Lin Feng had his reasons for lurking in the shadows and cutting off Shen Yi’s path.

“Do you know why the streetlights went out?” Lin Feng asked. Shen Yi didn’t bother answering — Lin Feng was used to it by now. He knew this one was a closed book; he could ask ten questions and be lucky to get a single response.

“Because someone is planning to move against you.” Lin Feng wasn’t joking. His expression was entirely serious.

Shen Yi made to ignore him, climbing back on his bicycle to leave. Lin Feng was furious — he grabbed the seat and shouted, “Can you not at least listen to what I’m telling you? For someone who sets such store by other people’s lives, why do you place so little value on your own?”

“Let go.” Shen Yi had his back to him, voice clear and cold, stripped of any warmth.

Lin Feng fumed with exasperation. He released the seat — but he didn’t let Shen Yi leave. Instead, he pivoted and stepped forward, blocking his path once again.

“I’ll say what I need to say and then I’ll clear off. It won’t take long. It’s not like you’re usually in such a rush to get home.” But complaints aside, the real matter still had to be addressed.

Lin Feng’s expression turned serious. “I’ve picked up some intelligence. Tonight, Thomas sent one of his close associates — a man called Joseph — to intercept you.”

Shen Yi glanced casually to his left, then his right. “And where is he?”

“Normally you’d have been caught in this trap — but you got lucky. I heard Joseph was beaten up, so you’ve dodged one tonight.” Even Lin Feng found this surprising. What were the odds it would work out so conveniently?

Shen Yi didn’t dwell on it. Right now, he only wanted to get back.

Watching Shen Yi’s figure gradually disappear into the darkness of the night, Lin Feng’s tightly drawn brow refused to ease.

Lin Feng had spent his years navigating various circles in America and had extensive knowledge of all manner of people and factions. The most dangerous of all were the teams formed by the sons of wealthy, powerful families and business tycoons — they would touch anything, pushing recklessly at the boundary of what the law would allow.

People like that, Lin Feng had always given a wide berth.

And Thomas was exactly one of them.

Lin Feng had never met this Thomas in person, but his litany of offenses was well-known to Lin Feng — backed by enormous family power, with a father who ran a company, he ran roughshod over everyone around him, the archetypal pampered playboy and spoiled brat.

This Thomas had exactly one ambition in life: to seek out new thrills.

So when Lin Feng found out that Shen Yi had crossed Thomas, he was genuinely puzzled. Even though they attended the same university, their social standings were worlds apart — they had no connection to speak of in ordinary life. By rights, there should have been no bad blood between them.

At first, Lin Feng had even suspected Thomas had started things by going after Shen Yi. It was only later that he learned the truth — it was Shen Yi who had beaten Thomas first.

Asian students were not numerous on that campus, and when a minority group is small, it becomes easy to target.

A Chinese girl of eighteen had accidentally bumped into someone she shouldn’t have bumped into. She had apologized — clearly, sincerely — and yet she was shoved to the ground anyway, with an entire tray of food upended over her head.

The helpless girl buried her face in her hands and wept, surrounded by jeering laughter.

Shen Yi happened to be eating in the cafeteria at the time. He set down his knife and fork, stood up, and right then and there beat the one who was laughing the loudest — a white American man by the name of Thomas.

A twenty-two-year-old man, well-built and tall, beaten by a fifteen-year-old Chinese boy who barely looked like he had any weight to him?

Was Thomas going to let that slide? Not a chance. And so a grudge was born.

Lin Feng deeply respected Shen Yi for what he had done. But when he later realized that Shen Yi showed no concern whatsoever for his own safety, Lin Feng was deeply frustrated.

As someone who had seen a great deal of the world, Lin Feng understood all too well the dangers embedded in a character like Shen Yi’s.

He was too solitary, too proud. He went his own way, never drawing close to anyone, never willing to forge connections with others.

As though his entire life required no one but himself.

With that kind of wall built around himself, keeping the world at a thousand miles’ distance — sooner or later, the price to be paid would be a terrible one.

Rong Qian hadn’t left the apartment all day.

She was turning over a problem in her mind: who were the men in black who had attacked them? Or rather — who had sent people to move against them?

She had thought it through carefully. The decision to go to Beijing had been made practically on the spot, and Zhang Hao’s joining them mid-trip had been a last-minute addition with no prior notice.

What was strange was this: how had the attackers known they were heading to Zhang Hao’s relative’s home? They had even known the address, and had set up an ambush in advance.

The only explanation was that Zhang Hao had been in on it — that he had deliberately led her there. But that possibility was essentially zero.

And if it wasn’t Zhang Hao, then the attackers must somehow have had a listening device on one of them.

And then there was the most critical point of all.

The attackers hadn’t shown the slightest concern that she was a police officer. They had repeatedly assaulted an officer of the law, as though her status meant nothing to them whatsoever.

The more Rong Qian thought about it, the more something felt wrong. She knew that once she returned to her own time, she could take precautions and avoid this crisis — but before that, she still needed to figure it out.

