Song Cheng looked at him with a puzzled expression, sensing that something about Qin Wunian’s reaction was off.
He sat at the far end of the sofa, smiled out of habit, imitating Qin Wunian’s own manner, and said softly, “I see… ah…”
He paused, letting the corners of his mouth drop to a neutral position, then angled his legs slightly toward Qin Wunian, leaning in a little. “I know you don’t want to make this public, but there’s no one else here right now. Saying it won’t hurt, right?”
Qin Wunian stared blankly at him.
“….”
Song Cheng knew that revealing his memory loss over the past period would provoke a strong reaction, but he hadn’t expected it to be this strong. Looking at Qin Wunian’s expression, he felt as if Qin Wunian’s world had been shaken to the core by this revelation.
Sigh—well, it did prove that he really mattered to Qin Wunian.
Thinking carefully, it even felt… a little sweet.
Song Cheng softened his voice further, trying to soothe him: “I swear, this is the last thing I’ve kept from you. If you’re still worried, we can go to the hospital tomorrow for a checkup. But it’s probably unnecessary, because I’ve already begun remembering bits and pieces—most of them about you.”
He lowered his head, counting on his fingers: “That day of heavy rain, and the day after the sun came out…”
Qin Wunian’s pupils, which seemed paused, finally flickered. He watched Song Cheng carefully counting, though there were only two events. Suddenly, he asked, “What about the day we got married?”
Song Cheng’s eyes lit up with surprise at the question, then dimmed slightly. He shook his head regretfully: “No, I can’t recall that. What I’m remembering were things you mentioned before. I guess I need a little hint to bring back the details. Why don’t you tell me?”
Qin Wunian stared at him, his mind buzzing. He hadn’t fully heard Song Cheng’s words; several seconds passed before he spoke again.
“You don’t remember me… so how do you know it’s me?”
Song Cheng paused, confused at the circle they had come back to. “There are photos.”
Qin Wunian: “Photos prove nothing.”
Song Cheng blinked. “And the diary.”
Qin Wunian denied it immediately. “You never write a diary.”
Song Cheng gave him a strange look. “Now I do.”
Qin Wunian: “Impossible. You always said you would write, but never lasted more than two days.”
Song Cheng had no idea of those past attempts. Sitting on the sofa, he slowly said, “But I did eventually write it. If you don’t believe me, I can get it right now—”
He stood up as he spoke. Qin Wunian’s body reacted faster than his thoughts. He grabbed Song Cheng’s arm and yanked him back onto the sofa. The soft cushions caused Song Cheng to rebound twice, staring at him in shock.
“What are you doing?!”
Qin Wunian still held his arm like iron pliers. “I should be asking you! Why didn’t you tell me from the start, Song Cheng? Are you enjoying this? Are you playing with me? You’re lying to me, aren’t you?!”
Song Cheng had never seen Qin Wunian so angry. His muscles tensed as if to flay him with his gaze. He was frozen, unable to utter a word.
Seeing Song Cheng’s frightened expression, Qin Wunian suddenly realized what he’d done and released him, as if touched by electricity.
He stepped back, his chest heaving unconsciously. Freed from the grip, Song Cheng remained seated in shock for a long moment, then slowly stood, careful not to startle Qin Wunian.
“I… I didn’t lie to you. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you’d react… I was too selfish, but I really didn’t lie…”
Song Cheng tried his best to calm him, keeping his eyes fixed on Qin Wunian. But Qin Wunian stared back, emotions swelling instead of subsiding, as if they would never stop.
Suddenly, he turned and walked to the entryway, grabbed a key from the hook, and went to the basement without a glance at Song Cheng. Song Cheng froze for a moment, then chased after him—only to find Qin Wunian had already entered the garage.
The garage door was open. Qin Wunian started the car and drove off. Song Cheng instinctively ran after him, but how could his legs catch up to four wheels? He watched Qin Wunian speed away, while Qin Wunian looked in the rearview mirror at the panicked but helpless Song Cheng and slowly closed his eyes.
Song Cheng didn’t understand. Could it really be this serious? At that moment, the only explanation that made sense was the memory loss.
He froze for a second, then ran back upstairs, grabbed the phone Qin Wunian had given him, and dialed quickly. The contact list had Qin Wunian’s number, but in his panic, he had forgotten that.
