It was a strange feeling. Sheng Min’s face was still the same, yet somehow, at an unknown moment, his demeanor had almost become like someone else’s.
An illusion, Zhang Shan thought. For some reason, her high heels took an involuntary step back.
She tentatively called out again. The person in front of her remained silent, their dark eyes staring so intensely that Zhang Shan felt a chill creep up her spine.
The eerie silence on stage lasted about a minute. The reporters below exchanged confused glances, while fans in the livestream chat were already buzzing.
“What’s happening? Is my internet lagging?”
“This feels tense… what’s going on?”
“Sheng Min!” Zhang Shan, unable to keep up appearances any longer, raised her voice.
“Hmm?”
Li Xuan’s reply came with a faint smirk.
He had won the bet.
Gambling was just like fighting—whoever was willing to go all in had a chance of winning in the end.
Even if that chance came at the cost of his own life.
His gaze swept across the cameras, the rapidly scrolling chat, and finally landed on Zhang Shan.
“President Zhang?” Li Xuan smiled. “No need to be so nervous.”
At last, he reached for the pen.
Zhang Shan exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding—only for a crisp snap to ring out as the signing pen was broken in two and casually tossed aside.
The rapid clicking of cameras erupted in an instant. Excited murmurs filled the air, unable to suppress the thrill of capturing breaking news. The screen flooded with exclamation points and question marks.
Only a few rare comments stood out—
“Wait, I have that pen too. It’s made of solid wood… can it really break that easily?”
“What are you doing?” Zhang Shan’s eyes widened, though she forced herself to maintain a smile—making her expression look even more distorted.
She stepped closer, turned off the microphone, and gritted her teeth. “What’s the meaning of this, Sheng Min? Are you trying to back out now? What about your boyfriend?”
She regretted saying it the moment the words left her mouth.
Because the gaze before her, as light as it was, felt sharp as ice shards—so sharp that Zhang Shan almost thought he was going to kill her.
“Oh? A boyfriend?”
The voice was soft and slow, as if whispering something intimate in her ear.
“A boyfriend like that… why would I need him?”
“What are they saying?”
“No idea. Can’t read their lips from this angle…”
The reporters below buzzed like a thousand sparrows chirping at once. Even the executives and artists seated behind them sensed something was off, peeking forward curiously.
Zhang Shan’s entire body went stiff.
In all her years in this industry, she had never encountered a situation so completely out of control.
Yet the person beside her remained utterly composed, watching the noisy crowd with a relaxed indifference—
Until, suddenly, the entire room fell into an eerie silence.
“Are you done talking?”
Li Xuan didn’t actually feel as relaxed as he appeared. This time, the swap felt strange—different from before. It was as if he couldn’t fully control the body, like his soul could be stripped away at any moment.
But he couldn’t leave Sheng Min with a mess to clean up. He had to see this through, without leaving any stains behind. His fingers, hanging by his side, dug into his palm, using the pain to keep himself clear-headed. Gritting his teeth, he forced a smile and glanced around.
“No one else has anything to add? …Alright.”
He nodded. “Then I’ll speak.”
Facing the camera directly, his expression was sincere. “First, I owe an apology to all my fans and the journalists here. I know many of you have been concerned about my future plans, and I’ve taken a long time to respond. The truth is, leaving is a very difficult decision for me.”
He smiled slightly, looking at the crowd of reporters, and then effortlessly dropped the bombshell.
“Yes, I won’t be renewing my contract.”
“Not renewing?! Really?”
Excited yet skeptical, the reporters exchanged hushed discussions.
“But he was just about to sign—wasn’t he?”
“Yeah, what’s going on?”
“He never actually said he was renewing. His exact words were that he’d ‘soon reveal the answer’…”
“Shh, we can’t hear properly.”
Suppressing the discomfort he was feeling, Li Xuan picked up the document from the table, his tone calm and composed. “And today is not about playing games—it’s about closing a chapter. When I signed this years ago, I was a nobody. Over these past eight years, I’ve gained everything I have now—fans, the spotlight, and a version of myself that is no longer the same as back then.”