Who had attacked her? And what did they want?

Rong Qian sat on the sofa, lost in deep thought, expression intent. It wasn’t until she heard the sound of the door that she snapped to attention and quickly swept her notes from the table — the papers she’d been using to map out the case — and hid them away along with her pen.

She picked up an apple, then deliberately sank back into the sofa in a languid sprawl, nibbling at it with an air of idle boredom.

As a criminal investigator, concealing something was second nature to Rong Qian — not a trace to be found. Shen Yi noticed nothing.

Happily munching on the late-night snacks Shen Yi had brought home, Rong Qian casually asked, “How come you’re back so early today?”

She had waited up quite late for him the night before.

“Nothing much on the work front tonight.” Shen Yi’s face gave nothing away, but the small detail of his eyes dropping — deliberately avoiding direct contact — did not escape Rong Qian.

Rong Qian couldn’t help shaking her head with a quiet smile. But then a thought struck her. She hesitated briefly, then decided to tell him about the episode from that morning. “Someone came looking for you earlier. A woman.”

Shen Yi’s expression shifted instantly. “You saw her?”

“I did. I told her she had the wrong door and sent her away, but I expect she’ll be back.” Rong Qian noticed his reaction and asked, “Why? Is it a problem that I saw her?”

“What did she say to you?” Shen Yi’s tone was urgent.

“Nothing much, really. It was fine. What’s going on?”

Shen Yi’s brow creased deeply, a troubled look settling over him. He looked into Rong Qian’s eyes and asked, “Was it you?”

Rong Qian knew what he was referring to. She nodded and admitted it. “It was me. A bit impulsive, maybe, but I don’t regret it. So — are you angry with me?”

Shen Yi shook his head. “I’m not angry with you. I never will be. But next time you want to do something like that, could you at least discuss it with me first? You held back too much.”

Rong Qian blinked. So what he meant was — she hadn’t hit hard enough?

“After he came to, he searched everywhere for you, but the outcome was obvious — by then you had already left. He could have turned the entire estate upside down and not found a single trace of you.” As Shen Yi said this, there was a thread of resentment woven through his words — resentment at her disappearing without a word.

Rong Qian gave an awkward smile. “What happened after that?”

“Even though there was no trace of you, the wound on his face was undeniable fact. And the painting — both things proved you had existed.” Shen Yi’s expression darkened as he continued, “Afterwards, he became convinced that you were Yan Qingyao.”

“What?”

Shen Yi’s hands clenched into fists. “He convinced himself that Yan Qingyao wasn’t dead — that she had simply become the woman in her painting. All these years, he has kept your portrait. And even now — he is still looking for you.”

Hearing this, Rong Qian finally understood why Shen Yi had been so alarmed a moment ago. He had been afraid that Meng Yuxin would recognize her and report back to Shen Chi.

But judging from Meng Yuxin’s reaction when she’d seen Rong Qian that morning, she clearly hadn’t seen the painting.

“Even if she hasn’t seen it yet, she will sooner or later.” That was precisely what Shen Yi was worried about.

Rong Qian patted his shoulder reassuringly. “Don’t worry. We’ll deal with things as they come. Even if we’re found out, there’s nothing to be afraid of. Stop fretting.”

Shen Yi met her eyes, his gaze unwavering. “That painting — he doesn’t deserve to have it. Someday I will take it back, by whatever means necessary.”

Rong Qian paused. Could it be that the mysterious buyer who had spent sixty million to win that painting at auction — was him?

“Even if it went to auction and would cost sixty million to buy it back — you’d still be willing?” she probed.

Shen Yi’s answer came without a moment’s hesitation. “Willing. In my eyes, that painting is priceless.”

“Is it because it was the last thing Yan Qingyao ever painted?” That was the only conclusion Rong Qian could reach.

Shen Yi corrected her. “No. It’s because the person in that painting is you.”

Rong Qian hadn’t expected him to be so forthright. It seemed she truly meant a great deal to him — he probably regarded her the way one regards family.

“To be safe, Rong Qian — I’d like you to stay indoors as much as possible.” Shen Yi gave her this quiet instruction.

At that, Rong Qian lifted an eyebrow. She crossed her arms and asked with a curious tilt, “What did you just call me?”

“Your name. Is something wrong with that?”

“Plenty wrong with it. You should be calling me ‘Big Sis.’ At the very least, ‘Rong Qian Jie.’ You can’t just go around calling someone by their full name — that’s basic courtesy. Seniority matters!”

A younger man who won’t even call you “Sis” — now that’s a sign your intentions are a little wild, isn’t it?

Shen Yi pressed his lips together, clearly reluctant. After some thought, he arrived at a middle ground. “Then — from now on, I’ll call you A’Qian.”

“A’Qian.” He looked at her and called her name.

The moment Rong Qian heard it, she froze. In an instant, her memory flew back to the very first time she had seen him — when he had called her A’Qian too.

So that was where this name had come from. It had started here.