Chapter 2

Yang Zhou was an orphan.

When he was eight, his father brought him to Chengjiawan.

Xu Cheng was only five at the time. From a distance, he saw a tall and a short figure approaching and thought they were beggars.

After that, there was one more person in Chengjiawan—Yang Zhou.

Xu Cheng had been born prematurely. His health had been poor since he came out of the womb, so the Xu family raised him as delicately as a cherished daughter.

He was curious about this unfamiliar older brother.

During mealtime, he couldn't sit still. Holding his small bowl, he stood by the door and saw Yang Zhou barefoot on the gravel, running fast. Not long after, he came back carrying a basket full of pigweed.

When Yang Zhou passed by him, Xu Cheng couldn't help but ask, "Why aren't you wearing shoes?"

Yang Zhou glanced at him but said nothing.

He didn't like talking to anyone.

He would do whatever his aunt told him to do. Even when he was beaten or scolded, he stayed silent, never arguing back.

Xu Cheng was a stubborn child. He was determined to make Yang Zhou talk to him.

Day after day, no one knew when it started, but Xu Cheng became Yang Zhou's little shadow, and the two became inseparable.

Once, they were childhood playmates.

Now, they were family.

In the future, maybe not even friends.

Thinking in a trance, Xu Cheng felt a bit dizzy and lightheaded, probably paying the price for drinking cold water at noon.

Over the years, Yang Zhou's constant reminders had made him fall sick less and less often, and Xu Cheng had almost forgotten he was still a sickly person.

Too lazy to get up and take medicine, he just pulled the blanket from the sofa over himself, buried his head in it, and fell into a deep sleep.

"ChengCheng? ChengCheng?"

Someone gently patted Xu Cheng's arm, calling him softly.

Xu Cheng opened his eyes and saw a familiar face. "Why are you back?"

"Your watch showed an elevated heart rate and body temperature," Yang Zhou said as he picked up a cushion from the sofa and placed it behind Xu Cheng's back. Then he took a thermometer from the drawer of the coffee table. "Open your mouth. Let's check your temperature."

Xu Cheng obediently opened his mouth.

Yang Zhou got up to pour a glass of warm water, then sat beside him, his tone tinged with helplessness. "You drank cold water again."

Xu Cheng knew then that Yang Zhou had already seen the half-finished bottle of cold water in the fridge.

"You have a weak stomach and catch colds easily. Didn't the doctor tell you to avoid cold drinks?" Yang Zhou sighed, pulling Xu Cheng into his arms, resting his chin on Xu Cheng's shoulder, and nuzzling him gently.

Xu Cheng took a sip of warm water, unsure how to respond.

If it had been before, he would have acted spoiled, thrown a tantrum, used any number of tricks to escape Yang Zhou's nagging.

But that was before.

Now, just imagining Yang Zhou being this distressed and coaxing someone else made Xu Cheng feel miserable.

But Yang Zhou misunderstood his silence. "Are you feeling really bad?" he asked, frowning, and turned Xu Cheng to face him. "You do look a little pale."

As he spoke, he took out the thermometer in Xu Cheng's mouth and, seeing it was a low fever, subconsciously let out a breath of relief. "You'll be fine after taking some medicine."

Xu Cheng still didn't speak.

Yang Zhou set the thermometer aside and gently bounced Xu Cheng on his legs. "What's wrong?"

They say it's easy to tell when someone stops loving you. Xu Cheng only felt bitterness—so it was possible to pretend to love someone so convincingly even when you didn't anymore? These small habits, these subtle gestures—Yang Zhou could still perform them perfectly, to the point of flawless routine. No wonder he was the last to notice. No wonder he didn't notice at all.

"Yang Zhou." Xu Cheng coughed softly to force back the tears gathering in his eyes, but the soreness in his nose was impossible to suppress. "I want to ask you something."

"Ask away," Yang Zhou replied casually, his right hand rummaging through the medicine box for fever-reducing tablets and a packet of cold medicine, mixing the powder into the warm water.

Xu Cheng wanted to ask about that video. About that woman.

But when the words reached his lips, they turned into something else. "Do you love me?"

Yang Zhou handed him the medicine. "What nonsense are you thinking about again?"

Xu Cheng smiled bitterly. Yeah… Whenever he got sick, his mind always wandered. But the old Yang Zhou wouldn't blame him for it. He would just stay by his side, whispering "I love you" again and again.

"Drink it and get some rest," Yang Zhou said, handing over the fever meds and the cup, then tugging the blanket up to tuck him in. "Don't set the AC too low. I've got something tonight and won't be coming back."

Why not come back?

Xu Cheng swallowed the bitter pill. The glass in his hand caught the light and scattered it like shards—he didn't ask anything more. "Okay."

The house fell quiet again.

When Yang Zhou left, he even turned off the light in the entryway.

Lying on the sofa, Xu Cheng could hear the cicadas chirping outside.

He couldn't stop himself from remembering—when did it all begin?

