That evening, after her shower, Rong Qian lazily flopped face-down onto the bed.

The scene of her meeting with Shen Shuhuai was still vivid in her mind, his words at the time echoing in her ears over and over.

The person in the photograph — it was her. How could that possibly be?

And yet, the events of that morning were wildly suggesting that yes, it was exactly so!

Rong Qian turned her head and glanced at the nightstand. The old, worn photo album was sitting right there.

Shen Shuhuai had told her to take it, saying it might be of some help to her — he hoped she could find out why his cousin had disappeared all those years ago. Was it possible someone had harmed him?

Being suddenly entrusted with such a weighty task gave Rong Qian quite the headache.

She had only wanted to find out what had happened. How had things spiraled into such an utterly baffling situation?

“Shen Yi… who in the world are you?”

Clutching a pillow, Rong Qian tossed and turned in bed. If she really could travel through time, how would she even do it?

She had already taken that photograph out and tried every method she could think of to travel through time again, but nothing worked.

She had even come close to burning it with fire, but then she thought — the way the photograph had turned to ash might not have been through burning — and so she abandoned that idea.

Rong Qian raised her hand and looked at the watch on her wrist. This thing was real and physical — the man named Shen Yi had placed it on her with his own hands. From that alone, there was no doubt: she had truly met him.

And moreover, judging by his tone at the time, it seemed she had met him more than once before…

The more Rong Qian thought about it, the more something felt off. This bewildering, disoriented feeling was maddening. She couldn’t sleep, so she simply rolled out of bed, slipped on her sandals, and went downstairs.

When she had left Shen Shuhuai’s place, she had also taken with her all the film discs Shen Yi had ever appeared in. Shen Shuhuai had been quite generous — he’d packed them all into a box and given them to her.

Sitting in front of the television, Rong Qian started from the very beginning, watching in chronological order from his very first film.

He had started acting at fifteen. In that first film, he played a deaf-mute boy — minimal screen time, not even a supporting role really.

But because of his breathtaking looks and remarkable acting ability, the moment the film was released, it drew enormous attention and officially launched his career in the entertainment industry.

Aside from his earlier roles in American films, the majority of his subsequent work had been filmed domestically.

Seeing that he had collaborated with many of the great, well-known directors from that era, Rong Qian couldn’t help but be quietly astonished.

It was unimaginable — someone who had once captivated the entire world, yet could simply vanish from history without a trace. Nothing left behind.

Even across thirty-plus years, it was impossible that not a whisper would remain. The only explanation was that someone had silenced him, erased him, made it as though he had never existed in this world.

And had she not watched these discs, Rong Qian would never have known that some of the films she had seen before — Shen Yi had actually appeared in them too. Only, he had been either completely cut out, or replaced by another actor.

And so, Rong Qian watched for yet another entire night, which meant that the next day when she arrived at the bureau, she was utterly listless and worn out. Chen Jia and Zhang Hao came over with concern, asking whether something had happened to her.

Rong Qian waved them off, not wanting to get into it. She simply asked Chen Jia whether she had been able to look up the owner of the license plate she’d asked her to trace the day before. On that note, Chen Jia shook her head with regret.

“I checked. The car was a rental — the person who rented it used a false identity, and the car has already been returned. Right now, we’re using the facial composite you gave us to try to identify those two Black men.” Chen Jia reported honestly.

Rong Qian gave a nod. As much as she wanted to know who had been trying to come after her, she also understood that these things couldn’t be rushed.

Moreover, Rong Qian had a nagging feeling that those two Black men might be connected to the accident case from over thirty years ago that she was investigating — but why they had come for her specifically, she still couldn’t make heads or tails of.

These days, even her sleep offered no peace. She kept feeling as though a very warm hand was gently stroking her face, while a soft voice called out to her close beside her ear.

“A’Qian…”

“A’Qian…”

“I am waiting for you…”

And when Rong Qian would groggily open her eyes, she would see Shen Yi sitting on the edge of her bed, his gaze resting on her with such tenderness — and every time, it would jolt her awake!