“As I walked up here just now, I tried to recall how I felt when I first signed this contract. Was I excited? Nervous? I’ve forgotten. And it doesn’t matter… Everything in life moves forward like a river—there’s no turning back.”
He sighed softly, lowering his gaze in a show of regret. “I’ve spent over a third of my life at Dongyi… This decision wasn’t easy for me, nor for the company. But just like that pen earlier—once it’s broken, it can’t be put back together. And once fate has run its course, it’s the same.”
Zhang Shan could no longer sit still. She reached for the microphone, but Li Xuan was faster—he grabbed her wrist and shoved the contract into her hands.
“Thank you, President Zhang.” His voice carried the perfect blend of gratitude and regret. “In the end, you still supported my decision.”
Pain shot up Zhang Shan’s wrist—his grip was strong enough to make her bones ache. She thought she could almost hear them shifting. But she had lost her chance to argue. Li Xuan had twisted the situation, sealing off all her escape routes.
“You were the one who handed me this contract back then,” he continued smoothly. “And now, I’m returning it to you. Announcing this today isn’t just for the company—it also puts my own heart at ease. Earlier, we introduced new talents who’ve signed on with Dongyi. With their arrival, I believe the company will continue to grow, and I truly wish it the best.”
Without batting an eye, he spun his words into a perfect performance. As he let go of her wrist, he leaned in ever so slightly, offering Zhang Shan a gentlemanly yet hollow embrace.
“Jie.” His voice was soft, even affectionate, yet it sent a chill down her spine. “Thank you.”
“Is this some new way to go viral?” A reporter murmured, eyes gleaming with excitement. “I’ve covered countless press conferences, but I’ve never seen one unfold like this…”
“Well, our KPI for the week is definitely covered…”
The press room buzzed with excitement. On the livestream, comments flooded the screen, most of them applauding his decision to break free from the company.
“…Something feels off,” a reporter whispered, frowning. “Was this really planned in advance?”
“Of course,” an experienced journalist nearby scoffed. “Isn’t it obvious? Sheng Min never wanted to renew. He’s just doing the company a favor by showing up today and giving their new signings a little boost. Didn’t you hear his speech? If you ask me, he’s already done more than enough for them.”
The chaotic discussions below only made the atmosphere on stage more surreal. Zhang Shan’s face was frozen in a stiff smile, her mind racing. No matter how she replayed the events in her head, she couldn’t figure out when things had spiraled out of her control. Had Sheng Min been planning this from the moment he agreed to renew?
There were no answers. And the opportunity to correct the course had already passed.
She had no choice now. What could she do—stand there and admit that she had been played?
The heat in the room was stifling. Her carefully applied makeup was beginning to smudge.
She looked up at “Sheng Min,” meeting a pair of cold, unfamiliar eyes.
This isn’t Sheng Min.
How could this possibly be Sheng Min?
A voice screamed in her mind.
Who was this person? This phantom who had turned the tide in an instant, flipping the entire situation upside down?
And in that moment, Zhang Shan realized—she had no way out.
Everything she could have used against Sheng Min—this ‘Sheng Min’ didn’t care about any of it.
Maybe he’s bluffing. Maybe it was a trick. Desperate, Zhang Shan gritted her teeth and forced out her last card.
“Your boyfriend—”
“Oh.”
Li Xuan chuckled. His voice was light, almost indifferent, but in truth, he was barely holding on.
“Consider him dead.”
Then, with practiced grace, he turned to face the cameras and the reporters below, bowing slightly.
“These past eight years have come to an end. Thank you all for witnessing and accompanying me through this journey. Thank you.”
With that, he set the microphone down and walked off the stage without a second glance.
“Sheng Min!”
The reporters snapped back to reality, calling after him.
“What are your plans next?”
“You’re not renewing—are you planning to start your own studio?”
“Just a few more words, please!”
Desperate to chase the story, the reporters hurried after him, following all the way backstage—out of the building.
But by the time they got there—
The person at the center of the storm was already gone.
Only the endless rain remained, pattering gently against the ground.
…..
