Song Cheng sat in shock as Tong Hao continued talking. Tong Hao clearly had a bit of a chatterbox personality. When his companions returned, he waved them off with a few words.
“Wait a minute, I ran into an old classmate. You go ahead and order; I’ll join shortly.”
His companions glanced at Song Cheng, slightly surprised.
With them gone, Tong Hao casually sat beside Song Cheng. “By the way, what are you doing now? Are you really going to debut as a star?”
Song Cheng paused silently, then looked at Tong Hao. “We… were classmates?”
Tong Hao also fell silent for a moment.
What a common face he had—Song Cheng still hadn’t recognized him!
It had only been four or five years. Song Cheng had erased it completely from memory.
Tong Hao sighed. “Yes, not the same class exactly, but still considered classmates.”
Song Cheng was still reeling from the shock of his detention. He knew he had been in trouble before, but he thought it meant only a police station visit. Detention sounded far more serious!
After a few seconds, he finally remembered the person sitting beside him and turned to Tong Hao, embarrassed. “My memory’s been a bit bad lately.”
Tong Hao’s attentiveness immediately kicked in. “Bad memory? Are you sick?”
Song Cheng nodded, giving a vague answer, “Mm, something like that.”
His attitude was polite, but far from warm. Tong Hao noticed this and smiled again. “Take care of your health. Young people these days aren’t in great shape, and someone like you especially has to be careful.”
Song Cheng accepted the advice modestly, but the last sentence caught him off guard. “Someone like me?” he thought. What did that mean? What about him warranted that? Unable to contain his curiosity, he asked Tong Hao about it. Tong Hao blinked, unaware that Song Cheng had amnesia. Seeing him so concerned, he assumed he had hit a sensitive spot and laughed awkwardly. Then he stood up.
“I should get going. I came here with my colleagues for dinner—I’ve kept them waiting too long. Hey, sometime we should grab a meal together. I’m interning in Ganning now; by the end of the year, I should have my certification. Though I probably won’t be much help to you. Who would’ve thought the one who hated detention the most would end up a criminal lawyer?”
Song Cheng’s eyes widened. “You’re a lawyer now?!”
Tong Hao: “…Yeah.”
Now Song Cheng was even more shocked than when he first learned about his own detention. Tong Hao had been in trouble, gone through detention, and yet he became a lawyer. His family background must be strong.
Being considerate as always, Song Cheng didn’t point out that Tong Hao’s success likely had help from connections. He pretended not to know, pulled out his phone, and exchanged contacts with him. Tong Hao bid him farewell, turned to leave, but then paused, glanced back with curiosity at Song Cheng.
Song Cheng, busy adding a note to his contact, noticed and asked, “Anything else?”
Tong Hao shook his head. “No, just… I thought you were putting on a show on TV, but you’re like this in private too. You’ve changed a lot, but it’s a good change—I honestly think it’s great.”
He smiled once more at Song Cheng before walking into the dining room with his colleagues. Song Cheng watched his back for a while, then finally looked down at his phone.
Not long after Tong Hao left, Qin Wunian emerged. Song Cheng thought he might be out for fresh air too, but Qin Wunian grabbed his hand. “Let’s go home.”
Song Cheng: “Shouldn’t we at least say hello to anyone?”
Qin Wunian: “No need. You’re not here for that meal—you don’t need to watch anyone’s face.”
Song Cheng: “…There’s a difference between being polite and watching faces, you know?”
As they prepared to leave, Lu Ruosi and Liu Yanchu also came out and smiled at Song Cheng.
Liu Yanchu asked, “Little Song, not a fan of these occasions, huh?”
Lu Ruosi: “Who is, really? But for work, you have to show up.”
Song Cheng touched his nose. “It’s not bad… just too many people smoking.”
Lu Ruosi’s gaze softened with a hint of sympathy. “I can’t stand it either. I wear so many masks daily, not to have these people blow smoke in my face.”
Mention of the smoke made Qin Wunian slightly uncomfortable. During the first year after breaking up with Song Cheng, he’d become a heavy smoker out of some spiteful impulse. He looked reckless enough that a month seemed enough to get lung cancer. Later, his mind cleared, and he quit—but the whole circle knew, and he worried these two might mention it in front of Song Cheng.
He worried unnecessarily—Liu Yanchu and Lu Ruosi hadn’t even thought of it. The four walked to the parking lot, and Liu Yanchu invited them to a small gathering at his home later.
This time, it was just the few of them, five or six friends having a casual get-together without interference from outsiders.
Liu Yanchu: “Zhao Feifei said she can come, Yang Qing can’t—her new drama starts next week, so seeing her has to wait till next year. I also invited Gan Yawen; he said he’d bring his girlfriend along.”
Song Cheng looked at Lu Ruosi. “You’re coming too?”
