WYLM | Chapter 7

He was just too soft-hearted.

Chi Guan thought that this matter had nothing to do with him. Even if there was some connection, it belonged to a past life, not to him in this life.

Although discussing past and present lives was pointless, Chi Guan always felt that he and Sui Jian had different memories. Even if it really was a matter of past lives, until he remembered those past memories, they were two separate people.

Moreover, he might not even be Sui Jian.

But the words were already out, and obviously, there was no taking them back. So, Chi Guan could only console himself: this was not just for Qi Jingyao, but also to find the truth behind his own dreams.

Qi Jingyao’s eyes lit up instantly. Despite being a wildly popular actor, he looked like a young man experiencing his first crush. He couldn’t help but confirm with Chi Guan, “Are you serious? You’re not just humoring me, right? I’m easy to fool, you know. I’ll believe anything you say.”

This was the first time Chi Guan had seen him like this. It was a bit heart-wrenching, yet somewhat amusing, so he playfully teased him, “If you don’t believe it, then forget it. Let’s pretend you never said anything, and I never said anything. We can just go back to how things were before.”

Qi Jingyao immediately said, “No.”

“It’s too late to back out now.” He looked at Chi Guan with slight annoyance, yet couldn’t help but smile, pointing at his head, “I’m not as forgetful as you. I remember every single word you’ve said.”

Chi Guan was amused, a slight smile curling at the corners of his mouth, his gaze towards Qi Jingyao carrying a hint of indulgent brightness, “Alright, remember it then. I won’t take it back.”

For a long time after that, the two remained in a vague, ambiguous state. Qi Jingyao excitedly took Chi Guan to many places, explored many relics, and shared many stories about their past, each one heartfelt and rich.

Chi Guan dreamed less and less, but soon believed what Qi Jingyao said about having memories of a past life.

The poignant stories always moved people. Chi Guan enjoyed listening to Qi Jingyao tell them, but to him, those stories were just that—stories. He viewed them from the perspective of an outsider, not as if he was the protagonist.

Qi Jingyao’s demeanor was calm, but Chi Guan felt an inexplicable sense of defeat.

Was Qi Jingyao mistaken?

Was he really not the lover Qi Jingyao was looking for?

On closer thought, the similarities between him and “Sui Jian” weren’t that many. The birthmark might just coincidentally look that way, and dreams were inherently bizarre, offering little to go on.

As for the appearance or personality that Qi Jingyao mentioned, historical records of Sui Jian were scarce, with no portraits left behind. Too much time had passed; no one could guarantee that Qi Jingyao’s memories weren’t blurred or confused.

Even if all these similarities added up, they didn’t prove anything. This world was full of coincidences, maybe it was just a series of coincidences that had befallen him.

Logic told him he should share his thoughts with Qi Jingyao, but his emotions pulled at him: Qi Jingyao had been wonderful to him during this time, and Chi Guan, who had adored the actor for eleven years, couldn’t remain completely unmoved.

So he dragged his feet, and time slipped by—half a year passed in the blink of an eye.

As spring turned to winter, the winds that met him carried a bone-chilling cold. After a night of heavy rain, dry yellow leaves littered the ground.

That night, Chi Guan, huddled next to the radiator editing a document on his computer, noticed a WeChat notification blinking. It was from a friend who also adored Emperor Jing Ming.

Ming Ruyue: [Chi Chi, did you see the trending topic? Archaeologists have discovered an ancient painting, after a series of investigations and debates, they speculate it’s a portrait of that young scholar from Emperor Jing Ming’s time]

Chi Guan, who had been scratching his head in frustration, sat up straight in response.

He replied to Ming Ruyue: [I’ll check it out!!!]

After opening Weibo, he hesitated to click on the trending topic.

Nervous.

Afraid.

Worried.

Chi Guan even recalled how anxious he had been when registering for the college entrance exam years ago—he desperately wanted to know the answers, yet feared knowing them.

What if the portrait looked like him?

What if it didn’t?

A torrent of emotions flooded Chi Guan’s mind, feeling as if his brain had completely shut down.

Facing it was inevitable, either way, Chi Guan finally mustered the courage and clicked on the Weibo trend, revealing a yellowed, almost blackened image.

After a careful examination, Chi Guan confirmed… this was presumably a person.

The portrait techniques from Emperor Jing Ming’s era were obviously very basic, and with centuries separating them from modern times, the image was completely blurred, barely recognizable as a person.

Reflecting on his earlier anxiety, Chi Guan felt both amused and helpless, but another voice in his mind reminded him: you’re hooked.

The moment he saw Ming Ruyue’s message, besides the jumbled emotions, Chi Guan couldn’t help but pray.

—Please, please, don’t let it not look like me.

In that instant, Chi Guan realized that the truth no longer mattered to him; he just wanted to be with Qi Jingyao for a long time.

But how could that be?

Chi Guan felt like a despicable usurper, greedily enjoying Qi Jingyao’s affection without having that segment of memories, fantasizing about being someone else.

He felt guilty.

