Manager Chen rarely came up to that private booth in the farthest corner of the third floor — the one he kept off-limits to regular customers.

But ever since he had brought a female guest up to see it not long ago, he found himself drifting by now and then to take a look.

Today, as he did most days, he passed by and decided to peek in — only to find that the door, which was always kept shut, was standing open.

Manager Chen paused. Had someone come in without his permission? He felt a flash of irritation — but when he stepped inside and saw the man standing there, the irritation evaporated.

He froze, looking from the man to the photograph on the wall, utterly dumbfounded.

The man, noticing his arrival, dipped his head in a slight, courteous nod. Manager Chen found himself nodding back without quite meaning to.

“May I ask…” Manager Chen heard himself using a tone of deference he rarely employed.

The man walked to the glass wall and stood looking down at the busy night market street below, his back to Manager Chen. “Compared to a few decades ago,” he said, “it’s changed quite a bit.”

“It has,” Manager Chen agreed. He stood in silence for a moment, then seemed to understand something, and smiled — a small, settling smile.

The man turned and studied him for a long moment before saying: “You’ve grown older.”

“Everyone grows old eventually.” The words had barely left his mouth when Manager Chen looked at the man before him — unchanged from decades ago, not a day older — and felt the ground shift under his confidence.

But the man simply nodded in agreement. “Yes. Everyone grows old eventually.”

“Are you waiting for someone?” Manager Chen could sense it — the man’s body was here, but his heart had already drifted somewhere else.

The man gazed into the distance. The thought of a certain person softened the corners of his mouth. “Yes,” he said. “I’ve been waiting for someone. For more than fifty years now…”

“Hmm?” Manager Chen looked puzzled.

The man only smiled and said nothing more.

After a moment, Manager Chen gathered his nerve and asked: “May I be so bold as to ask — who are you?”

The man’s gaze was steady and calm, his expression unhurried and serene. He looked at Manager Chen and said slowly: “My name is Shen Yi.”

Rong Qian had been in low spirits for days.

Today, the moment a visiting inspection from higher-ranking officials wrapped up and she returned to her post, she slumped back over her desk. Zhang Hao came over and gently reminded her: “Officer Rong, you’re in uniform today — it doesn’t look good to lie down like that.”

He had a point. It would reflect poorly on her. Rong Qian sat up, but her listlessness didn’t lift. She had spent another night crying.

Zhang Hao frowned. “Officer Rong, what’s going on with you? It’s been days. Can you tell me what happened?”

“I’ll be fine. You don’t need to worry.” Rong Qian adjusted her breathing and tried to will herself upright.

Before Zhang Hao could say anything else, Chen Jia came rushing over, her face flushed with excitement. “Officer Rong! There’s an incredibly handsome man outside asking for you! He’s right at the entrance — do you want to go see him?”

“A handsome man?” Zhang Hao’s internal rival radar switched on instantly.

Rong Qian couldn’t have cared less. “Don’t know him. Don’t recognize him. Don’t want to go,” she said flatly.

“But you haven’t even looked — how do you know you don’t recognize him? He specifically came here for you. Could he be the family member of someone from a case?” Chen Jia urged her to think.

Rong Qian thought for a long moment but came up with nothing. “What’s his name?” she finally asked.

“I don’t know — I forgot to ask. He only told me to come and let you know he was waiting for you.”

Rong Qian’s brow furrowed. Who on earth could it be?

“Go, go quickly,” Chen Jia pushed. “Wait too long and he might leave.”

That was enough to get Rong Qian moving. She dragged herself out with heavy steps, her mind elsewhere, barely paying attention to where she was going.

Once she was gone, Chen Jia stood there with her cheeks cupped in her hands, still starry-eyed. “He really is so handsome… Could he be Officer Rong’s boyfriend?”

“Seriously?” Zhang Hao shot her a look of disdain.

Chen Jia rolled her eyes at him. “You’d understand if you saw him. I’m not exaggerating. And actually — I feel like I’ve seen him somewhere before?”

A vague impression surfaced in her mind. She turned to her computer and typed in the name Shen Yi — but came back with nothing.

Chen Jia muttered to herself: “That’s strange. He was there before. Why can’t I find anything now?”

“What are you looking for?” Zhang Hao assumed she was searching for something case-related.

Chen Jia looked up. “Remember how Officer Rong once asked me to look up a man named Shen Yi?”

“I remember. What about it?”

“It’s just… never mind. Forget it.” Chen Jia shook her head, puzzled — because she had suddenly realized she could no longer picture what the man named Shen Yi in those photographs had looked like.

When Rong Qian walked out and saw, not far from the precinct entrance, a silhouette she recognized — her heart lurched. She wondered if she was dreaming.

Or perhaps her eyes were playing tricks on her.

She rubbed her eyes hard, and when she opened them again, the man was still there, standing exactly where he had been.

He stood with impeccable posture, dressed in a sharp, expensive suit, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a smartphone — though he was clearly unaccustomed to it, fumbling somewhat with the device.

He noticed her then. He curved his lips into a smile and spread his arms open wide, as if waiting for her to come running — already braced to catch her.

At that gesture, Rong Qian’s eyes flooded instantly with tears.

She wanted to call out his name, but the words caught in her throat. Tears poured from her eyes beyond all control, and Rong Qian ran — nearly sprinting — straight toward him.

Without a moment’s hesitation, she threw herself into his arms. He caught her solidly and held her tight.

Rong Qian thought: if this is a dream, let her never wake from it. But the warmth of his body was real — she could feel his presence with absolute certainty.

And for Shen Yi, the feeling was no different. After all this time, he could finally hold her again…

“Shen Yi… is this real? Is it really you?”

Rong Qian could hardly believe it. Her voice was thick with grievance, still laced with the tremor of tears. She buried her face in his chest, drinking in his warmth greedily, her arms wrapped tight around his lean waist, unwilling to let go.

Shen Yi gently stroked her hair, his eyes closed, lost in her softness and the scent that was uniquely hers — a scent he had been starved of for decades. He had waited so long to touch her again.

“A’Qian,” Shen Yi murmured softly against her ear. “It’s me. I’ve come back.”

With that confirmation, Rong Qian finally allowed herself to truly believe: Shen Yi had not died. He had come back to her, alive.

But how — how had any of this happened?