The night had grown late. At one in the morning, Rong Qian lay on the sofa, hands tucked behind her head, lazily swinging one crossed leg.

She had slept too much during the day, and now she was wide awake and full of energy. With no television and a dead phone, there was nothing to do but stare at the ceiling.

After a long while, just as Rong Qian was finally feeling drowsy and beginning to yawn repeatedly, she suddenly heard something. She jolted upright in one swift motion.

She tilted her head and listened closely. Without a word, Rong Qian leapt off the sofa and made straight for Shen Yi’s room.

Shen Yi was dreaming again.

He dreamed of Yan Qingyao stepping to the window right before his eyes and jumping. The bloodstained scene refused to leave his mind — it had, over time, become his recurring nightmare.

Shen Yi had gone from elation to devastation in just a matter of seconds, with only the briefest of transitions.

He hadn’t even fully emerged from his joy in those moments — he was smiling, full of hope, watching her rise from the windowsill and fall.

By the time he realized what had happened, by the time he walked to the window in shock and looked down, it was already too late. His limbs went cold. The tears he couldn’t hold back flooded from his eyes. He tried to call out something — anything — but his throat produced no sound.

That suffocating, crushing despair — Shen Yi could still feel it now with perfect clarity, like some enormous dark claw that held him prisoner inside a tiny, airless space, smothered in a darkness that pressed in from all sides.

Countless times, Shen Yi had nearly died in his dreams from that suffocation. Each time he jolted awake, it was with violent coughing — as though he wouldn’t be satisfied until he had coughed up blood.

Over the years, Shen Yi had long since grown accustomed to these sudden episodes. He gritted his teeth and endured them until they passed.

The worst part was simply waking up each time to a pitch-dark, utterly silent room — and feeling, in those moments, a profound emptiness. He would find himself questioning whether he had any real reason to be alive at all.

Gazing at the night outside his window, he felt as though the darkness itself was mocking him — mocking the fact that he was still here, still breathing. How pitiable.

But this time, when Shen Yi jolted awake from his nightmare, the moment he opened his eyes, the room was filled with light — and someone was watching him with an expression full of worry and care.

“Are you all right?”

Rong Qian had been in the living room when she heard the coughing. She had knocked on the door, received no response, found it unlocked, and pushed it open.

She had found Shen Yi in the grip of what seemed like a desperate struggle in his sleep, coughing violently. She had called out to him several times before he finally stirred awake.

Shen Yi stared at her in a daze for a long moment before he came back to himself. But before he could say anything, he felt his throat tighten. He clamped a hand over his mouth and stumbled hastily into the bathroom.

By the time Rong Qian followed, the bathroom door was already locked. The sound of running water came from inside.

She thought about knocking, but decided against it. She lowered her raised hand, turned, and went into the kitchen to put the kettle on.

When Shen Yi emerged from the bathroom, Rong Qian was sitting in the living room and had been waiting for some time. Shen Yi dropped his gaze to the floor and tried to go back to his room. Rong Qian called out, “Shen Yi. Come here.”

Her eyes left no room for refusal.

Shen Yi sat down eventually. He said nothing. He had rinsed his face, and a few strands of hair at his brow were still dripping. His eyelashes were thick and long — each blink like the sweep of a wing — and those wide, glistening eyes beneath them gave him the air of a fragile, heartbreaking beauty. Even like this, disheveled and undone, he was striking.

Rong Qian had never encountered anyone like him — someone who somehow looked more beautiful the worse their state.

Every time she happened to look at him, she took a hit from that face. And he was still in his teens — just how devastating was he going to become as an adult?

“Have some water.” Rong Qian held out a cup.

Shen Yi took it. The cup was warm — not cold water. He took a sip. His throat, raw and burning from the coughing fit, ached as he forced himself to swallow a few more mouthfuls.

Rong Qian watched him quietly, waiting for him to speak first. After a long silence, Shen Yi raised his head and looked at her. His voice, roughened by his sore throat, came out with a hoarse, choked quality when he spoke. “Do you know what she said to me — at the time?”

Rong Qian shook her head. Shen Yi lowered his eyes to the cup in his hands, his fingertips tracing the rim slowly. Every time he closed his eyes, the image came to him — Yan Qingyao leaning close to his ear, speaking to him.

Yan Qingyao had said only three things:

“You are a good child. But I was not a good mother. Please don’t hate me.”

“Your life has only just begun. Mine has already reached its end. I’m sorry — please don’t resent me.”