Then he remembered. One night, when he got up to go to the bathroom, he saw the bathroom light on—yet Yang Zhou was coming in from the living room. And how it had been so, so long since Yang Zhou had dinner with him at home.

Xu Cheng couldn't remember anything more.

His memory was getting worse and worse, and his insomnia symptoms were becoming more and more frequent. Thinking of this, he sighed and forced himself up to go to Yang Zhou's study, where he found his bottle of melatonin.

He couldn't even remember when he bought it. He'd only taken it a few times before Yang Zhou found out—then hid the pills away.

Xu Cheng fell into a deep, long sleep.

He dreamt of when he was ten years old, of Yang Zhou being beaten senseless by a madman. A broom, a stick, and finally an axe—each blow landing on Yang Zhou's body and his legs, while he himself had been curled up in a corner, arms around his head, his expression numb.

Xu Cheng had turned pale with terror. He'd screamed for help, desperately trying to find an adult, but it was the middle of the busy farming season and everyone was up in the mountains working. He had never run so fast in his life. He remembered the wind roaring in his ears, the burning in his lungs. At last, in the middle of the fields, he found Yang Zhou's aunt.

"You—you need to go back! Yang Zhou is going to be beaten to death by that fool!"

"If he dies, he dies," Yang Zhou's aunt said coldly, tossing the freshly cut pigweed into her basket and bending down to continue cutting. "And stop calling my son a fool."

Her eldest son had suffered a severe bout of fever at the age of five, which left his brain damaged. The children were thoughtless and called him a fool behind his back.

Xu Cheng panicked. He grabbed the basket and ran away. "I'm not lying! If you don't go back now, he's really going to be beaten to death! Your son will be a murderer then!"

"You little brat!" Yang Zhou's aunt chased after him, but couldn't catch up. She could only shout as she ran, "Mentally ill patients don't go to jail for killing someone, so what the hell does it have to do with you, you little bastard!"

She hadn't even given Yang Zhou any medicine afterward.

Xu Cheng had secretly rummaged through his own home to find all kinds of medicine. He didn't know many words, so he relied on reading the instruction labels, piecing together the few words he understood, half-guessing the rest.

The bruises on Yang Zhou's face took a month to fully fade, but the wound on his ankle from the axe left a permanent scar. To this day, anytime he runs a bit too fast, the flaw is noticeable.

This incident spread quickly through Xujiawan, but most people only talked about it—they said their piece and moved on. Sympathy wasn't worth much around there.

Later, Yang Zhou ran away.

He ran out of Xujiawan, and out of Jia City, too.

Xu Cheng grew up. His grades were not outstanding, but he got into university without much trouble. In his sophomore year, he worked part-time at the front desk of a hotel—and there, he met Yang Zhou again.

He had come for a banquet, dressed in a sharp suit, radiating elegance and wealth. There wasn't a trace left of the poor boy from Xujiawan.

Yang Zhou recognized him instantly.

Then, they started living together as a matter of course, just like when they were kids, shadows of each other once more.

Xu Cheng didn't tell his family about this. He knew his parents would never approve. But Yang Zhou had never once minded. To him, Xu Cheng was everything, his very life.

After graduation, Xu Cheng began an internship at Yang Zhou's company.

It was the first time he found out that Yang Zhou worked in tech investment, and the bionic robots developed by his company represented the most advanced level in the country.

Yang Zhou loved him deeply.

Even during his busiest times—traveling between cities with barely three hours of sleep a night—he would still take an hour and a half just to video call Xu Cheng.

He knew Xu Cheng missed him, and he also knew that the hallway light at home was always left on, and that someone was waiting for him to come home.

But dreams always end.

Xu Cheng took out his clothes, folding each piece neatly and placing them into the suitcase. Ten years is neither long nor short, but it's long enough to wear down even the deepest love. He thought about it: In all these years with Yang Zhou, they had hardly ever fought or raised their voices till they were purple in their faces. Now that he is leaving, he should end it with dignity.

So he would wait. Wait for Yang Zhou to come home, so they could say goodbye properly.

Halfway through packing, Xu Cheng's head began to ache again.

He sat cross-legged on the floor, and out of the corner of his eye noticed a newspaper wedged between the wardrobe panels.

On a strange impulse, he reached out and pulled it free. The front page was an ad for Cheng'an Group, and below it was a photo of a humanoid robot—its appearance almost indistinguishable from a real person.

Xu Cheng glanced at the date: March 1st, 2038.

That should be the latest newspaper.

Xu Cheng was amazed that printed newspapers still existed as a method of delivering information. At the same time, he was puzzled—why had Yang Zhou hidden this newspaper in the wardrobe?

He carefully browsed through the content, but the more he read, the more unfamiliar it felt. All of it—names, events, companies—things he had never heard of. Maybe it was because he hadn't gone out much lately. Maybe he just hadn't been paying attention to the world online.

The phone buzzed again.

That person was still messaging him—this time, it was a photo. Yang Zhou, in a suit, walking into a building with the woman at his side.

The numbness Xu Cheng had been wrapped in suddenly cracked as if stabbed by something. He wanted another drink of water.

