January 10, 2043.

Zhang Jingchan had another dream.

In the dream, there was a woman whose face he couldn’t see clearly, sitting in front of him, memorizing English vocabulary. He heard himself correcting her grammar over and over again, and in the dream, he kissed her fiercely, as if possessed.

Like a young man who had lost his head.

Zhang Jingchan opened his eyes, gazing at the room that was as empty and desolate as always, and couldn’t help but laugh bitterly. He had never had a lover in his life, yet approaching middle age, he began meeting that person in his dreams night after night.

Simply absurd.

Zhang Jingchan changed into his suit and tied his tie. The man in the mirror was still handsome and upright as in his youth, except his temples had grayed and extremely faint fine lines had appeared at the corners of his eyes.

In January 2022, his father Zhang Moyun committed suicide; a year later, Wu Xinhui committed suicide.

By the end of 2024, Zhang Jingchan had paid off his father’s remaining debts, and Huicui Group had soared to great heights ever since.

There had never been a woman by his side. He hadn’t deliberately looked for one, nor had he encountered anyone he wanted. Even if there were suitable candidates, Zhang Jingchan in his thirties, harboring a heart that had long gone cold and rotten, truly couldn’t muster any interest in pursuing anyone’s love again.

Having drifted along like this into his forties, it no longer mattered.

Huicui’s operations were at their peak, mature and stable. By today, Zhang Jingchan only needed to occasionally go to the company to steer the ship, while professional managers naturally carried out his will and ran operations. Li Yunmo held the titles of company director and vice president, but was also in a semi-retired state, spending his days with his wife and children around the warm hearth, revolving around them. Zhang Jingchan himself had no children but was very fond of Li Yunmo’s son and daughter, and was their godfather.

The driver and bodyguard were already waiting downstairs. Today was the day Zhang Jingchan routinely went to headquarters for inspection. He settled into the back seat of the Rolls-Royce, closed his eyes slightly, thinking about company matters.

At a certain moment, Zhang Jingchan suddenly opened his eyes.

He heard her voice.

“Zhang Jingchan, go take a shower! After you shower, I’ll give you my answer!”

This was the first time he had heard her voice while awake. Immediately after, a fragment of memory that shouldn’t exist appeared in his mind:

A cramped room, he held a plate of oranges and kept eating.

That girl sat on the bed with her knees hugged to her chest. He knew her face must be very red. She said: Maybe you should stop eating.

He said: You gave these to me, I can’t leave a single slice.

Then came some chaotic, fragmented images. He held her on his lap, she was trembling all over, pleading in a low voice, saying she couldn’t take it, really couldn’t take it. He heard his own satisfied soft laugh, heard his own rapid breathing.

He heard himself say to her: I love you.

Zhang Jingchan raised his hand and wiped his face, touching wetness all over. The bodyguard beside him didn’t dare breathe heavily: “Chairman Zhang?”

Zhang Jingchan waved his hand. He extended his hand, and the bodyguard had already handed him tissues. Zhang Jingchan took a tissue but didn’t wipe, instead pressing it against his eyes. His voice actually carried self-mocking laughter: “Keep driving forward, don’t stop.”

When they arrived at the company and got out of the car, a crowd of executives came to greet them. Zhang Jingchan had already returned to normal, showing no trace of having cried. He routinely inspected the company’s main business departments and listened to reports from supervisory leaders. After half a day, Zhang Jingchan rested in the chairman’s office on the top floor, which was often empty.

These two Huicui Tower buildings were built when he was in his twenties. They had been renovated several times over nearly twenty years and remained among Xiang City’s most magnificent commercial buildings.

Zhang Jingchan held a cup of clear tea and walked to the expansive floor-to-ceiling window, gazing at the towering buildings and the flowing Xiang River.

A blurred figure appeared before his eyes.

She stood on tiptoe with her back to him, looking out the window, saying, “As the ancients said, ‘When one person attains the Dao, even his chickens and dogs ascend to heaven’—they truly didn’t deceive me! Thank you, President Zhang, for giving me this opportunity to climb high and see far.”

Another phantom appeared—clearly him in his youth, pressing her against the glass surface, kissing her with that kind of comprehensive dominance that satisfied him.

He asked her: Who is your boyfriend?

He asked three times, kissed three times, until she was forced to say: Zhang Jingchan, I never thought about being with you.

The teacup in Zhang Jingchan’s hand shattered on the floor with a “bang.” He staggered back two steps, pressed his forehead, and when he lifted his head again, his eyes were already red.

Not a hallucination.

Not a daydream.

Strong intuition told him that those things had truly happened, only he had forgotten them.

But who was she? Where was she? When exactly did those things happen?

——

Zhang Jingchan hadn’t seen Xu Yi for a year or two.

As business tycoons in Central China, over these years, the two had competed and also cooperated—all very ordinary. They could be considered evenly matched opponents. Though they weren’t close friends, they shared a sense of mutual admiration.

However, in Li Yunmo’s eyes, Xu Yi was much more successful than his Brother Chan. Because when Xu Yi was 35, he married the only daughter of a famous financial consortium. Now with two sons and a daughter, he was an industry model of marital harmony and family happiness.

The next day, Zhang Jingchan and Xu Yi met at a government conference. Under brilliant lights, both men in suits, both surrounded by admirers, they simply smiled in recognition and shook hands like old friends.

“Chairman Xu, the plots of land you’ve acquired in West China over these years—quite impressive.”

“Hardly. I can’t compare to your layout in Beijing, Ah Chan. Such unique vision—I have to admire it.”

As the words fell, both men froze.

In business matters, the two hadn’t been particularly close thirty years ago either. Later, when they met in the business world, Xu Yi had always addressed him as “Chairman Zhang” or “President Zhang.”

The address “Ah Chan” had long disappeared with the deaths of Zhang Moyun and his wife, with no one left to call him that.

Today, Xu Yi had blurted it out, as if it were years ago.

Their gazes crossed, both seeing the surging emotions and suspicion in each other’s eyes. Zhang Jingchan lowered his eyes, his thoughts racing in an instant.

That secret, that secret forgotten in the depths of time—Xu Yi was also part of it.

After this heart-stopping greeting, the two men turned around and walked away from each other. Step by step, they walked on the red velvet carpet, yet it felt like walking in the vortex of fate. Buried memories came flooding toward both men simultaneously.

Zhang Jingchan saw the factory entrance, the crane’s bucket silently striking toward him; he saw himself lying in a pool of blood, yet vaguely appearing as a girl; saw her crying and holding him, while a soul resided in his body.

He saw himself punch Xu Yi hard, Xu Yi laughing, but his eyes were red. And she stood between them, her eyes looking only at him.

He also saw beneath a high cliff, Xu Yi falling into the wind, police lights flashing, Xu Yi hit by three bullets, and beside his ear was Cheng Chuan’s hysterical shouting.

……

Zhang Jingchan suddenly turned back. Just then, Xu Yi, more than ten meters away, also turned back. The two men gazed at each other quietly. Xu Yi suddenly smiled, shook his head, and strode away with resolute bearing.

Xu Yi was determined to walk forward along his current life trajectory, no longer paying attention to those distant fragments of time.

But what about Zhang Jingchan?

He had always been a rational, clear-headed, even cold person. Would he remain trapped in these ethereal illusions?