He put the phone to his ear and paced back and forth in the living room. Qin Wunian’s phone was in his pocket, ringing for a long time, but he had no intention of answering.
When the call was automatically cut off, Song Cheng immediately looked at the keypad, ready to try again.
If he couldn’t reach Qin Wunian, he should contact someone else, have a third person get through—but staring at the keypad, he realized he didn’t even know another number. The only person he could rely on at this moment… was Qin Wunian.
The dial pad seemed to blur for a moment. After a second, Song Cheng refocused on the now-clear keypad and slowly lowered his phone.
…
When Qin Wunian felt down, his usual way of coping was to go home.
But now he couldn’t. His home was the reason he felt so upset.
When Xu Wenheng received Qin Wunian’s call, he happened to be bored out of his mind. Hanging up, he immediately drove to their old spot—a gaming hall they had frequented since childhood. Later, the business went under, and the physical hall closed. Qin Wunian bought it and transformed it into a private bar, no longer for boys but perfectly suited for men, emphasizing extreme privacy. This drew in many customers who either couldn’t or wouldn’t be seen by others.
Xu Wenheng came here often, but Qin Wunian rarely did—only when reminiscing or when feeling particularly low.
Xu Wenheng entered the quiet, exclusive room of the major shareholder with the thrill of opening a blind box. Sliding in with a flourish, he announced, “The Great Actor! Miss me?~~~”
Qin Wunian looked at him but didn’t respond.
Xu Wenheng snorted. Even without a welcome, he strode confidently forward. But when he saw the items on the table, his pace faltered.
On the left: cigarettes—not cigars, not anything premium, just cheap ones people used to show off. In his eyes, they were inferior, second-rate. But Qin Wunian used to like them, saying he enjoyed the discomfort of smoking them.
On the right: liquor, the bar’s most popular and expensive drink. Men liked ordering it for themselves and their partners—satisfying both a desire to spend and something else entirely.
This was also why Qin Wunian rarely came here—he wanted a place to occasionally have fun with others, but not in ways he disliked.
Xu Wenheng watched quietly for a while, then said, “If you end up drinking yourself into the hospital again, call your mom—don’t call me.”
Qin Wunian replied, “I’m not planning to drink.”
Xu Wenheng raised an eyebrow. “Then why have all this here? Just reminiscing about your wild past?”
Qin Wunian: “What’s there to reminisce about a past I brought upon myself?”
Xu Wenheng caught on. It had to do with Song Cheng. Sitting down, he asked, “I saw you two on the variety show. I was wondering how you managed to get back together—did you dig through the earth to find Song Cheng?”
Qin Wunian: “No. He came back to find me.”
Xu Wenheng’s mouth opened slightly. “To do what?”
He didn’t believe a word from the show. As someone in the entertainment industry, he knew the scripts and setups. But he was also an investor. To get the truth, he preferred to ask directly.
Hearing this, Qin Wunian remembered the days of doubt, the first day when Song Cheng had appeared at his door, saying those words.
At the time, he had laughed it off, paying it no mind—not him, not Ban Yunfang, not the production team, not even the national audience. Now, those casually disregarded words hit him like a meteor from the sky, leaving him dizzy and stunned.
A small laugh escaped him. Xu Wenheng saw his expression and, after a moment, couldn’t hold back and scooted a bit further away.
After the laugh, Qin Wunian finally answered, “He came back… to reconcile.”
Xu Wenheng didn’t respond. Qin Wunian turned and saw him staring quietly, expression unreadable—neither supportive nor unsupportive.
“What’s with that look?”
Xu Wenheng: “A look that has nothing to do with me.”
Qin Wunian: “….”
Xu Wenheng waved his hand. “If you want me to drink with you, fine. If you want me to sign an ER form, fine. But if you want my advice? No, no, no.
“Your business is between you two. Decide for yourselves. Over the years, I’ve seen enough. If it works, I support you. If it doesn’t, I don’t. As for my expectations for you—they’re as low as they can go. Just survive. Whether you survive well or poorly is up to you.”
Listening, Qin Wunian suddenly remembered something. “You once said Song Cheng was a disaster.”
Without lifting an eyelid, Xu Wenheng said, “I was just angry at how badly you were ruining yourself. Song Cheng isn’t the disaster—you are.”