The sound of rain, mixed with the continuous knocking on the window, pulled Sheng Min out of unconsciousness. He slowly opened his eyes and was first met with the sight of the deflated airbag. The heavy nylon fabric hanging down around him obstructed his vision, and his mind was still in a mess. However, the noises outside the car grew increasingly clear.
Amidst the loud discussions and the wailing of sirens, he heard a young man repeatedly slapping the window, shouting in panic, “Nineteen! Nineteen…”
Sheng Min shook his head forcefully, trying to regain his senses. He flexed his numb fingers, reached for the car door, and tried to push it open. But the frame was slightly deformed, and after several attempts, he still couldn’t get it to budge.
The noise outside was getting unbearable. Gritting his teeth, Sheng Min mustered all his strength and kicked the door. The moment the door was forced open, he tumbled out, only to be caught by a pair of anxious hands.
“Nineteen, are you okay?”
“He’s out! Ah, he’s alive!”
The onlookers erupted into a commotion, holding up their phones to take pictures and stream the scene live. It was hard to tell whether their tone carried relief or disappointment.
“He survived such a brutal crash? Alright, nothing to see here.”
“What about the other one?”
“That one got it bad… Blood everywhere. Scared me half to death! Seriously, young people need to stop driving recklessly in this kind of weather. Look at this traffic jam! I was supposed to pick up my grandson!”
The drizzle mixed with fine snow came down relentlessly. Even with an umbrella, it was useless—Sheng Min’s coat was quickly soaked.
The flashing red and blue lights of the police car made his vision spin. Not far away, a traffic officer, holding a walkie-talkie, looked anxious—probably because they had been unable to open the car door from the outside and were requesting backup. The moment the door was forced open from within, he froze in shock and stammered into his radio.
“W-wait, he’s out.”
With visible disbelief, the officer hurried over.
“Sir, are you alright? We’ve already called an ambulance—it should be here soon.”
The officer scrutinized him. This was absurd, he thought. The crash was so severe, yet the driver looked completely unharmed, aside from a few minor bruises and scratches. What kind of luck was this?
As a rookie, he didn’t have much experience, but he still followed the standard procedure. “Are you experiencing any discomfort? Can you cooperate with me for an information registration?”
Sheng Min stared at him sluggishly, feeling lightheaded—not like someone who had just survived a car crash, but rather like someone who had just awoken from a high fever. His limbs refused to obey him, and his mind was blank. The last thing he remembered was being on stage, about to sign the contract…
“Sir?” The officer frowned.
“Why are you asking for information when he’s in this state?!” The man beside him angrily interrupted, then turned to Sheng Min with concern. “Nineteen, are you alright…”
Sheng Min forced himself to focus. This person looked familiar, but he couldn’t quite recall. “Who are you? … What did you just call me?”
“I…” The man was stunned for a moment. “Nineteen, it’s me! I’m Zhao Jizhe… Did you hit your head in the crash? … Why is the ambulance taking so long…”
His voice wavered, on the verge of tears.
Zhao Jizhe. Car crash.
It felt like grasping at a single thread in a tangle of chaos.
Sheng Min turned his head, his gaze falling on the sedan whose front end was completely crushed. The license plate was familiar. The dented car door, the shattered window reflecting a familiar face—
The swap had happened again.
His breath hitched. Li Xuan had been in a car accident? And at this exact moment?
Something felt off, but there was no time to dwell on it. He didn’t know whether to be terrified or relieved. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. With shaking hands, he fumbled inside his coat for Li Xuan’s phone, his fingers too weak to hold onto it properly. It nearly slipped.
“Nineteen…” Zhao Jizhe called out hesitantly.
But Sheng Min ignored him. His fingers trembled as he dialed his own number.
One second. Two seconds… No answer.
Of course. He remembered now—his phone had been set to silent.
Since he was here now, that meant Li Xuan was at Dongyi…
With all those reporters, Zhang Shan pressing him from all sides—how would Li Xuan handle it?
A tight knot formed in Sheng Min’s chest, so intense that he forgot all about his own physical discomfort. He hurriedly opened a livestream app, but in his panic, he accidentally clicked on WeChat instead.
At the top of his pinned chats, the most recent message was a bank account transaction notification.
