Having decided to learn to drive, Song Cheng started researching the requirements for a driver’s license as soon as he returned home. Practical lessons would be taught by Han Congzhou; the theory part was up to him.
It was only after reading the study materials that he realized the surprise he had planned wouldn’t work—new drivers aren’t allowed on the highway.
…
Still, he wanted to visit Qin Wunian. Not to change his mind about staying at the filming site, but just to check on him before returning.
The variety show had aired its fifth episode, and Song Cheng’s popularity was soaring. The episode showed him arriving at the theme park and playing in the water with Qin Wunian. Clips spread across countless websites, and fans transformed into amateur microbiologists and social behavior analysts, obsessively dissecting every interaction and small detail.
After analyzing, they confidently concluded that the two must have reconciled.
Many online demanded that Song Cheng open a personal account. Paparazzi and marketing accounts began digging into his past, hoping to uncover more sensational information.
But over all these days, aside from one account with over fifty thousand followers claiming Song Cheng was a schoolmate, no one had revealed any real details.
That account received countless private messages and comments, all asking for more information, but the owner didn’t reply and continued sharing her daily life. Eventually, overwhelmed, she closed comments and messages.
Song Cheng saw this account and discovered its owner seemed to be a wealthy young woman traveling around the world, sharing beach and hotel snapshots, switching IP addresses from different countries.
Her claim that Song Cheng was her schoolmate wasn’t baseless. She had posted his graduation photo, wearing a mortarboard and holding a black diploma with gold lettering. Everyone around him had the same graduation ceremony, which was relatively rare for high school graduates. Before comments were closed, most asked which school it was and speculated about his wealth.
Song Cheng paused, exited the page, and tried to look for other classmates posting about him—nothing.
He knew Qin Wunian’s studio had been busy handling negative reviews for both Qin Wunian and Song Cheng. No one else could post about him, likely thanks to the studio’s efforts.
He didn’t like troubling anyone except Qin Wunian. To him, everyone else was an outsider.
As he debated whether to call Ban Yunfang, she unexpectedly called him first.
Seeing her name on his phone, Song Cheng froze, then quickly answered, “Sister Ban.”
Ban Yunfang let out a small sigh. “Song Cheng, are you home right now?”
Song Cheng replied eagerly, “Yes, I’m home. Is it about Qin Wunian? Did something happen to him?”
The more anxious he sounded, the faster Ban Yunfang interrupted, “No, nothing related to Qin Wunian. Actually… I have a matter here. Two people came, claiming to be your father’s subordinates. Your father wants to see you. I don’t know if they’re legitimate. Maybe you can talk to them?”
Song Cheng froze.
His father?
He even had a father?
Though a little stunned, it was his immediate reaction. After a moment, he realized Ban Yunfang was waiting for an answer. Rubbing his head in confusion, he said, “Alright, Sister Ban. You can hand the phone to them.”
Ban Yunfang stepped outside, handed the phone to the two strangers—one younger, one older. The older one took the phone and said into it, “Hello, Young Master Song Cheng. I am Mr. Song’s secretary, surnamed Hong. Do you remember me?”
Song Cheng honestly replied, “I don’t.”
Secretary Hong smiled. “Understandable, you were very young then. Mr. Song is currently conducting business nearby and wants to meet you. Would you be willing?”
Song Cheng hesitated, then asked, “Why does he want to meet me?”
Secretary Hong paused slightly. “You are Mr. Song’s son. Of course, he wants to see you out of concern.”
Song Cheng frowned, hesitating before answering.
During a break in filming, Qin Wunian sat in the car, cooling off with the air conditioner, listening to Song Cheng’s story. He didn’t know what expression to show.
Should he be angry? Or sad? Or relieved?
He had no idea.
Song Cheng had never mentioned his father before. When Qin Wunian had looked into him, all he could find was information about his mother and his uncle—his father was barely mentioned.
His father, Song Siyue, had divorced his mother a few years after their marriage, back when Song Cheng was just three or four years old. Custody was granted to his mother. Later, when his mother Shen Fuli passed away, custody went to his uncle. From start to finish, his father had barely appeared in Song Cheng’s life, seeming completely uninvolved.
But this was only Qin Wunian’s guess. Maybe his father had been low-key all along. Maybe he didn’t live nearby, but still called often or sent gifts.
Qin Wunian was completely confused. Song Cheng asked him, “Do you think I should see him?”
After a moment, Qin Wunian asked, “Do you want to see him?”
Song Cheng replied hesitantly, “I don’t know. I don’t remember him and have no impression. Did I ever tell you about him?”
Qin Wunian shook his head. “No.”
After shaking his head, he felt a little guilty. Although he hadn’t said anything, he at least knew that Song Cheng’s parents were divorced. But if he told Song Cheng now, he would realize Qin Wunian had investigated him.
He fell into an awkward silence. Fortunately, Song Cheng was preoccupied with his own dilemma and didn’t notice. After a moment, Song Cheng sighed, “Fine, I’ll go see him.”
Qin Wunian asked, “What if he treated you badly before? Aren’t you afraid you’ll regret it if you remember?”
Song Cheng blinked. “I don’t think so. I have no memories of him. At worst, I’ll just sit there and see what he wants to say.”