Qin Wunian didn’t deny it. He offered a lukewarm defense: “I’m not ruining myself. I’m just… trying to find a way.”
Finding a way to forget Song Cheng, or at least to live temporarily as things were—forty-eight organs, four to six billion cells, each doing its best for the body to survive. He wanted to live well, and those chaotic days were part of the search for a new path.
In the end, it wasn’t his method that worked—it was time.
Xu Wenheng didn’t want to say more; he had already said everything necessary. He also saw reality: Qin Wunian was inherently… unwell.
He suffered from what Xu Wenheng dubbed the “Song Cheng Syndrome.” A one-in-seven-billion probability—yet Qin Wunian had it, incurable for life. When Song Cheng was near, he only occasionally “relapsed.” When Song Cheng wasn’t, it happened often. No matter what, he would relapse.
As a friend, all Xu Wenheng needed to do was listen patiently, without getting involved—otherwise, he’d share in that misfortune.
Xu Wenheng sat quietly to the side, neither moving nor speaking, just waiting for Qin Wunian to pour out everything on his mind. Qin Wunian didn’t keep him waiting long and soon began.
“Song Cheng has been really good to me these past few days. He tells me directly that he misses me and promises he’ll never leave me again. He always smiles at me and cares about everything I do.”
Xu Wenheng’s eyelids twitched. He wanted to say, Isn’t that good? but he held back.
Qin Wunian continued, “But only today did he tell me that he’s actually been in a state of amnesia all this time. You saw that video online, right? When Song Cheng appeared at my door, do you remember the first thing he said?”
Xu Wenheng thought for a moment. It seemed… he said he had nowhere to go and needed to stay at Qin Wunian’s place for a few days?
“That’s what he said,” Qin Wunian repeated slowly, realizing just how clearly he remembered it. “He knew he had divorced me, but he had nowhere to go, so he wanted to stay at my place for a few days.”
Xu Wenheng paused for a second, then turned sharply. “But you’ve never been married to him?!”
Forget neutrality, forget patiently listening—he had completely forgotten that.
“Why would he think that?!”
Gasping, Xu Wenheng was stunned. “Could it be… he mistook you for someone else?!”
That was his first thought, but thinking carefully, it seemed impossible. He shook his head frantically. “No, no, maybe he’s joking. Using amnesia as an excuse is way too lame. He’s lying, right?!”
Qin Wunian looked at him as if seeing a mirror image of himself from an hour ago. “Do you think Song Cheng would joke like that?”
Xu Wenheng immediately fell silent.
But he still couldn’t accept it. “Then… how did he mistake you for him? This… this…”
It was just too strange.
Qin Wunian lowered his eyelids. “He said he recognized me from photos and diaries. The amnesia was caused by the car accident. After the accident, his phone broke, so he used a backup—one from seven or eight years ago—with my photos on it.”
Xu Wenheng: “……”
After a moment, he asked again, “But that’s still not right. The diary… didn’t it have names?”
Qin Wunian: “Song Cheng doesn’t write names in his diary. He uses numbers and symbols instead.”
Xu Wenheng: “…………”
So tragic.
Truly tragic.
Just when he thought Qin Wunian’s life couldn’t get any worse, a loud crash hit them, a cosmic jab at their poor teacher.
Looking cautiously at Qin Wunian, he asked, “Did… did you explain it to him?”
Qin Wunian turned his head.
Seeing his eyes, Xu Wenheng felt a chill. “You didn’t explain?”
Qin Wunian: “Didn’t have the chance.”
Xu Wenheng: “……”
Not having the chance… or subconsciously not wanting to explain! I’ve known you almost my whole life. Do I not know what kind of person you are, Qin Wunian?! Wake up! This isn’t some idol drama where you lie big and still end up happily together!
Watching Xu Wenheng’s increasingly twisted face, Qin Wunian turned back to stare at the empty room in front of him. After a long while, he spoke one line.
“Before he told me all this, I really thought… after all these years, he was finally mine.”
Xu Wenheng felt a lump in his chest, then sighed heavily.
Even though it had nothing to do with him, he still ended up unlucky.
Song Cheng sat at home.
He held his phone. Technically, he could call Ban Yunfang through WeChat to ask where Qin Wunian was.
