Zhou Yanxing sneered, “Heh, getting addicted to this fake boyfriend act, are you? Why don’t you ask Chi Zhan yourself in a bit and see if I’m lying?”
Chu Xingxiao hadn’t believed Zhou Yanxing at first, but seeing how confidently Zhou spoke, his certainty wavered. His tone weakened a bit as he said, “Then what are you doing here? Go on in, then.”
Zhou Yanxing had come back fuming, taken it out at the gym downstairs, and cooled off somewhat. When he returned and saw the ointment tube on the table, he realized Chi Zhan hadn’t gone far—just out to buy medicine. That took the edge off his temper. He tried calling Chi Zhan, but the line was busy.
For over thirty minutes.
Worried, he came up to Chi Zhan’s apartment to see what was going on—only to run into Chu Xingxiao at the door.
Two men, neither with a key, stood face to face.
Then, simultaneously, they both turned and whipped out their phones to call Chi Zhan.
They were met with the same sweet, robotic reply:
“Sorry, the number you have dialed is currently busy. Please try again later.”
“……”
“……”
Just who the hell was hogging Chi Zhan’s line this whole time?!
“Ah-Zhan, what’s up? It’s rare for you to call me this late,” Cen Chi said with a soft chuckle. “Is it too noisy on my end? I’m outside, the rain’s pretty loud.”
But the warmth in his voice didn’t match his current condition. Dressed in a black trench coat, Cen Chi was soaked through. At his feet lay a man, unconscious. If Chi Zhan were present, he’d immediately recognize him—it was Qi Wen.
Cen Chi held the phone in one hand. With the other, he removed a nearly invisible chip from the back of Qi Wen’s neck and flicked it away. The rain quickly swept it off into a nearby storm drain.
It was a stealth listening device—skin-adherent and nearly undetectable to the untrained eye.
To evade this kind of invisible “monitoring,” Cen Chi couldn’t be present himself. Some auxiliary measures were necessary.
And there were still things he needed to hear directly from Chi Zhan.
“I want to ask you something. If you lost your memory… could you ever unlock sealed memories again?”
Cen Chi mused, “…Amnesia? I can’t guarantee it. Not for sure.”
“There’s no other way?”
“Unlocking a sealed memory anchor point isn’t that simple,” Cen Chi replied slowly, “but… if we had more time, it might be possible.”
His voice blurred slightly behind the steady roar of rain.
“Ah-Zhan, are you saying that… I’ll lose my memory in the future?”
Chi Zhan paused.
“…Just a hypothetical. Don’t overthink it.”
Cen Chi was always unusually perceptive. Sometimes, Chi Zhan thought he should’ve studied literature instead of medicine—he could always catch the deeper meaning in a passing remark. Every conversation with him required careful consideration.
Cen Chi smiled and played along with a soft “Mm,” not pressing further.
Chi Zhan had no idea how much significance Cen Chi read into that single line.
Memory was a complex thing—no one understood it better than Cen Chi, who specialized in it. Erasing memories was akin to reversing time. Even gods would find it impossible. But if they came from another dimension… perhaps it wasn’t entirely out of reach.
Who would tamper with their memories?
The rain grew heavier. Qi Wen stirred faintly on the ground, showing signs of waking. Cen Chi’s eyes darkened slightly.
“Ah-Zhan, if you have time tomorrow, let’s meet.”
Perhaps it was time to reexamine Chi Zhan’s memories.
If the anchor point had been planted by a past version of himself…
Then there had to be a way to break the seal.
“Is something wrong? If it can wait, then before midnight tonight—” Chi Zhan’s words were cut off by a sudden “beep-beep-beep” tone from the call. He blinked, glancing at his phone. The signal had dropped—completely.
The rain had worsened, and now the signal bar was hanging on by a thread, flickering in and out.
Why now, of all times…
Chi Zhan tried calling back several times, but the signal wouldn’t return.
Had the System detected an anomaly?
Or… was this the sign of the world beginning to shut down?
It was useless to keep dialing. Chi Zhan turned to leave the hallway, but as he rounded the corner, he saw Qi Song waiting there.
Clearly, he’d been waiting for him.
“Sorry, I got caught up on the phone and lost track of time,” Chi Zhan forced himself to stay calm and addressed him politely.
Qi Song looked up, his dark eyes brimming with an unreadable depth. But in the end, he said nothing. He simply led Chi Zhan back.
Chi Zhan wolfed down a few bites of food. His phone signal flickered back to a single bar, and suddenly a flood of missed calls and messages poured in.
From Chu Xingxiao and Zhou Yanxing.
Chen Che spoke up, “It’s still raining hard this late. Why don’t you stay here tonight? No need to head back.”
Chi Zhan forced a smile and shook his head.
“I still need to go back.”
“I’ll drive you,” Qi Song offered.
The car was parked just outside the inn—convenient for just such occasions. They got in. Qi Song turned on the lights, and the soft, warm glow created a cozy bubble, sealed off from the storm raging outside. It felt like a private little refuge.
A cat-shaped crystal charm dangled from the rearview mirror.
Chi Zhan found himself glancing at it several times. The light, pleasant scent of incense in the car slowly helped calm the storm swirling in his heart.
Just then, Qi Song leaned in close. Chi Zhan thought he was going to remind him to fasten his seatbelt, but instead, Qi Song murmured, “Don’t move.”
Chi Zhan blinked, confused. Qi Song placed one hand behind Chi Zhan’s seat, leaned in—
—and kissed him.
“Mmph—!”
It was completely unexpected. Chi Zhan’s eyes widened, and he instinctively tried to turn his head away. But despite the tenderness in Qi Song’s movements, there was no room for resistance as the kiss deepened.
Di-da, di-da, di-da…
The seatbelt warning beeped incessantly. Then, with a soft click, it fell silent.
The wipers worked tirelessly to clear the rain-streaked windshield. In the distance, the streetlights flickered faintly. The road ahead looked pitch-black and endless.
But right now, Chi Zhan had no space left in his mind for anything—except for the kiss… and the shortness of his breath.