Seeing the anticipation in Song Cheng’s eyes, Lu Ruosi smiled softly. “Yeah, don’t worry. After filming the show, we’re back to friends. Not like other divorced couples forcing you kids to split up even for casual outings.”
Embarrassed, Song Cheng smiled and looked down. On the other side, Qin Wunian suddenly asked, “Why didn’t you invite Yue Yuran and Su Yu?”
Liu Yanchu glanced at him. “They just broke up. Inviting them together would be awkward; better not to invite either.”
His explanation was reasonable, but his expression remained calm. Watching Qin Wunian’s eyes, Liu Yanchu’s gaze was far from casual. Qin Wunian quickly understood. Then he smirked with a hint of schadenfreude.
He was like this—anyone who wronged him, no matter how long ago, if they suffered misfortune, he could laugh openly. Generosity had long been alien to him.
Liu Yanchu and Lu Ruosi were given rides home. After waving goodbye to everyone, Qin Wunian and Song Cheng got into their car.
Seated behind the wheel, Qin Wunian put on his sunglasses. Just as he reached to fasten his seatbelt, Song Cheng turned, pressing his hand down over Qin Wunian’s.
Qin Wunian looked up. The sunglasses slipped down his prominent nose, revealing his usually cold eyes. Song Cheng’s heart thudded at the sight.
“I… I have something I need to confess to you.”
Qin Wunian: “…Again?”
He had barely digested yesterday’s confession—how could another come up today?
Qin Wunian nearly felt confession PTSD. He stayed silent for a moment, then composed himself, taking a deep breath to make sure he was ready. He nodded at Song Cheng. “Go ahead.”
Unlike yesterday, when he had just felt a little guilty, today Song Cheng felt not only guilty but deeply remorseful, his head almost bowed to the floor. “Just now… I ran into an old classmate.”
“Old classmate?”
Qin Wunian quickly ran through the people he remembered, then calmly asked, “What did you guys talk about?”
Song Cheng: “I didn’t say much. He did most of the talking… and then… then he told me I’d been in detention before.”
Song Cheng truly felt ashamed—more than ashamed, it was humiliating. Yet he had sworn never to hide anything from Qin Wunian again, and he didn’t want to break that promise so soon.
After speaking for what felt like ages without hearing a response from Qin Wunian, Song Cheng grew increasingly uneasy. He lifted his head and saw Qin Wunian silently watching him.
Observing him for a moment, Song Cheng noticed something puzzling. “You don’t seem surprised at all?”
Hearing this, Qin Wunian leaned one arm on the steering wheel, sitting more relaxed than before. “This old classmate you mentioned… is his surname Tong?”
Song Cheng froze. “Yes.”
Qin Wunian nodded. “I remember him. Back then, your criminal procedure professor had two slots for detention internships—one for you, one for the Tong guy. But he couldn’t handle the detention environment and kept complaining to you. You couldn’t stand it and complained to me instead. Luckily, he left early for some reason; otherwise, we’d have had to endure a week of his whining.”
Song Cheng listened, a little confused. “…Internship?”
Qin Wunian propped his head with the hand resting on the wheel, finally finding something amusing in Song Cheng’s memory loss. “Right, you don’t remember being a law student. You probably think you did something wrong to end up in detention, don’t you?”
Song Cheng repeated the words dumbly. “Law student?”
Qin Wunian nodded with interest. “Yes, but you seem incredulous. You think you couldn’t study law?”
Song Cheng blurted out, “I thought I couldn’t even go to college!”
Qin Wunian: “…That’s a bit extreme.”
He watched Song Cheng quietly for a moment, then dropped the teasing tone and spoke seriously. “I don’t know what misconceptions you have about yourself, but you didn’t just go to college—you got into the top program in the country and ranked first.”
Song Cheng stared at him, seeing the sincerity in his eyes, and gradually realized he wasn’t joking.
Good grief.
In his mind, Song Cheng felt he shouldn’t have been on a breakup reality show—he should have been on a redemption one. No one could have pulled off a comeback more complete than his.
After a brief shock, a surge of joy and secret pride rose in him. He shifted restlessly in his seat, repeatedly confirming with Qin Wunian, “Am I really that impressive?”
Qin Wunian looked at him and couldn’t help smiling. “Yes, really. All the scholarships were yours. If you competed, first place would definitely be yours. The professors couldn’t praise you enough. The one who taught you criminal procedure law even sent you to detention for practical experience—he wanted to continue mentoring you, make you his student, and after graduation, have you bring honor to him.”
Song Cheng’s eyes shone. “That’s amazing… it doesn’t even feel like me.”
Qin Wunian noticed how much he liked the current Song Cheng. Seeing him happy over something so small softened Qin Wunian’s heart considerably.