Then she would realize it had only been a dream.

Unable to fall back asleep, she would go downstairs to the living room to watch his films. But even then she couldn’t watch properly — she would only press pause whenever the camera lingered on his face.

After several days of this, Rong Qian had reached her limit: if she didn’t find a way to see him soon, she was going to go out of her mind!

That man had left her distracted and restless these past few days. She desperately wanted to ask him — what on earth was going on?

But the more urgent she felt, the further away he seemed…

That evening, after work, Rong Qian bought a serving of oden from a street stall nearby and sat on the small stool by the entrance to eat. Beside her, a little girl was crouching down, licking an ice pop — it was very sweet.

Rong Qian couldn’t resist reaching out and patting the little girl on top of her head. The little girl grinned at her, and Rong Qian’s expression softened with warmth.

With nothing else to do, Rong Qian took out the old photograph she’d been carrying with her everywhere and looked at it.

Whenever she saw herself in the photograph, Rong Qian would feel a strange sense of unreality — as though the person in the photo weren’t her at all. Perhaps it was the overwhelming weight of time: after all, this was a photograph from several decades ago.

Propping her chin on her hand, Rong Qian murmured to herself, “Now that I think about it, I wonder who the me in this photograph was worrying about? Why do I have such an anxious expression?”

Creak!

At that very moment, a dull creaking sound came from above her head. Rong Qian looked up — the advertising billboard overhead flickered twice, and then, with a thunderous crash, the enormous billboard plummeted straight down!

“Danger!”

Realizing she had no time to dodge, Rong Qian’s first instinct was to throw herself over the little girl beside her, shielding her beneath her body, both hands wrapped tightly around the little girl’s head!

In the instant before the billboard crashed down over her body, Rong Qian saw the photograph clutched in her hand suddenly turn to ash — and then vanish…

The last things Rong Qian heard were a booming crash, and then — a piano melody, as though drifting in from somewhere far away, flowing gently, unhurried and timeless, streaming into her ears like spring water. A familiar tune: Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata…

When Rong Qian snapped her eyes open out of total darkness, all she could see was more darkness.

Sensing that she was in a confined space, Rong Qian instinctively pressed herself against the wall to search for a way out. As her hands groped around, she faintly felt what seemed like a door panel. Rong Qian shoved with all her strength!

The door turned out to be far looser than she’d anticipated — and it wasn’t even locked. One push and it swung open. Completely unprepared, Rong Qian stumbled forward and tumbled out.

“Ah!”

Rong Qian let out a startled yelp — and at that same moment, the piano melody that had been echoing in her ears came to an abrupt halt.

Rong Qian sat up, rubbing her sore knee with a pained grimace, and looked behind her. Only then did she realize she had just fallen out of a wardrobe.

The ornate, antique European-style wardrobe was quite large, with many garments hanging inside it. Before Rong Qian could take a proper look around, a clear, youthful voice came from behind her.

“Who are you?”

Rong Qian turned — and there, at a grand piano positioned by the window, sat a small boy. His hands rested flat on the piano keys. A pair of clear, bright eyes gazed at her. There was not the slightest trace of fear or panic in his expression — a composure utterly unlike what one would expect from a child encountering a stranger.

The little boy wore a pair of suspender trousers and a small suit jacket — like a miniature gentleman — with leather shoes on his feet. His outfit was meticulously refined and elegant, though the style leaned toward the vintage, quite unlike the fashionable, trend-conscious clothing children wore today.

Rong Qian looked at his face: exquisitely refined features, skin as fair as snow — the phrase “delicately carved from jade” would not be the slightest overstatement.

And yet, the more Rong Qian looked at him, the more familiar he seemed. She felt she had seen him somewhere before. Those clear, refined, elegantly understated eyes and brows — they looked remarkably like a young version of the Shen Yi who had been occupying her thoughts these past several days.

The moment that thought crossed her mind, Rong Qian froze.

Wait — this child couldn’t actually be Shen Yi, could he?