Rong Qian had always known she would have to go back someday — but she hadn’t expected it to be this soon.

And what made it harder was that it was Shen Yi himself who had brought it up — Shen Yi, who had never once wanted her to leave. She understood how much it had cost him to say those words.

Rong Qian had thought about what she would prioritize when she got back. Now that she knew the old man wasn’t Shen Yi but Mu Chaoxue, she was determined to find a way to get hold of him.

And then there was Shen Fengran — even if she had to force it out of him, she needed to find out exactly what had happened the year Shen Yi disappeared.

Even so, though she knew she had to go back, Rong Qian wasn’t ready to leave so soon this time.

She was afraid — afraid that this might be the last time she and Shen Yi would ever see each other…

And so, for the entire ride home, neither of them spoke.

Once they were home, Rong Qian took Shen Yi’s hand and said: “Can I stay a few more days? It won’t cause any delays.”

Shen Yi turned and pulled her into his arms. “A’Qian, more than anyone in this world, I want you to stay — to stay as long as possible.”

“You can,” Rong Qian said with a smile. “After all, time doesn’t change while I’m gone.” But even as she said it, her eyes were already beginning to grow wet.

Shen Yi said nothing. He only held her tighter.

It was only Rong Qian — of all people — whom Shen Yi wanted to keep by his side forever, and never let go.

“A’Qian…” Shen Yi called her name in a low, hoarse voice. Rong Qian bit her lip and said nothing, letting the tears gather and swirl in her eyes without falling.

Shen Yi told her: “The person Shen Fengran wants is not me — it’s you.”

Rong Qian stilled. Shen Fengran wanted her?

“A’Qian, I’ve also remembered now — aside from the time after I met you, there was someone else I went to see.”

Rong Qian’s throat went dry. She had already guessed, but she still asked in a hushed voice: “Who did you see?”

Shen Yi gave her the name she had already expected: “Shen Fengran.”

“A’Qian — the Shen Fengran I encountered was nothing like the one you described to me. You may have been deceived by him. That so-called ‘fallen man living in a nursing home’ — it may all have been an act.”

Hearing this, Rong Qian thought back — and yes, there had been many things that hadn’t added up. Everything Shen Fengran had said during that encounter had been designed to cast Shen Yi in a bad light, a deliberate smear.

Shen Yi said quietly: “A’Qian, if my guess is right — the person who attacked you was Shen Fengran.”

“And the reason he has come after you repeatedly may very well be because he’s running experiments.”

“Experiments?”

“He’s guessed that you’re traveling through time, but he doesn’t know how you do it — correct?”

Rong Qian nodded. “Right. There’s no way he could know I’m using photographs to travel through time to find you.”

“But what if, after multiple tests, he’s already figured it out?”

Hearing Shen Yi’s words, everything suddenly clicked for Rong Qian.

She thought back to the very first time she had traveled — the rear-end collision. If she hadn’t had the chance to redo it, she would certainly have been struck by that vehicle that came barreling out of nowhere.

But because she had gotten a second chance, she had avoided it perfectly.

If those people had been sent by Shen Fengran — then Shen Fengran would definitely have grown suspicious, and connected it to her ability to travel through time, thereby beginning to test her.

But when had it all started? When had Shen Fengran first set his sights on her?

Rong Qian thought carefully back — and suddenly it came to her. When the news report came out about Xu Mo’s remains being excavated from the construction site, she had been on camera. It was her case, so her photograph had appeared in the news.

And that was when the accidents had started coming at her one after another.

“Shen Yi — if our guess is right, then my running out to chase Mu Chaoxue and getting hit by that truck was no accident. It was something Shen Fengran planned.”

It had puzzled Rong Qian before — why there had been no movement at all regarding Thomas for so long, and then suddenly everything surfaced at once.

That photograph of Thomas meeting with Mu Chaoxue at the Hong Xing Casino had obviously been taken by someone deliberately, to lure her to Hong Kong.

Now that she had pieced it all together, Rong Qian’s expression sank to its lowest point yet.

“A’Qian — can you still say you want to stay a few more days?” Shen Yi gave a bitter smile, reaching up to brush a loose strand of hair from her forehead and tuck it behind her ear. He lowered his head and pressed a tender kiss to her brow.

Rong Qian’s eyes were red. She cried until her nose was flushed, and buried herself in his arms, pulling him close again.

“Miss Rong, are you leaving?”

When Fu Bozhong saw Rong Qian come to his room with red-rimmed eyes, he already knew.

Rong Qian, dispirited and listless, nodded.

Fu Bozhong looked at her — and then broke into a series of coughs. Rong Qian looked up in concern. “Fu Bozhong, what’s wrong? Is something not well with your body?”

Fu Bozhong waved a hand dismissively. “It’s nothing. When you get to my age, a little illness is perfectly normal.”

Rong Qian looked at Fu Bozhong’s head of white hair and the deep lines of age in his face, and felt her eyes begin to sting all over again.

She rushed over and hugged him, voice thick with tears, reluctant to let go: “Fu Bozhong — you’ll live to a hundred years old. You have to take care of yourself, and take good care of your health.”

The reason she said this was because she had asked Shen Shuhuai, and she knew when Fu Bozhong would leave this world.

Fu Bozhong had passed away from illness on May 1st, 1988.

That was three days before Shen Yi disappeared. Fu Bozhong had been in the hospital, and passed away quietly from illness — peacefully, at the end.

Though she hadn’t known Fu Bozhong for that long, Rong Qian had first met him when Shen Yi was twelve years old. Fu Bozhong was like a grandfather to her — kind, gentle, and warm. To say she felt nothing would be a lie.

The thought of it made her heart ache without end.

Fu Bozhong patted her back gently, consoling her with his usual warmth: “Life, age, illness, and death — these are the way of things. Don’t be sad. And besides — being able to meet you, Miss Rong, a visitor from the future, and listening to you describe the China that is yet to come — I am already very happy.”

“Even if I won’t be alive to see it for myself, you have already shown it to me. Thank you. I am deeply honored, truly…”

That evening, Fu Bozhong took a photograph of Rong Qian. No matter what, Rong Qian could not bring herself to smile. She kept her head slightly lowered, fists clenched, conflicted beyond measure.

In the end, the camera captured that moment and held it still.

And so the photograph came to exist — the one Rong Qian had seen from the very beginning, where she had sensed that the version of herself frozen in that image was carrying a heart full of reluctance, a longing she could not let go of…