But he didn’t. He just stared at the phone for a while, and the phone remained silent.
Sitting idle wasn’t Song Cheng’s style, so he stood up.
No one had been to his home for ten days. He felt he should tidy up, though the cleaning lady had already done a perfect job yesterday. Still, he cleaned the place habitually.
When dinner time came, he cooked for himself, making extra rice in case Qin Wunian came back hungry. But by the time evening lights came on, Qin Wunian hadn’t returned.
This time, Song Cheng truly had nothing to do. He could only sit and wait. By ten o’clock, no sound of the door opening came. Checking the time, he stood up.
Returning to the temporary guest room, he lay on the bed. Sleep wouldn’t come, but he forced his eyes shut. Ten minutes, maybe half an hour, finally, he fell asleep.
A long-lost dream returned, though this time he didn’t realize he was dreaming. He thought it was reality.
A woman stood opposite him, impossibly tall, like a giant, yet a comforting one. Her face was shrouded in a vague mist, hiding her features, yet her voice came through the fog, startlingly clear.
“Chengcheng, why don’t you eat your vegetables? Not eating vegetables will make your tummy hurt, and you’ll turn into a little chubby one. Do you want to become a little chubby one?”
Song Cheng shook his head.
The woman changed tone. “Actually, being a little chubby is fine too. You’d be round like a ball. Then I’d kick you to the Southern Hemisphere, and someone there would kick you back—wouldn’t that be fun?”
Song Cheng shook his head anxiously.
The woman laughed heartily. “But I think it’s fun! Alright, don’t eat vegetables, Chengcheng. Eat meat. Huh, you’re not eating?”
She praised him, then lifted him into her arms. Her embrace was tall and warm, giving him a sense of security he had never imagined. For Song Cheng, this embrace felt like heaven.
“Good boy! Our Chengcheng is the best, isn’t he? Other kids aren’t like you at all, you make adults so worry-free. Haha, come on, let Mommy give you a kiss~”
Song Cheng couldn’t help but laugh. He seemed to feel the kiss approaching his face and waited in eager anticipation. But suddenly, the woman set him down, turned, and walked away without looking back.
Song Cheng froze for a moment. He hurried after her, but just like the car in the daytime, she moved too fast—one of her steps equaled more than ten of his. He simply couldn’t catch up.
But in this dream-like place, he didn’t give up. He kept running, chasing, even as her figure disappeared and the surroundings grew darker. Before he realized it, he had run into a pitch-black area. Then he saw another figure, just as tall, like a giant.
But this one was a man, not his mother.
In that instant, fear and panic overwhelmed Song Cheng. He didn’t know whether to run or freeze. He crouched down, crying in terror, too afraid to open his eyes, afraid the figure would notice him.
Why…
Why was no one coming…
Tears streamed down his face when suddenly he heard someone call his name. He opened his eyes abruptly, as if he hadn’t been asleep at all, though his eyes were still red, with traces of moisture at the corners.
The lights in the room turned on, and Qin Wunian stood there, his voice tense as he asked, “Why are you crying?”
Song Cheng paused, raised his hand, and touched the tears. Sitting up, he pressed his lips together before answering, “Because I dreamed that no one wanted me anymore.”
Qin Wunian’s Adam’s apple rolled, but his voice remained cold and firm. “Crying this much just from a dream? Don’t you know dreams are often the opposite of reality?”
Song Cheng: “Hmm, I didn’t know. For me, dreams feel almost the same as reality.”
Qin Wunian’s heart felt like a rough, heavy hand was squeezing it. He wanted to laugh, but he couldn’t.
After a long moment, he finally spoke, “No one wanting you… that’s in my script.”
“No such words exist in your script,” Song Cheng said, lifting his head. His mouth curved downward, giving him a cold air, and the eyes that usually radiated warmth now seemed like measuring vessels under the harsh light, devoid of any heat.
“How do you know?” he asked Qin Wunian.
Qin Wunian opened a nearby drawer, took out a clean sheet of paper, and wiped the corner of Song Cheng’s eye. As Song Cheng involuntarily closed his eyes, Qin Wunian said, “Because whether you want it or not, I’m one of the writers of your story, and as long as I’m here, I’ll always know.”