WYLM | Chapter 6

Qi Jingyao had made up his mind to let Chi Guan leave tonight.

Throughout the week, as Chi Guan had been fluctuating between sleep and wakefulness, Qi Jingyao felt as if his own sleep had been stolen, resulting in almost sleepless nights.

During the day, the busy work on set could somewhat distract his mind, but in the quiet of the night, Qi Jingyao couldn’t help but recall Chi Guan’s pained expression that day on set.

If possible, Qi Jingyao certainly hoped that Chi Guan would remember him, but he had not anticipated that the process of remembering would be so painful.

A tug-of-war between reason and emotion ensued, increasingly skewed as Chi Guan continued his days of deep sleep. Qi Jingyao began to wonder: Was that past memory really that important?

Even without those memories, Chi Guan was still Chi Guan, the person he loved. The mark on his body wouldn’t lie. Conversely, he couldn’t bear to see Chi Guan suffer.

If he could have just one wish granted, he would wish for Chi Guan to be safe and happy.

In the end, Qi Jingyao made a firm decision. He planned to remove Chi Guan from the set environment, thinking it best to let the matter rest. He would not push Chi Guan to recall his past anymore.

“I don’t want to,” Chi Guan shook his head firmly, saying, “I’ll be fine soon, just give me a little more time, Teacher Qi.”

Chi Guan’s eyes were wide and stubborn. Qi Jingyao sighed, having anticipated this reaction. Though Chi Guan had lost his memories of his previous life, his temperament hadn’t changed at all, just as stubborn as Suijian had been.

“It’s not that I disdain you, nor that I don’t want you to work.” Qi Jingyao pulled Chi Guan aside, using a pre-prepared reason, “Do you remember the script you turned down last time? The investors have come back to me, willing to offer a higher price hoping you’ll return.”

Of course, Qi Jingyao left out the fact that the investor was his friend, who had made a tidy profit from Chi Guan’s contract breach and had extorted another large sum from Qi Jingyao for this favor…

Chi Guan was stunned, hardly believing his ears: “Really? A price hike? Aren’t we a developing country? How can you all be so rich?”

Qi Jingyao’s expression remained very calm, seemingly explaining for his friend, but actually explaining for himself: “Maybe they just like the script you wrote. After searching high and low, they realized only you can do it, willing to spend this money for you.”

“You rich folks really have some incomprehensible thoughts.” Chi Guan, also remembering Qi Jingyao’s previous offer to multiply his salary by five, sighed helplessly after a moment and said, “Alright then, I’ll go back for now. We can communicate online if there are any issues.”

It wasn’t just about the money. If Qi Jingyao didn’t want Chi Guan to leave, no amount of money would make him go. But Qi Jingyao’s attitude made it clear he didn’t want Chi Guan to stay, so Chi Guan might as well earn some money elsewhere.

“Thank you, Teacher Qi, for letting me go,” Chi Guan still cared about Qi Jingyao, grinning and winking at him, “I will always remember this favor! I will never forget you in my lifetime!”

Qi Jingyao’s lips twitched as if he wanted to say something, but he just smiled and half-jokingly said, “After giving you so much salary, you just thank me with words? Shouldn’t you at least treat me to a meal?”
•

For some time after that, the two didn’t meet. Qi Jingyao was busy with filming every day, and Chi Guan’s days were no less strenuous.

Although the money for the script came from Qi Jingyao, the investors didn’t lower their demands because of it. Chi Guan spent over ten hours each day at his computer, tormented by the script to the point of distraction.

Whenever he had a moment, Chi Guan would complain to Qi Jingyao, though it was mostly in jest, a way to find some amusement amid the work stress.

Qi Jingyao was quite willing to listen to Chi Guan’s rants. Chi Guan’s life was rich, giving Qi Jingyao a sense of reality, but there was another very important reason: after leaving the set, Chi Guan stopped having fevers.

Although writing the script every day was hard, Chi Guan never mentioned any physical discomfort again. Qi Jingyao hinted at it several times, but Chi Guan always said he was fine, telling Qi Jingyao not to worry.

Life day after day was somewhat monotonous but at least stable, without surprises.

Two months later, “The Chronicles of Emperor Jingming” officially wrapped up. Remembering his earlier promise, Chi Guan immediately invited Qi Jingyao to dinner.

Qi Jingyao gladly accepted.

In the restaurant’s private room, the first thing Qi Jingyao noticed when he saw Chi Guan were the dark circles under his eyes.

“What’s happened here?” Qi Jingyao was taken aback, striding over to Chi Guan with a slightly grave expression, “Didn’t you say you were no longer having fevers?”

“I… I haven’t been having fevers…” Chi Guan shrank a little under his gaze, murmuring in a low voice: “I haven’t had a fever since I came back, just… I haven’t been sleeping well.”

It was more than just “not well.”

Since leaving the film city, Chi Guan had stopped having fevers, but the fragmented dreams didn’t end. Instead, they intensified, haunting him every night.

In his dreams, he somehow became the historical Suijian, the reader attendant to Emperor Jingming. He had jumped into a lake to save the emperor when he was pushed by his brothers, and secretly brought him food when he was punished by the old emperor.

As they grew up, they developed feelings that transcended friendship. The then-unenthroned Emperor Jingming had solemnly taken his hand and assured him, “Suijian, in this life, my heart is pleased only by you.”

