WYLM | Chapter 8

Chi Guan decided to make a swift exit.

Now was the time to leave if ever there was one. As he turned to go, he pulled out his phone, hastily concocting an excuse, “My phone still has 512GB of memory left, let’s not talk anymore, goodbye!”

“Chi… cough… Chi Guan…” From the hospital bed, Qi Jingyao started coughing weakly, laboriously calling out Chi Guan’s name, “Wait… don’t go…”

His voice was hoarse, the end of his words trembling as if even breathing was painful.

Chi Guan’s departing steps suddenly halted.

Five minutes later, Chi Guan was sitting by Qi Jingyao’s bedside, peeling an apple while chiding him, “I know you were an emperor in your last life, raised delicately, but you can’t still be this helpless as an adult, right? We’re in modern China now, slavery is abolished, and there are no servants to tend to you.”

Qi Jingyao, half-leaning on the bed, just silently watched Chi Guan, listening to his incessant muttering. Qi Jingyao’s pupils were dark, like a deep well wanting to suck Chi Guan in completely.

Chi Guan was not used to this look: “Why are you staring at me? Am I not telling the truth? Are you not convinced?”

Qi Jingyao finally spoke, simply stating, “You’ve lost weight.”

Chi Guan: “Hmm?”

Qi Jingyao asked again, “Have you not been doing well recently? Your dark circles seem quite heavy.”

As Chi Guan rambled on, what he truly cared about wasn’t these things. He vividly remembered that it had been 83 days since they last saw each other. No, it was past midnight now, so it was the 84th day. He remembered the cold, decisive tone Chi Guan used when they spoke 84 days ago.

“…”
Chi Guan suddenly fell silent.

After a long while, he sighed deeply and said, “Don’t be like this, Qi Jingyao, like this… I really don’t know how to respond.”

The suffering wasn’t only Qi Jingyao’s. Chi Guan had had a tough time because the decision was his, and he inevitably felt more psychological pressure from Qi Jingyao.

“Why?” Qi Jingyao finally spoke again, asking, “Why did you say those things to me?”

Chi Guan remained silent, facing another question he couldn’t answer, while Qi Jingyao clearly didn’t expect an answer but merely accused calmly, “I thought you didn’t want to see me, that you found me annoying. I stopped messaging you later, but if you didn’t want to see me, why did you come today? Is it out of pity? Or just curiosity? Wanting to see what a former movie star has come to?”

“I’m sorry, I…”
Chi Guan’s heart clenched painfully as if someone was cruelly squeezing it, and before he could speak, Qi Jingyao quickly said, “Don’t say sorry to me, I don’t want to hear that.”

“It’s okay, whether it’s pity or curiosity, I don’t mind. I’m happy to see you,” Qi Jingyao took a deep breath, his voice hoarse, slowly stating, “But can you not look at me with that expression you just had, and not scold me like before? It makes me feel like you still have me in your heart, that you care about me, feel for me… It makes it hard for me to control myself.”

Qi Jingyao’s dark eyes were filled with sorrow. Chi Guan didn’t know how to describe it; he was usually so bright and exalted, even staying in a high-end VIP hospital ward, but to Chi Guan, he seemed like a large dog abandoned by its owner, reluctantly wagging its tail, begging for mercy.

“I… I do care about you…”
No, he shouldn’t have said that, but his vocal cords had a mind of their own as he spoke, “I check your Weibo every day, follow your updates… You rarely update, and when you do, it’s just to promote your dramas… I never noticed before how little you spoke online!”

“Why did you really say those things to me that night?” Qi Jingyao asked again, his voice carrying a bitter smile, “You’re not going to tell me again that you just see me as an idol, and don’t like me as a person, right? I’ve said before, I don’t mind if you see me as just an idol, as long as you can stay by my side, I won’t do anything beyond what friends do.”

“But I care, I can’t.” Chi Guan’s Adam’s apple bobbed, he breathed rapidly, and after a moment, he finally completed his thought, “…I think I’ve fallen for you, Qi Jingyao.”

“I like you, want to be close to you, touch you, hold you,” Chi Guan sighed softly, “But I don’t have those memories you speak of, I’ve tried hard but can’t recall them, I can’t be sure if I’m really the person you’re looking for.”

Saying this, he raised his eyes, earnestly looking at Qi Jingyao, “Do you understand my dilemma? I just can’t get over this hurdle in my heart… I’m afraid I’m just a fake, a despicable clown hiding under someone else’s spotlight.”

Qi Jingyao’s lips twitched slightly, wanting to say that wasn’t a hurdle at all because from their interactions, he could clearly feel Chi Guan was Sui Jian, not to mention the existing evidence. But he couldn’t bring himself to say it because even Chi Guan’s thought process was exactly like Sui Jian’s, who always had a strong sense of morality.

“Is there really no other way?” Qi Jingyao still wasn’t quite willing to give up, saying, “Liking someone doesn’t necessarily mean being together. Until you recover your memories, we can continue as we are now, even for a lifetime, as long as you can stay by my side.”