Qin Wunian was silent for another two seconds, then said, “Take Li Shangzhi with you. Don’t go alone.”
Li Shangzhi was his other assistant, who had recently been Song Cheng’s driver. Song Cheng smiled and agreed, “Got it, don’t worry.”
Qin Wunian couldn’t do anything while Song Cheng went to meet his father. He sat on a small stool, phone in hand, waiting for news.
Xiao Zhao brought a fan over, shaking his head. “Qin, it’s just meeting his dad. You don’t have to be this nervous.”
Qin Wunian replied, “You don’t understand. After so many years of absence, even if Song Cheng says he doesn’t remember, it’s still his father. Just because he says he doesn’t feel anything doesn’t mean he won’t feel anything.”
Now Xiao Zhao understood. Knowing about Song Cheng’s amnesia, he had to admit Qin Wunian’s concern made sense. Memories were fragile; a single encounter could spark recognition.
Unfortunately, Xiao Zhao’s prediction wasn’t accurate. Sitting across from his middle-aged father in the restaurant, Song Cheng still showed no recognition.
Song Siyue was in his fifties now. When Song Cheng was born, he had been thirty. His hair wasn’t gray, but his face showed signs of aging. Like many older CEOs, he carried an air of authority. Song Cheng and his father stared at each other, neither speaking immediately.
Finally, Song Siyue spoke. “Since you’re back, there are things you need to learn. I’m planning to retire in a few years and hand the company over to you.”
Song Cheng blinked slowly. “What company?”
Song Siyue frowned. “What else could it be?”
After a moment, realizing something, he added, “You’re probably still upset that I ignored you all these years. I told you, I was busy. But in the end, isn’t all the money I made yours? The family business I built is all yours now.”
Seeing no change in Song Cheng’s expression, he hesitated, then awkwardly continued, “I’m divorced now. There’s no one else at home. You don’t need to worry about anything else.”
Song Cheng asked plainly, “You want me to inherit your wealth?”
The simple question, stating a blunt fact, angered Song Siyue. “I want you to come home! Tell me, what kind of child are you? At your age, running away from home? I, your father, couldn’t find you. Your uncle tried to raise you and almost lost you! I’ve never met someone so unreliable!”
Hearing the words “uncle,” Song Cheng instinctively furrowed his brow.
Song Siyue noticed Song Cheng’s expression shift—suddenly distant and resistant. He froze, unable to continue his reprimand.
In truth, he had no right to say these things. Adopting the parental tone was just for show. Seeing Song Cheng now, he realized Song Cheng wasn’t a child anymore. Speaking like that only pushed him further away.
His lips trembled. Song Siyue felt embarrassed.
Song Cheng was his only son. When he was young, he didn’t think much of it, but now, especially after Song Cheng ran away, he realized he couldn’t do without him. He had wanted to repair their relationship, but now he might have ruined it.
“I…”
He wanted to say something kind, but instead, he blamed him again. “I don’t understand. Why couldn’t you tell me? If you told me, I could’ve solved it. Did you really need to run away?”
Song Cheng looked at him silently. Then, a memory unexpectedly surfaced in his mind.
It wasn’t a dream, nor a fleeting moment. This time, it was a real memory.
Late winter, early spring. Magnolia flowers bloomed along the streets. A small child stumbled forward, trying to find his way, struggling to recognize the direction but still determined.
He walked for what felt like forever before finally reaching a busier part of town. People nearby couldn’t help but glance at the small child wandering alone. Some even stepped forward, intending to ask if he was lost.
But seeing them, he didn’t dare stop. Instead, he quickened his pace, running farther away.
The air was still cold, the wind biting his face as if trying to tear off a layer of skin. Cold, hunger, pain—but above all, fear.
A child couldn’t sort out complicated emotions, only lumping them together. Running through the chilly streets, his small body was already overloaded. If he stopped, he would hear his own breathing wheeze like a tearing bellows. But he didn’t stop. He scanned the street, finally spotting what he had been searching for. His eyes lit up, and he ran straight toward it.
At this time, there weren’t yet dedicated service centers on the streets; even cellphone stores were rare. But every department store offered temporary phone services. He reached the entrance of one, nervously pulling a hundred-yuan note from his pocket.
“I want to make a call,” he said to the aunt behind the counter.
Seeing a child of only five or six, she was briefly surprised but didn’t call the authorities or try to find a parent. Too much hassle—after all, the boy clearly knew who to call. She took the money and returned to watching TV.
Song Cheng eagerly picked up the receiver. He was so short he had to tiptoe to press the buttons. When he finally dialed, the familiar beeping made his throat tighten.
When the voice finally came through, tears streamed down Song Cheng’s face.
He knew crying while speaking would make it hard to be heard, so between sobs, he wiped his eyes and whispered into the receiver, “Daddy…”
“Daddy, can you come pick me up?”
Tears kept coming, and he couldn’t hold back. “I want to live with you, Daddy. Please take me home.”
A child faking tears could be irritating, but genuine, heartfelt sobs made anyone want to scoop the child up and give him the world. Even the woman behind the counter turned in surprise.
The voice on the other end, however, responded: “What are you crying about again? I already told you I’m busy. Keep crying and your uncle won’t take you.”