The most outrageous part was dreaming of dying from an arrow meant for Emperor Jingming, and in his dying moments, the emperor had left a bite mark under his collarbone, vowing to continue their fate in the next life.

Waking up, Chi Guan examined the birthmark on his chest in the mirror, thinking to himself: Daydreams are harmful.

A birthmark is just a birthmark; how could it be linked to past and present lives? There was no scientific basis for it!
But the dreams were so frequent that they created the illusion that they were real. The boundary between reality and dreams blurred.

Besides dreaming, Chi Guan occasionally suffered from headaches, as if someone was stabbing his brain, or as if something was trying to burst out, yet it felt just out of reach.

Qi Jingyao’s expression grew even more serious, pressing him: “Is something on your mind?”

Chi Guan turned his head away, speaking softly: “Not really, I’ve just been having some strange dreams lately…”

He sighed lightly, somewhat helplessly adding: “I probably should take a course. I actually started to believe I’m the historical Suijian, and that Emperor Jingming was my lover in a past life… It’s impossible for that to be true.”

Normally, Chi Guan wouldn’t bring up such absurd things, but he had been troubled for too long and was almost desperate for a solution, needing someone to talk to.

“Why couldn’t it be true?” Qi Jingyao, with furrowed brows, blurted out, “You are Suijian. Those aren’t just dreams; they’re real events from history.”

Qi Jingyao’s tone was very certain, even causing Chi Guan to become confused: “Why would you say that? Those are things from a past life; who can be sure?”

Qi Jingyao took a deep breath, his voice slow and formal: “Because I am Emperor Jingming. I remember the stories from our past life, and you are the beloved I have been searching for.”

Qi Jingyao had intended for Chi Guan to leave the set to spare him from pain, but since Chi Guan continued to revisit those past visions, Qi Jingyao thought it best to just tell him the truth. If it could help him remember, all the better; if not, it wouldn’t make things any worse.

The two sat across from each other in the restaurant, Qi Jingyao detailing their past life’s story to Chi Guan, who looked at him, wanting to say something but hesitating, finally saying: “Teacher Qi, are you alright?”

Qi Jingyao was taken aback: “?”

Chi Guan continued: “I know someone whose partner is a psychology professor at the Fifth Hospital. If you need it, I can introduce you…”

It wasn’t that Chi Guan was unwilling to believe Qi Jingyao, but the news was too shocking, beyond what a person educated through nine years of compulsory education could accept. No normal person could.

“I know you’ve been in a lot of pain searching for that lover, and I really hope to help you, but we can’t just make random matches!” Chi Guan earnestly said, “Teacher Qi, you really got it wrong. I really didn’t know you before, nor was I your lover.”

“Alright, it’s my mistake then. How do you explain the birthmark on your collarbone, then? How do you explain the dreams you’ve been having?” Qi Jingyao’s voice involuntarily rose a bit, asking, “Can you find any reasonable explanation for these?”

“I… You…”
Chi Guan was at a loss for words.

Qi Jingyao’s tone became more urgent, his gaze earnestly fixed on Chi Guan: “I’m not asking you to agree to be with me right away. I just hope you’ll give me a chance to pursue you again.”

“I don’t want to make it hard for you.” After a long silence, Chi Guan turned his eyes away, murmuring reluctantly: “But I don’t have those feelings for you. I never thought about being with you.”

He liked Qi Jingyao a lot; he had been moved to tears the first time he saw him. Later, he learned screenwriting and became a scriptwriter for him. He had liked him for eleven years, but this liking was more like a one-sided love. He only wished Qi Jingyao well, not wanting Qi Jingyao’s affection in return.

Qi Jingyao had no comeback for that, a statement more painful than anything else he had heard, as if his heart had been immersed in highly concentrated citric acid.

Qi Jingyao was silent longer than Chi Guan, so long that Chi Guan thought he wouldn’t speak again. Finally, he said, “I’m sorry for bothering you. Just pretend I never said anything. I was naive to think you might remember something.”

The two sat opposite each other, Qi Jingyao’s expression indifferent, his demeanor seemingly unconcerned, yet the light filtering through his long, dense eyelashes cast a particularly forlorn shadow over him.

A secret bitterness spread through Chi Guan’s heart, like a hardy wildflower taking root.

So cunning, Chi Guan thought.

Qi Jingyao truly knew how to soften his heart, playing the victim so well that despite his reason telling him it was impossible, Qi Jingyao’s pitiable look made him waver.

What if… what Qi Jingyao said was true?
What if… they really had been lovers in a past life?

Not to mention that the details Qi Jingyao spoke of did match his dreams, and if Qi Jingyao had indeed been searching for him for years, Chi Guan could barely imagine how heartbroken he must be now, finally finding his long-lost love, only for them not to remember him.

Even though Chi Guan didn’t remember any of the things Qi Jingyao mentioned, he felt his heart twitch painfully, as if fine needles were pricking him.

Reason and emotion tangled continuously, the balance shifting subtly without his notice.

In the overly quiet room, Chi Guan heard himself calling out Qi Jingyao’s name.

Qi Jingyao looked up.

“I don’t remember the things you mentioned, nor am I sure I’m the lover you’re looking for,” Chi Guan said slowly, weighing his words, “but if you can prove that I really am your lover, I agree to be with you. Is that okay?”