“I don’t have your kind of resolve.” Chi Guan chuckled and shook his head, half in admiration and half teasingly said, “I only realized how hard you’ve been holding back after I fell for you. Qi Teacher, with such endurance, you’d succeed at anything.”

“…Alright, I understand.”
Qi Jingyao sighed deeply, finally making up his mind, “In my heart, you are Sui Jian. I can’t possibly not recognize my own lover, but I indeed have no evidence to convince you. If you’ve made your decision, I’ll respect your choice.”

Chi Guan lifted his eyes, sincerely looking at Qi Jingyao, his tone solemn, “Thank you.”

The apple had been peeled for a while and had started to brown. Chi Guan carved it into the shape of a little rabbit, watching Qi Jingyao quietly finish eating it.

Then there was no then. Stepping through the quiet moonlight, Chi Guan left the hospital, and for a very long time afterward, he did not see Qi Jingyao again.

Sometimes Chi Guan even wished Qi Jingyao would get involved in some scandal so he could use that as an excuse to see him, but no, Qi Jingyao remained impeccably clean, without even a hint of gossip, forever so far yet so near.

The two years Chi Guan knew Qi Jingyao felt like a grand dream. Sometimes he wondered if it had really happened or if it was all his imagination. Over time, after changing phones, even the chat history on WeChat disappeared.

Occasionally, Chi Guan thought about why he had to be so stubborn. Since Qi Jingyao had already decided he was Sui Jian, he could just choose to believe him. Even if it was a mistake, it would be Qi Jingyao’s fault, not his.

But he just couldn’t get over that mental hurdle.

When they met again, it was the end of the year. Lin Qiuyu brought Chi Guan to an offline event, and it was only when he arrived that he realized Qi Jingyao was also there.

Seeing Chi Guan’s panicked look, Lin Qiuyu glanced at him curiously and said, “What, didn’t Qi Teacher tell you he was coming?”

Lin Qiuyu was a straightforward and kind boss who didn’t pry into her employees’ privacy and was unaware of the twists and turns between the two. But being someone in the circle, she certainly knew of the rumors about Chi Guan and Qi Jingyao and had secretly enjoyed their story immensely.

“Speaking of which, I haven’t seen you two together much recently,” Lin Qiuyu, somewhat gossipy, scrutinized Chi Guan and asked, “What, did you guys have a fight? Need me to give you some relationship advice? I may not have dated, but I’ve written eight hundred romance scripts.”

“No fight.” Chi Guan immediately denied, then couldn’t help but retort, “Writing scripts and being in love aren’t the same thing. I’ve written many romance scripts too, but when it comes to real life, it’s not the same.”

Lin Qiuyu sighed dramatically, “Oh no, this sounds like you’ve really been in love.”

Chi Guan: “No.”

Lin Qiuyu: “I get it, I get it, sensitive identities, not good to go public.”

Chi Guan: “…”

The conversation was going nowhere. Chi Guan quickly found an excuse to leave Lin Qiuyu and headed towards the center of the venue, just in time to catch Qi Jingyao walking the red carpet. He wore a pure white suit, the focus of everyone’s attention.

The wind was strong that day, almost strong enough to blow people away, but the crowd was still packed tightly around the venue. Chi Guan could only stand in a corner, looking up at Qi Jingyao, who stood under the large KT board, calmly facing the barrage of cameras from the press.

For a moment.
His gaze shifted, looking towards Chi Guan.

First a slight startle, then a smile flickered across his eyes.

He saw me!

Chi Guan’s heart pounded. He hadn’t told Qi Jingyao he would be attending this event, let alone where he’d be standing, but amidst the sea of people, Qi Jingyao had spotted him instantly.

It felt like a subtle twist of fate.

Suddenly, a commotion broke out in the distance. Chi Guan looked up to see the large KT board swaying dangerously in the wind, then with a loud crash, the board and its stand came crashing down towards Qi Jingyao!

As the board threatened to engulf Qi Jingyao, Chi Guan, without knowing where the reflex came from, sprinted onto the stage and with a forceful push, shoved Qi Jingyao out of the way.

It hurt.

The heavy display board crashed down on Chi Guan, and his consciousness blurred instantly.

It hurt.
Not just physically, but his mind felt like it was splitting open, thousands of thoughts like arrows breaking through barriers, recklessly bursting forth.

Chi Guan suddenly remembered, at some point in the past, he had done the same thing. There was someone important to him who had been targeted for assassination, and his reaction was just as quick. He had stepped in front of that person, allowing the arrows to pierce his own body.

The pain in the wound was numbing, but his heart ached dully because at that time, that person had held him, crying bitterly, with snot and tears mingled together.

Not at all like an emperor.

Chi Guan struggled to reach out, his fingertips trembling as he gently caressed that person’s face, his tone still carrying a bit of scolding, “Why cry? It’s not like I don’t want you anymore.”

The person wiped away tears, repeatedly kissing him, cautiously saying, “Don’t leave me… Sui Jian.”