When the cold water rushed down his throat, he finally snapped out of it and closed the fridge door tiredly. Something was flashing near the floor-to-ceiling window. Xu Cheng walked over and found a strange-looking charging cable. Worried it might be dangerous, he unplugged it and casually tucked it into the drawer under the coffee table.

In the faint light from outside, he noticed a stack of medical reports in the drawer.

Patient Name: Xu Cheng

Gender: Male

Age: 25

Clinical Impression: Dissociative Amnesia

Treatment: Psychotherapy and supportive care to help the patient gradually recover his memory in a safe and stable environment.

Doctor's Advice: Family and friends should offer understanding and patience to avoid putting pressure on the patient.

……

Beneath the diagnostic report, there was a stack of prescription slips.

In addition to the medications prescribed by the doctor, there were several bottles that Xu Cheng had apparently bought himself—Sertraline, Paroxetine... and countless sleeping pills.

But these weren't for amnesia; they were for depression.

Xu Cheng sat frozen on the sofa, his mind blank.

Why couldn't he remember anything? Why couldn't he recall what had made him sick in the first place, or when he'd gone out and purchased all these medications?

He was certain he hadn't lost his memory. At most, he'd just forgotten a few unimportant details. And yes, he had occasional insomnia, but not to the extent that would require treatment for depression.

Then how could all these prescriptions be explained?

His gaze drifted back to the age listed on the report: 25? 25!

When was that? Wasn't he 25 now?

But something didn't add up. He and Yang Zhou have been together for nearly ten years!

Xu Cheng began frantically digging through his memories, but they all felt like glue—thick, messy, impossible to sort out.

Until he suddenly recalled a bouquet of flowers and Yang Zhous face when he confessed his love to him. He had been nineteen at the time. Which meant now, he should be around thirty.

Then why had he always believed he was 25? The blood drained from Xu Cheng's face. Trembling, he stumbled toward Yang Zhou's study.

But the desk—where there was always a calendar—was completely bare.

That bottle of melatonin! Xu Cheng didn't hesitate. He grabbed the bottle and rushed for the door—

Only to stop in his tracks at the threshold.

The entryway was brightly lit.

Xu Cheng slowly looked up toward the ceiling. There, a light was shining overhead.

And then…the door opened from the outside.

"Where are you going?" Yang Zhou was still wearing that crisp, tailored suit. Every strand of his hair was perfectly styled with gel, but for the first time, the expression on his face was no longer gentle.

His eyes bore down on Xu Cheng, the hallway light casting a sharp shadow across his brow. "You've remembered something again, haven't you?"

Xu Cheng's lips trembled, like he was about to drown in his own breath. He slowly lifted the medicine bottle in his hand and said, word by word, "You know this is not melatonin…don't you?"

"Of course." Yang Zhou stepped closer, forcing Xu Cheng back until he was pinned against the door. "It's Fluvoxamine. For treating depression."

The voice-activated light in the hallway clicked off automatically. In the sudden dark, Xu Cheng could hear Yang Zhou breathing right next to his ear, so familiar, yet utterly foreign. The person before him was the one he had loved and trusted the most, yet on such a quiet night, all Xu Cheng felt was panic. "What did I forget?"

"A lot." Yang Zhou's hand pressed against his waist, trailing downward until it found the sharp jut of his hip bone. "But that's alright. If you let me, I'll take care of you in the future."

Xu Cheng shut his eyes. And at last, he remembered. After graduating university, he had a job of his own. Yang Zhou had been incredibly busy back then—busier than now—so busy that sometimes they couldn't see each other for months. Maybe it was during that time that Yang Zhou had already found someone new.

Xu Cheng didn't know whether his past self had ever had any doubts, but now, he didn't want to stay with Yang Zhou for another second. "Let's separate."

"What do you mean, 'separate'?" Yang Zhou didn't move. He didn't even look up. As he spoke, his warm breath fell on Xu Cheng's neck.

Xu Cheng drew in a deep breath. "I mean, I want to break up with you."

The next moment, footsteps echoed in the hallway, the sensor light flicked on, and Yang Zhou also moved.

He let go of Xu Cheng, took a step back, and said as if released from a burden, "Alright."

"You haven't wanted to live with me for a long time, right?" Xu Cheng's tone was calm, his emotions, too. "Yang Zhou, you should've told me sooner. It must've been exhausting pretending to be with me all this time. It wasn't necessary."

Yang Zhou looked at him with complicated eyes. "I'll transfer all my assets to you."

That only made Xu Cheng feel more drained. It was like all the years of love, all the moments they shared, had been reduced to a bunch of numbers.

He nodded, turned to go inside, then paused. "I don't want this house anymore. I'll move out tomorrow."

This was the house he'd saved up to buy together with Yang Zhou. Even though Yang Zhou could've bought ten of them without blinking at the time, Xu Cheng had insisted on paying half.

"Go see a psychiatrist when you can." The elevator door opened and Yang Zhou stepped inside. "As for the house, find an agent to sell it."

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