He smiled at Song Cheng, who basked in the joy for a long while, then turned to ask, “So… before my memory loss, I should have been a lawyer?”
The smile in Qin Wunian’s eyes faltered.
He lowered his gaze, removed his sunglasses, pressed his lips together, and finally said, “I’m not sure. You left before your sophomore year began. I had my assistant ask your school, and they said you were on temporary leave. They didn’t know when you’d return.”
Song Cheng was taken aback.
Seeing Qin Wunian’s expression, his tone softened. “Did you ever find out what I did during my leave?”
Qin Wunian looked at him. “I tried, but found nothing. So I guess… you were avoiding me.”
Song Cheng didn’t reply immediately.
The car was a closed space; when no one spoke, even the air seemed still. He tried hard to recall why he had taken leave, but nothing came to mind.
Unable to find an answer in memory, he turned inward.
“I don’t know why I did what I did, but I know it wasn’t to avoid you.”
Leaning against the seat, his eyes gazing upward, he only saw the gray parking garage ceiling.
“Knowing I went to college, to such a good school and program, makes me happy. It was probably an important part of my life, but compared to you… it’s nothing.”
He frowned slightly, turning to the silent Qin Wunian. “It’s strange—I thought I couldn’t go to college, yet I also feel that if I want something, all these honors and opportunities, I can achieve them if I put in the effort.”
Qin Wunian: “That’s because you have the ability.”
Song Cheng smiled sheepishly. “I see… I really did misunderstand myself. But it’s not just me—you also misunderstand yourself. I can easily get into a good university and seize opportunities, but I can’t easily have someone like you.”
Qin Wunian’s expression shifted slightly. At that moment, Song Cheng suddenly fell silent.
Song Cheng closed his mouth for a moment, letting his emotions settle, then looked back at Qin Wunian. “I feel… unsettled inside.”
Qin Wunian was taken aback and straightened in his seat. “Your heart… or—”
Song Cheng didn’t answer immediately. He studied him for a moment, then reached out his arm. “I don’t know… but I want you to hold me.”
It was as if Qin Wunian’s body had hit a pause button. Two seconds later, he resumed motion, opening his door, then Song Cheng’s, pulling him out and drawing him close. Song Cheng fell into his embrace without hesitation.
Looking over Qin Wunian’s shoulder, he reminded him, “We’re in a parking lot. People can see us.”
Qin Wunian: “Let them look.”
Song Cheng smiled faintly and stayed quiet.
A few minutes in Qin Wunian’s arms eased the unease inside Song Cheng, but he still didn’t know why it had come on so suddenly. Words bubbled up, but he didn’t know what to say—perhaps he should apologize, yet he didn’t want to.
Sometimes he could be stubborn like that, even when a feeling was already quietly stirring in his heart.
Back at home, Song Cheng clung to Qin Wunian, asking him to recount stories from his college days. Qin Wunian, knowing only some details, selected a few to share. From them, Song Cheng gradually realized two things.
First, he hadn’t really been interested in law as a major; even spending a year there hadn’t brought him the excitement he felt now.
Second, back then, living on campus, he and Qin Wunian hadn’t met often—most of the time, he had his own things to do.
As for Tong Hao… even Song Cheng himself now felt how different he was from his past self. He thought that if one day he couldn’t see Qin Wunian, he might develop separation anxiety. Back then, seeing Qin Wunian once a week would have been unbearable.
Speaking of meeting often, Song Cheng’s assistant, Ban Yunfang, hadn’t given up her diligence. The next day, she arrived with a stack of scripts. Song Cheng listened in as she discussed them with Qin Wunian.
Ban Yunfang: “These ones I think have potential. The producers seem confident. I’d rate them three stars.”
She brought out a few more. “These are slightly weaker in content, but they pay well and there’s room to negotiate. If you want to do commercial films, these are your choices—four stars.”
Song Cheng: “…”
So the ratings weren’t about quality, but money.
Finally, pointing to two scripts, Ban Yunfang said: “These are art films. Pay isn’t much, and the content… well, it’s a bit outside my understanding. One is by Director Xue—you know he’s been aiming for a Minerva award in recent years. The other is a rising director named Hong. He won a youth award last year and is making waves again. If you like abstract art films, these are your top picks. For me, I give them two stars.”
Qin Wunian remained silent, not looking at the content, only at the titles.
Among the art film scripts, he noticed one titled Li.
He picked it up and asked Ban Yunfang: “What’s this?”
Ban Yunfang glanced at it. “Oh, sorry, I put this here by mistake. This script was rejected—it hasn’t even chosen a director yet but wanted you to participate. The author, Li Xiangnan, has some fame; his previous script did well in theaters. For a newcomer writer, that’s rare. But he’s temperamental, hard to work with, and arrogant. He’s just learning the ropes and already planning a marathon. If he really becomes a great screenwriter, I’ll consider letting you collaborate in the future.”