A bad feeling crept up his spine. Sheng Min hesitated for two seconds before tapping on it. A withdrawal notification—a massive sum—transferred to his account. Li Xuan’s balance was now zero.
A cold chill crept up his back.
He couldn’t avoid the terrifying thought forming in his mind. His lips pressed tightly together as he finally managed to open the livestream app. The broadcast had already ended.
But the aftermath was still brewing on Weibo. “Contract termination” had replaced “contract renewal” at the top of the trending topics. Watching the playback clips, Sheng Min saw the person on stage speaking smoothly, flawlessly—there was no sign of being unprepared.
His lips trembled violently. His face went pale.
“Sir.” The officer, noticing his odd expression, became wary. “How are you feeling? We’ll need you to cooperate for a breathalyzer test…”
Judging by the way he looked, the officer thought they might need a drug test, too.
But before he could finish, Sheng Min suddenly grabbed his wrist.
“How did the accident happen?”
“You don’t remember anything?” The officer was taken aback. “The exact cause is still under investigation…”
Sheng Min looked around at the bizarre crash scene. The endless line of stopped cars—how could he have just crashed straight into the median barrier for no reason?
A madman.
The thought made his chest ache. And yet, he couldn’t stop himself from wanting to find him.
The moment that thought took root, it became uncontrollable.
He lurched forward, pushing through the crowd, trying to run.
“Sir, you can’t leave yet!” The officer quickly blocked him. Zhao Jizhe reacted even more strongly, panicking. “Nineteen… You’re hurt! You—”
“Move!” Sheng Min pushed him aside. His body was weak, but Zhao Jizhe still stumbled back, looking at him with a wounded expression.
And at that moment, Sheng Min finally remembered where he had seen him before.
He had shown up at the theater twice.
So he wasn’t a crazy fan.
“…Why are you here?” he asked instinctively.
“I didn’t mean to follow you,” Zhao Jizhe misunderstood, stammering as he explained, “I was worried about you. I was afraid something might happen. I didn’t know the situation at the company had gotten so serious. Your adoptive father didn’t tell me anything like that…”
His words were rushed and disorganized in his panic. Sheng Min felt dizzy, unable to fully grasp what he was saying, but he caught a crucial phrase—company situation. Zhao Jizhe was involved in this too.
“Why are you all pushing him like this…” Sheng Min asked weakly, standing in the wind and snow like a wounded white crane. His eyes burned, swollen with heat, yet no tears fell—they had already been dried away by the cold wind.
In the distance, the faint sound of an approaching ambulance siren could be heard. The bewildered traffic officer, as if seeing a savior, firmly held onto Sheng Min with both hands. Sheng Min, still dazed, wanted to find Li Xuan but seemed unable to fully control the body. No matter how much he struggled, he couldn’t break free.
“Sir, sir, please calm down,” the officer raised his voice, not understanding their conversation but knowing he had to stop Sheng Min from leaving. “You need to cooperate with our investigation. Otherwise, I’ll have to consider this as fleeing the scene… Also, I see that you’re physically weak. Even if you don’t have visible injuries, you should get checked at the hospital. If there’s internal damage, the consequences could be serious.”
These words finally made Sheng Min pause. Yes, Li Xuan was now in his body. At the very least, he shouldn’t be in any life-threatening danger. The most urgent matter was to confirm that Li Xuan’s body—which had been in the car accident—was safe.
Seeing his reaction soften, the officer let out a breath of relief. The ambulance finally arrived, and paramedics hurriedly jumped out, pushing through the crowd with a stretcher. “Where’s the injured person?”
“Over here!” The officer waved them over.
The paramedics paused in confusion as they looked at the wreckage of the accident scene. “I mean the car accident victim.”
“It’s him,” the officer gestured toward Sheng Min. “No visible wounds, but he may have hit his head. He’s showing symptoms of a concussion.”
Zhao Jizhe clung tightly to Sheng Min, unwilling to let go, trying to go with him to the hospital.
“Are you a relative or friend of the patient?” a paramedic asked.
Zhao Jizhe nodded eagerly. “Yes! I’m his brother—”
“No,” Sheng Min coldly cut him off. His voice was weak, but his tone was firm. “I don’t know him.”