“You are guarded by angels, and I can only fall into hell…”

Rong Qian listened and fell silent.

Yan Qingyao had found her release — but she had dragged Shen Yi into hell alongside her. All these years, he had suffered, trapped in his nightmares and unable to find his way out.

Rong Qian had not been unaware that this might happen. She had originally intended to be there when he woke, to begin guiding him through what he had experienced. But she had been pulled back to her own time without warning.

Four years had passed. But it wasn’t too late — not yet.

As a criminal investigator who had worked closely with trauma survivors and the families of victims, Rong Qian had training in psychological healing. Shen Yi’s situation was something she could work with. But a full recovery would require therapeutic support in combination with medication over time.

Rong Qian was in no hurry. Right now, she had all the time she needed.

With Shen Yi’s agreement, Rong Qian began the process of opening up the conversation — gently helping him, step by step, to ease the weight he had been carrying. This was not something that could be fixed overnight; it would require sustained guidance over a long period.

“All right — go back to sleep. I’m tired too.” Rong Qian glanced at the time. It was already three in the morning. Thinking of his classes tomorrow, she urged him to get some rest.

But Shen Yi suddenly asked her something. “What will I be like in the future?”

“Hmm?” Rong Qian hadn’t expected the question, but she answered it thoughtfully. “The complete opposite of who you are now.”

Shen Yi frowned. The complete opposite?

Rong Qian recalled the first time she had seen him as an adult, and spoke with quiet ease: “The future Shen Yi is elegant and composed, gentle and refined. He always carries a warm, mild smile — the kind that makes people feel at ease the moment they’re around him. A remarkably graceful and gentlemanly man.”

“Are you sure you’re talking about me?” Shen Yi found himself skeptical.

Rong Qian laughed. “You’d have to ask yourself that. I didn’t expect you to have this kind of personality when you were young. I suppose your temperament just changes naturally as you grow up.”

“I’m not that young.” Shen Yi didn’t like the way she always treated him like a child.

Rong Qian adopted the manner of a senior addressing a junior and ruffled his hair. “You’re sixteen. How grown-up can you be? Just because you’re in university doesn’t make you an adult. The road ahead of you is still very long.”

Shen Yi looked up at her, and the moment their eyes met, Rong Qian instinctively drew her hand back.

She had to concede that, young as Shen Yi was, he already possessed an air that did not welcome intrusion. This child had a future that was beyond anyone’s measure.

“You said you’re a time-space traveler — so what exactly is the relationship between you and me?” It was something he had wanted to know for a long time. Shen Yi fixed her with a steady gaze, waiting for an answer.

Oh no — caught off guard!

Rong Qian’s internal alarm bells went off. She assumed a pensive expression and appeared to deliberate at length — seeming as though the answer was difficult to put into words, while in reality she was busy fabricating a response.

Got it.

Rong Qian cleared her throat, sat up straight, and said with great solemnity, “A partnership.”

“A partnership?” Shen Yi’s brow furrowed.

Rong Qian nodded gravely. “That’s right. A partnership. The future version of you asked me to come and help you. We each get what we need from the arrangement — a mutually beneficial agreement.”

“And beyond that?” Shen Yi didn’t quite seem to know what else he was hoping to hear.

Rong Qian asked in return, “Such as?”

“…Never mind.” Shen Yi let the matter drop without pressing further. But there was still one thing he wanted to know. He asked, “What kind of person — what kind of personality — do you like?”

He had originally meant to say what kind of person like me, but the words had changed before they left his mouth.

“You’re a little nosy, aren’t you? Go to sleep!” Rong Qian refused to answer such personal questions — but Shen Yi was stubborn. If she didn’t answer, he wasn’t going back to his room.

It was only in moments like this that Rong Qian felt he was genuinely sixteen — persistent, immature, and just a little rebellious.

“Fine, fine — I’ll tell you, all right?” Rong Qian relented. “I like someone mature and steady. Good-natured. Warm-hearted. Someone who can put up with me. Oh, and someone who can beat me in a fight.”

Having said all that, Rong Qian suddenly arrived at a realization, and it dawned on her with a jolt. She muttered to herself, “No wonder I can’t get married. Turns out I need someone who can actually beat me…”

Rong Qian shook her head with a rueful laugh. All those ideal young men and high-achieving professionals her mother had introduced to her — how on earth were any of them going to beat her in a fight?

Of course, all of this was said in a joking, offhand tone, not meant to be taken seriously.

What Rong Qian didn’t know was that Shen Yi had taken in every single word — and quietly, carefully, committed it to memory.