He was utterly stunned.
Song Guang: Why aren’t you saying anything?
Chi Zhan struggled to type.
Chi Zhan: Oh… I think the person you’re talking about might not be me.
Song Guang: Is that so? Heh.
He didn’t know why, but even though the other person’s reply was just plain text, Chi Zhan could somehow sense that it had been typed with a completely blank expression—maybe even with a faint, mocking edge.
Song Guang: You sent me a photo before. You probably don’t remember that either.
Chi Zhan really didn’t remember. But that person definitely wasn’t him.
Chi Zhan: Yeah? Can you show me the photo?
He was desperate to know who the “previous” person was. Maybe this would be a useful lead. He had a feeling that part of the truth was about to be revealed.
Song Guang: I don’t show pictures to strangers. Unless—
Chi Zhan: Unless what?
Song Guang: Prove your identity.
Song Guang: Send me a photo.
So he meant… if Chi Zhan wanted to see that photo, he had to send one of himself first?
Something about this didn’t sit right with Chi Zhan.
But Song Guang didn’t press the issue. He didn’t act at all like a “marked” in-game lover—on the contrary, he seemed to have already accepted that Chi Zhan wasn’t the person he was hoping for. Throughout the match, he stayed completely silent and just focused on playing.
A moment later, Chi Zhan sent a message.
Chi Zhan: Alright.
He scrolled through his photo album, intentionally choosing a somewhat blurry side profile shot, then sent it over.
While waiting, Chi Zhan felt a strange nervousness.
He didn’t even know why.
Above Song Guang’s avatar, a bubble popped up: Typing…
Their team was in the middle of a chaotic teamfight. Chi Zhan couldn’t focus at all, but Song Guang somehow managed to multitask—killing the dragon while also healing him.
At the WT base, Qi Song sat quietly in his room, a cat cradled in one arm, his gaze fixed on the photo CHI had just sent.
The lighting passed over the side of the young man’s face like drifting clouds.
Even the tiny mole beneath his eye seemed to flicker.
“…It’s really him,” Qi Song murmured. “I wasn’t mistaken.”
Milk tilted its head up, sensing its owner’s subtle shift in mood. It affectionately nuzzled his fingers, then let out a meow at the photo on the screen, almost like it was trying to speak with him.
Song Guang: [image.jpg]
Song Guang: Welcome back.
Chi Zhan had no idea what Song Guang meant by that, but the moment he tapped on the photo, his mind went completely blank.
The boy in the picture was clearly still in his teens, wearing a pale T-shirt that made his skin look almost porcelain. The breeze ruffled his bangs, and in the golden sunlight, his eyes shimmered with a shade of amber, as if molten gold was swirling inside them. Only his side profile was visible, lips pressed into a faint, shy smile—but his high nose bridge and sharp features hinted that once he grew into them, he’d be stunningly handsome.
…That was him.
He didn’t need any proof. Chi Zhan just knew—it was him, back when he was eighteen or nineteen.
He had never imagined it would end up like this.
His hands were shaking.
Song Guang had no reason to lie. There was no way Chi Zhan could go back in time to take that photo. His phone had been wiped clean—there were no backups, no hidden copies.
There was only one possibility: he had sent that picture to Song Guang himself.
Chi Zhan: So I sent you my photo—but what about yours?
Song Guang: I did.
Song Guang: But I won’t send it a second time.
Chi Zhan: So in real life… we know each other?
Song Guang: We didn’t before. But now we do.
Chi Zhan didn’t put much thought into that last line. Right now, a thousand theories were racing through his head.
Why didn’t he remember any of this? Why did Song Guang remember? What had he been through? What could have caused this amnesia?
It was all a mess.
Meanwhile, due to repeated mistakes, his teammates were getting frustrated. They’d already called for several group fights. Chi Zhan had no choice but to pick up the pace and finish the match first.
Neither of them spoke again during the rest of the game.
Once it ended and he returned to his room, Tao Ran had already left early to prepare for tomorrow morning. Chi Zhan was unable to hold back any longer.
Chi Zhan: How did we meet?
Song Guang didn’t reply for a long time.
Chi Zhan was growing anxious.
He wasn’t the least bit sleepy anymore. He just wanted answers—everything, all at once.
Song Guang: We met through this game. Later on, you disappeared without a word. You never logged in again.
But Chi Zhan sensed something deeper in that message.
His fingers paused above the keyboard.
Chi Zhan: So we were… in an online relationship?
Song Guang: No. You were the one who ghosted me.
That was such an injustice it almost made Chi Zhan want to cry. But then—suddenly—a crucial detail snapped into place in his mind.
The boyfriend he was looking for… wasn’t some far-off stranger. He was right here, in front of him. Not physically, but with real, undeniable proof. And with Zhou Yanxing’s resources, uncovering Song Guang’s real identity would be a matter of minutes.
Still, for now, this solved Chi Zhan’s most urgent problem.
Chi Zhan: I don’t remember anything from back then. I’m really sorry.
Song Guang: So, should I take down the couple’s mark?
Chi Zhan: No. Actually, I have a request.
Chi Zhan: Will you… still be my boyfriend?
Nervous anticipation.
Song Guang: Then we have to follow the old rules.
What rules?
It took Chi Zhan several seconds to realize what Song Guang meant—
“Whenever we met, you used to call me ‘darling.’”
This…
He couldn’t even type those words out!
Chi Zhan had never once imagined in his entire life that thosesyllables would ever apply to him.
It was just too cloying. That kind of nickname…
Calling Zhou Yanxing “Daddy” would be ten thousand times easier!
Chi Zhan: Can we use a different nickname?
After a moment of hesitation, he picked a cutesy sticker from his emoji pack: crying cat face.jpg
He’d heard people couldn’t resist the cute approach.
Song Guang: pat-pat kitty head.jpg