Zhao Jizhe’s face twisted as if he were about to cry. But Sheng Min felt no sympathy. He resolutely pulled his hand away and, with the support of the paramedics, climbed into the ambulance.
Through the rear window, he saw Zhao Jizhe running a few steps after them. As the ambulance pulled away, rain blurred the glass, and Zhao Jizhe’s figure gradually faded from view.
In truth, Sheng Min no longer had the energy to look outside. The vehicle jostled as it drove toward the hospital. In the cramped space of the ambulance, his breathing became increasingly labored. The paramedics seemed to be urging him to lie down, speaking in a hurried, anxious tone, but their voices blurred together. A strange sensation crept over him, like his soul was being pulled away. Just as the discomfort reached its peak—
Bang!
A sudden impact struck his forehead, and the suffocating feeling vanished instantly. He looked up, only to find himself in a completely different setting.
He was now in the backseat of a taxi. The driver frowned, muttering, “The ambulance just hit us…” Then turned to check on him. “Did that wake you? You passed out the moment you got in—you must be exhausted. I had to brake hard just now, but it was just a minor scrape. Their fault. You okay?”
Sheng Min froze, then instinctively turned to look outside. “Ambulance?!”
At the same time—inside the ambulance, a paramedic—who had just been preparing to place an oxygen mask on the patient—stared in shock. The supposedly weak and disoriented man had suddenly sat upright on the stretcher.
“Wait… What the…?”
Li Xuan ignored the paramedic’s astonished gaze. He immediately moved to open the door and get out.
The paramedic, thinking he was panicking due to back-to-back accidents, quickly tried to reassure him. “It’s okay, it wasn’t serious. Just a minor collision. Please lie back down.”
But Li Xuan paid no attention. The traffic officer had already stepped out to handle yet another accident. The paramedics were unable to stop him. With one swift motion, he jumped down from the ambulance, forcing the medical staff to follow him.
A few steps away, standing in front of the now-dented taxi, was a young man who had just stepped out, equally shaken.
The snow was still falling, but now without the rain mixed in.
When was the last time they had seen each other? It felt like a lifetime ago.
The moment their eyes met, Sheng Min looked unbearably fragile. Li Xuan wanted to offer him a reassuring smile, to say that everything was okay. But before he could speak, Sheng Min suddenly frowned deeply.
“Your hand…”
Li Xuan glanced down. Blood was trickling from his left wrist, snaking over the back of his hand,staining the pale fingers that had just rushed forward to grip his own.
Sheng Min’s voice trembled. “Just now… That wound wasn’t there…”
The ambulance had run a red light, causing the minor accident. It wasn’t serious—just a dented bumper and some scratched paint. There had even been an officer present, so the responsibility was clearly assigned. After calling the insurance company, the matter was quickly settled.
Sheng Min followed Li Xuan back into the ambulance. The paramedics, exasperated, went into a flurry of action again, checking him repeatedly to confirm that he was no longer having difficulty breathing. When they noticed the gash on his wrist, they were all taken aback.
“Did this just open up suddenly?”
The medical staff exchanged uncertain glances. No one could remember seeing the injury before.
Judging by the wound, it had likely been caused by broken glass in the accident—tiny shards still clung to the edges. But for it to have bled so much for so long without anyone noticing? And why would it suddenly open now? It didn’t make sense.
Yet, they had no better explanation. And besides, strange things had been happening with this patient from the beginning.
One of the nurses, still suspicious, stole a glance at the young man who had quietly climbed into the ambulance with Li Xuan. There was something strangely familiar about him…
Sensing her scrutiny, Li Xuan subtly shifted to block her view.
But Sheng Min noticed none of this. He was staring intently at the thick bandages now wrapped around Li Xuan’s wrist. Then, slowly, he lowered his gaze to his own wrist.
Li Xuan knew exactly what Sheng Min was looking at—this wound was almost in the exact same spot as the scar Sheng Min had left when he slit his wrist.
Like an omen or a warning, Li Xuan had an indescribable premonition—there wouldn’t be another swap between them.
