Rong Qian needed less than three seconds to snap back to reality.

Remembering what was about to happen, she scooped the little girl up without another word and stepped far away from the signboard overhead. A moment later, there came a groan of metal, and the signboard came crashing down.

Seeing it with her own eyes, Rong Qian was finally certain — she had truly crossed back from 1968.

Back in the car, Rong Qian pressed her forehead against the steering wheel, her whole body deflated. This was too sudden. Not even a moment of mental preparation. Why had Steward Fu chosen that particular moment to take her photo?

But thinking back on the photograph she had seen before, Rong Qian felt a flash of frustration — she had forgotten about this entirely. It had slipped her mind.

She didn’t dare think about what Shen Yi’s face would look like when he woke up and found her gone without a word. Would he look for her? Would he panic when he couldn’t find her?

Rong Qian stopped herself from thinking about it. She needed to know the answer now.

“You really did cross over to 1968?”

Shen Shuhuai poured Rong Qian a cup of tea. When he heard her say it, his face showed clear astonishment. Rong Qian nodded. “Yes, I went. I found Shen Yi at twelve years old. And I met his parents — Shen Chi and Yan Qingyao.”

“Yan Qingyao?” At the name, Shen Shuhuai paused. “Yan Qingyao’s name is forbidden in the Shen Family. No one is allowed to speak it. I heard some rumors later — they said she was haunted by a spirit, lost her mind, and threw herself from a building.”

“Haunted by a spirit.” Rong Qian let out a short, humorless laugh. “Haunted by nothing. Every bit of it was human cruelty.”

“So you know the truth behind Yan Qingyao’s suicide?” Shen Shuhuai found it hard to believe — to him, Yan Qingyao existed only as a name in old family history.

“Let’s not talk about that right now.” Rong Qian had no interest in dwelling on it. What she urgently needed to know was: “Tell me — do you know what happened to Shen Yi after Yan Qingyao died?”

“He had a major illness that year. He was sick for more than two months. The reason I know is that the illness left him with lasting health consequences.”

Rong Qian frowned. “What consequences?”

“He gets terrible headaches. When they come on, he’s in serious pain.” Shen Shuhuai remembered it vividly because he had witnessed it himself.

Shen Shuhuai hadn’t learned of his cousin Shen Yi’s existence until Shen Yi was already a celebrated international star — famous the world over, worth hundreds of millions, surrounded by admirers wherever he went.

Shen Shuhuai had expected someone like that to be arrogant and contemptuous. But when they actually met, Shen Yi turned out to be remarkably modest and cultured — warm with people, not the slightest bit pompous.

At the time, Shen Shuhuai was still a teenager, and he took a genuine liking to this older cousin of his. He would drop by Shen Yi’s office whenever he had nothing else to do.

Shen Yi’s office was enormous. Shen Shuhuai would often stay an entire day, enjoying the sight of Shen Yi at work — he thought it was extraordinarily impressive.

The man wore a pair of gold-rimmed glasses, composed and exacting, not given to casual laughter. He would roll up his sleeves, revealing a lean, toned forearm. The hand that held his gold fountain pen was long-fingered and fair-skinned. When he signed contracts, there was a clean, decisive finality to his movements — something of a general’s authority.

Shen Shuhuai also loved watching him take phone calls. The moment he answered, he would say a greeting, and that clear, low, magnetic voice — well, there was simply no better way to describe it.

Shen Yi satisfied every aesthetic preference — face, voice, hands — he was almost the embodiment of perfection, without a single flaw.

He had no flaws — but he had a vulnerability. When the headaches struck, his suffering was acute. He would often scramble to pull medicine from his desk drawer, only to be too weak to even open the bottle.

A man like that — his health fragile, and yet he kept working through the night. Shen Shuhuai had worried about him more times than he could count.

Rong Qian finished listening and couldn’t help but let out a sigh. The blow of Yan Qingyao’s death had clearly been enormous.

But just as that thought settled in her mind, Shen Shuhuai said: “I assumed he couldn’t bear the blow and collapsed — but I later learned that after Yan Qingyao’s death, he woke from unconsciousness and didn’t fall ill for several days afterward. It was only then that he became bedridden.”

“What does that prove?” Rong Qian didn’t catch the significance.

Shen Shuhuai said: “The true cause of his prolonged illness was those few days after he woke. It seemed like he was searching for something the entire time — searching for several days. When he couldn’t find it, he fell ill.”

Rong Qian went very still.

Could it really be? Shen Yi’s headaches — were they her fault?

She was a criminal.

The thought of Shen Yi waking in a panic, searching desperately everywhere for any sign of her, made Rong Qian want to cry. How helpless he must have felt.

