this time had been Huo Zongzhuo from beginning to end.
It was Huo Zongzhuo, loving him unconditionally, across two lifetimes.
It was Huo Zongzhuo.
Only Huo Zongzhuo.
The one who had always loved him—had always been Huo Zongzhuo.
“What’s wrong?”
Huo Zongzhuo was surprised, looking at Jiang Luo, thinking something had happened.
Jiang Luo laughed and cried at the same time, shaking his head to show it was nothing—it was you, it was always you, only you, all you.
Huo Zongzhuo had loved him across two lives.
Clutching the ID card, Jiang Luo leaned over and wrapped his arms tightly around Huo Zongzhuo.
Thank you.
These were the words he had always planned to say, back when he was searching for Yu Dong.
Thank you—his unspoken sigh from the depths of his heart.
Thank you—his most sincere gratitude.
Huo Zongzhuo, thank you.
Thank you for helping me.
Thank you for loving me.
Thank you for finally coming to me in this life, and being with me.
“I love you.”
Holding Huo Zongzhuo, tears streaming down his face, Jiang Luo said it over and over again:
“I love you. I love you.”