Qin Wunian opened the script, but after two pages, lost interest. A contemporary emotional art film about two men entangled, beginning with pretentious exposition—nobody would watch this.
Song Cheng sat quietly, assuming it didn’t concern him. Suddenly, Qin Wunian looked at him. “You pick one for me.”
Song Cheng froze. “Me? But I don’t know anything about this.”
Qin Wunian: “What do you need to know? Which one do you like, that’s the one. Films are made for people to watch—you’re a person, right?”
Song Cheng: “…”
Ban Yunfang watched silently, feeling a little awkward.
Though she had initially thought it wasn’t wise for Qin Wunian and Song Cheng to reconcile so quickly, she didn’t want to see Qin Wunian lose the person he had finally gotten back. She chuckled and joined in: “Song Cheng, just pick one. Qin Wunian may not be good at everything, but his acting is excellent. No matter how bad a role is, he can bring it to life—too bad for the other poor scripts; most actors couldn’t handle them.”
Song Cheng felt a spark of curiosity. “Alright, I’ll give it a try.”
Ban Yunfang encouraged him: “Take your time. Once you pick one, if you want, I’ll tell the director to let you in—even a cameo role.”
Song Cheng froze for a moment, shaking his head. “No, I can’t act.”
Ban Yunfang: “It’s just a cameo. A few lines. Think of it as playing around.”
At that, Song Cheng looked up. “So when he’s filming, I can be there too?”
Ban Yunfang winked: “Sure… maybe. Once your CP (couple pairing) fans grow, the director will want to ride the wave of your popularity too.”
Song Cheng no longer refused. He lowered his head and seriously began selecting a script for Qin Wunian.
As he read, Qin Wunian watched him. Being together every day, and later filming a show together, he had never noticed how clingy Song Cheng had become.
But this clinginess wasn’t just the closeness of affection—it was a sort of inability to be apart. Was it because of the diary? Or the accident?
Qin Wunian couldn’t think of an answer right away when his phone suddenly rang. Glancing at the caller ID, he said to Song Cheng, “I need to take this call.”
Song Cheng didn’t even lift his head, nodding as he continued flipping through the script in his hands. Seeing him so unconcerned, Qin Wunian became even more certain—his desire to be around Song Cheng all the time wasn’t about possessiveness; it was simply insecurity.
A little disappointed, Qin Wunian walked to the kitchen with his phone. After answering, his elder brother’s voice came through.
“I’m on a business trip in South America, won’t be back anytime soon. The twins are with their mom for now. Tomorrow she should bring them to you first—can you look after them for a few days?”
Qin Wunian was silent. “Can’t their mom keep them a few more days?”
His brother, Qin Yinian, replied, “She’s busy these days, often coming home past midnight. I don’t trust a nanny to handle them.”
Qin Wunian: “Then can’t you leave them with our parents, or their grandparents?”
Qin Yinian blinked innocently. “I don’t want to trouble the elders.”
Qin Wunian: “…”
He had expected his family to send a spy to check on him and Song Cheng, but he thought it would be his mother. Unexpectedly, it was Qin Yinian—who seemed so upright—sending two “child operatives” instead.
“Shameless,” Qin Wunian muttered into the phone.
Qin Yinian, without lifting his eyelids, said, “That’s the plan. Tomorrow morning, before work, the twins arrive at your place. If you’re busy, have someone else help. I have a meeting—bye.”
Author’s Note:
I recommend my upcoming romance story: The Moonlit Pavilion.
Synopsis:
Xue Lan was nine; Cui Wuning was nineteen.
In a flipped car, Cui Wuning shields Xue Lan with his body, blood dripping around them. Xue Lan cries, “Uncle… Uncle…”
Cui Wuning lowers his head, vision blurred, yet says: “Call me brother.”
Xue Lan is nineteen; Cui Wuning is twenty-nine.
She’s a rural girl in the city for school, he’s a rising business star. People see Xue Lan clinging to him, calling “Brother.” Friends joke, “Are they together?”
Cui Wuning adjusts his tie, smiling lightly: “She came to me. Just playing around.”
Xue Lan is twenty-nine; Cui Wuning is thirty-nine.
She wins an international photography award, thanks her boyfriend for supporting her career. Spotlight finds him, sitting alone in the corner, watching the audience applaud.
After the ceremony, Xue Lan steps offstage, blocked in a hallway. Cui Wuning traps her, hand on the back of her neck, protecting her as always.
He grits his teeth: “Had enough fun?”
“When will you finally come home?”
Age gap ten years, mild “funeral scene” drama
They’ve broken up once; female lead had a new boyfriend; physical contact but no explicit content—reader discretion advised.