“Miss Rong, are you alright?” Shen Shuhuai noticed her eyes turning red and asked with concern.

Rong Qian wiped away a tear. She steadied herself, drew a slow breath, and asked: “What happened after that?”

“What I know is that when Shen Yi was thirteen, Shen Chi brought a woman home. That woman had a child — Shen Chi’s illegitimate son from an affair, already six years old.”

Rong Qian couldn’t believe it. “He had an affair while still married?”

The more she thought about it, the angrier she became. She simply couldn’t understand — if Shen Chi didn’t love Yan Qingyao, why imprison her? Did he enjoy tormenting her?

Something was wrong with his mind.

According to Shen Shuhuai, Shen Yi only stayed in that household for one more year before leaving. At fourteen, he enrolled in university and moved into the school dormitory, never returning to that house again.

Hearing it, Rong Qian wasn’t the least bit surprised. He had always been going to leave eventually. And she suspected the reason he later went into acting was to earn money.

Then Rong Qian suddenly realized: that entire trip through time, and she had unearthed virtually no clues at all.

Whose corpse was it? Unknown. Why could the photograph send her through time? Also unknown. Who was trying to harm her? Unknown as well.

In short — nothing to go on.

The one thing Rong Qian had established was her own connection with Shen Yi: it seemed he had come to know her because they had met when he was a child, and they would meet again later in life.

Having at least worked that much out, Rong Qian knew that if she wanted to find more answers, she would have to go back.

Still, this trip hadn’t been entirely fruitless. At the very least, she now knew who Shen Yi’s parents were, and she knew of a man named Xu Zhiwei. Perhaps there would be something to follow up on there.

Rong Qian asked Shen Shuhuai whether he had ever heard the name Xu Zhiwei. Shen Shuhuai shook his head — he had no idea who that was. Rong Qian would have to investigate on her own.

Seeing it was getting late, Rong Qian drove home.

She hadn’t seen her parents in what felt like ages. The moment she walked in, she ran over and threw her arms around them. “Three months without seeing you — Mom, Dad, I’ve missed you both so much!”

“What nonsense is this child talking?” her mother said, looking baffled. “You went out this morning. We just saw you.”

Rong Qian laughed sheepishly. “I’m joking. You know what they say — one day apart feels like three seasons. A whole day without seeing you, and it feels like three months.”

“You and your glib tongue,” her mother scolded, tapping her on the head. “If you’re this attached to us, what are you going to do when you get married?”

Her mother might have sounded exasperated, but inwardly she felt a warm glow of happiness.

This girl so rarely acted clingy with them. Why was she suddenly so attached today?

Sensing the conversation was starting to head in an inconvenient direction, Rong Qian made a timely retreat — using the excuse of needing a bath — and slipped away.

Her father watched Rong Qian’s retreating figure and said after a moment: “Her mother — do you feel like something’s different about her?”

“Now that you mention it — look at those dark circles under her eyes. Does that look like someone who’s been sleeping well? I don’t know what she’s been up to, but she looks completely worn out — like she’s gone months without a decent day.” Her mother was always attentive about her daughter’s health, and worried about her eating and sleeping habits.

Because of it, even though Rong Qian’s work as a police officer was exhausting, with her mother looking after her she always ate well and slept well, and always appeared rosy-cheeked and well-pampered.

But where had she gone today? She came back looking so haggard.

Her father blinked. He wasn’t quite sure they were talking about the same thing.

He meant — even though only a single day had passed, his daughter gave him the feeling of someone he hadn’t seen in a very long time. And somehow, she seemed more mature than before. Was that his imagination?

Rong Qian had missed her little room dearly. Three months without sleeping in a proper bed.

All those months had really taken their toll. Then Rong Qian suddenly thought: she had only stayed for three months and she was already worn down — and Shen Yi had lived there his entire life.

What a pitiful child. Growing up in an environment like that was so incredibly difficult.

Rong Qian had planned to sit down and organize everything that had happened over the past three months. But the moment she lay down on the bed, she was out cold — the deep, unshakeable kind of sleep.

She was exhausted. Three months without a proper night’s rest. She slept all the way until two in the afternoon, and when she woke, she was startled — how had she slept so long? She had work to get to!

She rushed through washing up, flew about in a panic, and was nearly out the door heading to the station when her father looked up from the television and said calmly: “Where are you going in such a hurry? Today’s your day off.”

“Oh, right! It’s the weekend — I took time off. Why am I rushing off to work!” Rong Qian knocked herself on the head, shook her head at herself, and went back to bed.

Her father was left staring at the empty doorway in utter bewilderment. What had gotten into this child? She’d even forgotten she had the day off.