Qi Jingyao had probably seen the trending topic too, as he soon called, his voice tinged with excitement, “Did you see that photo on Weibo? I had the best craftsman draw it for you back then, it took a whole month. You loved it so much you even secretly hung it in your room.”

“Is that so? Your love story is truly touching.” Chi Guan replied distractedly, then took a deep breath, as if finally making up his mind, “Qi Jingyao.”

Qi Jingyao: “Hmm?”

Chi Guan’s voice was cold, slightly trembling, “I think you’re mistaken, I am not your lover.”

He couldn’t go on like this, Chi Guan thought almost masochistically. He could still control himself now, but if he let things continue, he might really start fabricating evidence.

If he really was Sui Jian, that would be one thing…

But if he wasn’t, he didn’t know how to face it.

Qi Jingyao’s voice paused, instinctively responding, “Chi Guan…”

“Yes, I am Chi Guan.” He repeated, saying, “Chi as in pond, Guan as in again seeing. I am not Sui Jian.”

—

Chi Guan was throwing a tantrum.

That was Qi Jingyao’s thought.

He didn’t know what exactly had happened, but his first instinct was to coax Chi Guan.

After saying that, Chi Guan hung up, and Qi Jingyao, just finishing a day’s shooting, didn’t hesitate and drove straight to Chi Guan’s house.

Standing below Chi Guan’s apartment building, Qi Jingyao didn’t go up, fearing Chi Guan didn’t want to see him, but he sent a message: [I’m downstairs at your place, come down, let’s talk, okay?]

Chi Guan didn’t reply.

Qi Jingyao wasn’t upset, just stood patiently in place, watching the yellow light from Chi Guan’s window, knowing someone was inside.

The night was cold, especially biting in the north, and Qi Jingyao, dressed in just a thin jacket, seemed unaffected, standing straight and tall.

After a long while.

The light in the hallway suddenly went out, and a figure dashed out from the stairwell, taking two or three steps to reach Qi Jingyao.

Chi Guan, out of breath, holding a large down jacket, said, “What are you doing! I didn’t reply to you! Why are you standing here like a fool?”

Qi Jingyao’s face had clearly frozen, but seeing Chi Guan, he cracked a somewhat comical smile, his eyes, however, were gentle, “It’s okay, I’m not cold.”

He asked Chi Guan, “Can you tell me what happened?”

Chi Guan stared at him for a long while, stuffed the down jacket into his hands, then turned and walked back, saying, “You should go back. I’ve made myself very clear. I take back what I said before, and from now on, we have nothing to do with each other.”

The gentler Qi Jingyao acted, the colder Chi Guan became, not daring to look at him any longer, for he really would have run back and hugged him.

Behind Chi Guan, Qi Jingyao stood quietly, holding the down jacket Chi Guan had just given him, still seemingly warm from Chi Guan’s body.

—

Unbeknownst to Qi Jingyao, Chi Guan had sentenced him to death in his heart, no longer answering his calls or messages. If it weren’t for the updates in his friend circle, it would seem as if he had vanished from the face of the earth.

Chi Guan deliberately posted those updates in his friend circle, letting Qi Jingyao know he wasn’t ignoring the messages, he just didn’t want to deal with him, and so Qi Jingyao’s message frequency gradually decreased, until their chat history finally stopped on a certain day.

Qi Jingyao’s WeChat messages ceased, but Chi Guan had grown accustomed to searching for his presence in various trending news and seeing which interviews he had accepted, where he had been caught on camera.

#QiJingyao coughed three times in one sentence#

This entry had just topped the trending charts, and Chi Guan immediately took notice. He clicked on the entry, finding a video interview of Qi Jingyao.

He had lost weight.

That was Chi Guan’s first impression.

Then, he heard Qi Jingyao’s coughing.

Suppressing, restraining, yet seemingly about to cough out his internal organs.

How could he let himself be so damaged?

Chi Guan frowned, thinking how Qi Jingyao didn’t realize his fans would worry about him?

Not just fans, Chi Guan would worry too.

Worry so much he couldn’t sleep.

Late at night.

After tossing and turning countless times in bed, Chi Guan finally couldn’t stand it any longer, opened Qi Jingyao’s assistant’s WeChat, and asked, [Where is Teacher Qi staying in the hospital?]

Half an hour later, Chi Guan rushed to the hospital’s VIP ward, finding Qi Jingyao quietly lying there, his eyes bright and alert.

Chi Guan’s steps froze.

No way, it’s the middle of the night, doesn’t Qi Jingyao sleep?

He stood there, not knowing whether to stay or go, awkwardly smiling at Qi Jingyao, saying half-heartedly, “What a coincidence, I was just passing by and didn’t expect to see you here.”

Qi Jingyao lay in bed, his eyelids slightly lifted, lightly sizing up Chi Guan, knowing he didn’t believe him, but still unwilling to puncture his paper-thin lie.

The assistant, seeing Chi Guan, came over enthusiastically, smiling, “Teacher Chi, you’re here? I heard you were coming, so I specifically woke up Brother Qi, you should talk to him!”

Chi Guan: “.”

So you little rascal had already tipped him off.