At the hospital, they underwent thorough examinations. Li Xuan felt it was unnecessary, but when he saw the coldness in Sheng Min’s eyes, he didn’t dare argue.
From CT scans to MRIs, they did everything. Aside from the wound on his hand and a mild concussion, there were no major injuries. It wasn’t even serious enough to require hospitalization. The doctor couldn’t help but sigh in amazement multiple times—it was practically a miracle.
After leaving the examination room, the traffic police were still waiting, so Li Xuan cooperated and gave his statement. When asked about the cause of the accident, he quickly glanced at Sheng Min before calmly replying, “I stayed up too late. The rain was too heavy, and I couldn’t see clearly.”
“But the road was already blocked at the time. Why did you suddenly start the car?”
At those words, Sheng Min’s face darkened inch by inch. Li Xuan immediately interrupted, “I was too exhausted. I don’t remember… Maybe I mistook the brake for the accelerator.”
The officer looked at him with suspicion, but since the alcohol and drug tests came back clean, there was no concrete evidence against him.
“Sign here for the accident report. Your car was obstructing traffic, so we towed it to the police station. Please retrieve it as soon as possible. Once the compensation amount is determined, we’ll contact you.” The officer was rather considerate. “It’s likely to exceed 2,000 yuan, which won’t be covered by the mandatory insurance. Do you have commercial insurance?”
“Yes.”
The officer nodded, then advised him, “Luckily, no one was hurt. You need to be more careful. Don’t drive while fatigued—car accidents are no joke. You were incredibly lucky this time. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be sitting here unscathed.”
On the way back, Sheng Min remained completely silent. Li Xuan wanted to speak several times but swallowed his words when he saw how exhausted Sheng Min looked.
The journey wasn’t long, but it felt agonizingly drawn out.
Once they finally got home, Li Xuan couldn’t hold back any longer and reached out for Sheng Min’s hand. “Sheng Min—”
Sheng Min deftly avoided his touch and spoke with a detached tone. “Your hand is injured. Don’t exert it… You’ve been busy all day. Are you hungry? Do you want to eat something?”
The way he said it almost sounded like mockery. Li Xuan felt uneasy. “I’m not hungry.”
“I’ll make congee,” Sheng Min said. But before Li Xuan could respond, he had already continued, “I think there’s still a yellow croaker in the fridge.”
Li Xuan knew Sheng Min was angry, though he wasn’t sure exactly how far that anger went. He figured that keeping his head down was the safest approach, so when Sheng Min walked into the kitchen, he quickly followed.
“Go sit outside.”
“It’s fine, I’ll help.”
Seeing Sheng Min reach for the fish, Li Xuan immediately went to open the fridge. When Sheng Min reached for a plate, Li Xuan quickly opened the cupboard to hand it to him. But he had forgotten about his injured wrist. Lacking strength, the porcelain plate slipped from his grasp and shattered into pieces.
The air seemed to freeze for a moment.
“Are you hurt?” Sheng Min asked immediately.
“No.” Li Xuan glanced at Sheng Min and saw that he hadn’t been hit by any shards, which relieved him. He instinctively squatted down to clean up, but Sheng Min grabbed his elbow.
“Get out.”
“It’s fine—”
“I said, get out!”
The thinly maintained composure shattered like the porcelain on the floor. Sheng Min’s eyes were harsher than ever. Li Xuan let out a quiet sigh and grasped his hand instead. “It doesn’t hurt, really. It’s just a small wound…” He even tried to smile. “Isn’t it kind of fitting? Now we match.”
Sheng Min froze. Then he violently yanked his hand away and stared directly into Li Xuan’s eyes. “Fitting? What’s fitting? You tell me—what’s so good about this? Good enough for you to crash the car on purpose?”
His voice was drained of all emotion, more fragile than the broken porcelain beneath their feet. Li Xuan found himself at a loss for words. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “No, I—”
“What if the swap hadn’t happened?” Sheng Min interrupted, his face ghostly pale. “Did you have any certainty at all when you crashed? Did you even think about that?”
Li Xuan couldn’t answer.
Sheng Min let out a bitter laugh and unconsciously took a step back, his voice unwavering. “You did think about it. That’s why you transferred all your money to me.”
Seeing Sheng Min like this was unbearable. Li Xuan had no excuses, no way to deny it. He withdrew his hand, which had been frozen midair, and said wearily, “That money was meant for your contract termination anyway.”
Yes, he had thought about it. But so what? At that moment, he had no other choice.
If the swap had worked, great. And if it hadn’t… at least Sheng Min wouldn’t have to be threatened anymore. The money he left behind would be enough for legal fees to break his contract.
Li Xuan deflected, “What’s the point of thinking about ‘what ifs’? The swap happened, didn’t it?”
“So I should just pretend nothing happened?” Sheng Min’s anger flared at his attitude. He bit down hard on his lip, his eyes dark and burning. “Do you even know what you were doing, Li Xuan? When you made that decision, did you even consider me for a second?”
Li Xuan clenched his jaw. “Did you consider me when you secretly signed that contract?!”
Sheng Min stared at him, stunned for a long time, as if he couldn’t understand. “It was only five years… just five years.”
Li Xuan shook his head, his tone firm. “Not even for a minute—not even for a second—would I let you sacrifice yourself for me.”
“This wasn’t a sacrifice! I did it willingly!” Sheng Min frowned. “Does that really matter more than your life?”
“Yes! Everything about you is more important than me!”
Li Xuan didn’t hesitate, not hiding anything anymore. “You wanted to leave, and I couldn’t let you stay in that industry—not for anyone, and especially not for me!”
His voice remained steady, but the veins in his neck were subtly visible. “That industry will only wear you down, swallow you whole! If staying means compromising yourself, then we might as well—”
“Might as well what?”
Li Xuan cut himself off mid-sentence, realizing he had said too much.
But Sheng Min took a step forward, crushing the broken shards beneath his feet. “Might as well what? Say it.”
Li Xuan already regretted it. He could say whatever nonsense he wanted in front of Zhang Shan, but he couldn’t bring himself to say that word to Sheng Min…
Sheng Min looked at Li Xuan’s frustrated expression, feeling numb all over, as if he had fallen into a cloud. He opened his mouth a few times but couldn’t form any words. Instead, he turned around and walked toward the door.
“Sheng Min!”
Li Xuan had never panicked like this before. Without time to think, he rushed forward and wrapped his arms around Sheng Min from behind, holding on no matter how much he struggled.
In truth, Sheng Min was mindful of his injured hand and didn’t dare to use too much force. Still, his eyes were already red with anger.
“Sheng Min…” Li Xuan reached out to touch his face, but Sheng Min smacked his hand away.
“Should I be grateful to you? Should I throw myself into your arms, weeping, and kiss you?”
It felt like being back at the accident scene, with all the thoughts he didn’t want to recall flooding his mind again. Sheng Min was both aggressive and heartbreakingly vulnerable.
“You’re so noble, Li Xuan. Your love is so great that you’re willing to die for me.”
Li Xuan wanted to speak, but Sheng Min covered his mouth with his hand, his voice filled with resentment.
“But I can’t! I can’t die for you!”
“Do you know, Li Xuan?” A tear slipped uncontrollably from Sheng Min’s left eye. “So many, so many times, even when you weren’t by my side, it was because of you—because I thought of you—that I wanted to keep living.”
The tears blurred his vision. Staring at Li Xuan’s face so close to his, Sheng Min realized that, in this moment, he truly hated him. He hated his love.
But he couldn’t really hate him. He had no reason to blame him either. They had both been doing the same thing all along. Li Xuan was the only person in the world he couldn’t forgive, yet had to understand.
Because love was irrational. It made people act foolishly, wishing they could be even more foolish, just to take on the other person’s pain.
But they were already one. His suffering had always been Li Xuan’s as well. This was a dead-end with no solution.
Li Xuan slowly pulled him into his arms, and Sheng Min, unable to push him away anymore, inhaled his familiar scent and broke down into sobs.
“Li Xuan… I can endure everything else. I don’t care about anything else. I just want you.”
All the fear, anxiety, and helplessness burst out in that moment and then faded away. Li Xuan gently stroked his slender shoulders, and at last, his own tears fell as well.
😭😭😭😭