This dream felt more real than any before.

No longer were there vague, formless patches of light blurring before his eyes. Instead, everything was clear, unfolding inch by inch before him like a film.

It was as if some long-sealed lock had finally been broken.

Gu Qichi saw the “past.”

Not the memories he had once believed belonged to “Gu Qichi,” but memories that truly belonged to himself.

Gu Qichi remembered everything.

He was not a transmigrator.

He had always belonged to this world. He was the original, real Gu Qichi.

It was only that those past memories had been too painful, and that fire had carved itself too deeply into him. His mind had formed a defense mechanism, sealing away that part of his memory and even deceiving itself into believing that he had been trapped inside a novel.

But it wasn’t like that at all.

It was Gu Yuning, just as he had claimed, who was the true intruder into this world.

From the age of nine, Gu Yuning had entered this world and, using his knowledge of the “future,” repeatedly sowed discord between the Gu family and Gu Qichi, stealing them away from Gu Qichi bit by bit until he had taken everything from him—every piece of the beautiful life that should have been his.

Gu Qichi was like a traveler who had lost his sense of direction, stumbling through a tunnel called “memory,” unable to find its exit no matter how hard he searched.

He was still burning with fever.

His body remained curled unconsciously into itself, his brows tightly knit, like an infant with no sense of safety, trying with all its might to protect itself.

Bo Yu had rushed over straight from the airport.

Wen Xi and Luo Qianqian had also arrived at the hospital as quickly as possible.

Outside the hospital, the media had gathered in such numbers that the entrance was completely blocked. Cameras and microphones were shoved toward every passerby, all of them asking after Gu Qichi’s condition.

After Gu Qichi had passed out from a high fever in the taxi, the ambulance had taken a long time to arrive. The siren blared all the way there, and since it was rush hour with traffic packed on all sides, people naturally leaned out to see what had happened. It did not take long before someone recognized that the person being loaded into the ambulance was Gu Qichi.

He was no longer the nameless nobody he once had been.

The moment the news broke, it shot straight onto the trending searches, and the media naturally swarmed in.

While asking the doctor about Gu Qichi’s condition, Bo Yu also ordered Bai Heng to deal with the reporters outside.

“It’s really just an ordinary fever from a cold?” Sitting beside the hospital bed, Bo Yu pried open Gu Qichi’s hand, which had been clenched so tightly that his nails had dug into his palm, and carefully freed those fingers from their own bruising grip. The worry on his face was impossible to hide. “Then why does Gu Qichi look far worse than someone with just a fever?”

He had taken care of Gu Qichi through fevers before. He had never looked like this.

When Gu Qichi was sick, he was always very quiet, very obedient. He had never worn such a painful expression.

Bo Yu lowered his eyes and brushed the loose hair away from Gu Qichi’s forehead. A fine sheen of sweat covered his skin. Bo Yu reached out and touched his forehead.

It was burning hot.

Standing nearby with Gu Qichi’s chart in hand, the doctor also wore a frown.

“Logically speaking, Mr. Gu really is suffering from an ordinary cold and fever, but…”

He hesitated.

Bo Yu looked up, eyes narrowing, and said coldly, “If you have something to say, then say it.”

The doctor pressed his lips together, still sounding uncertain.

“Mr. Bo. Based on the reactions you described to us last time, we had already suspected that Mr. Gu previously suffered from severe depression and post-traumatic stress disorder. I think… the reason he’s unconscious now is less because of the fever and more because something triggered him…”

Wen Xi and Luo Qianqian exchanged a glance, then sighed helplessly.

“Xiao Chi secretly went to the prison today without telling us. He probably saw Gu Yuning, but that still doesn’t make sense…”

There was no reason Gu Qichi should have been triggered this badly just by seeing Gu Yuning.

Although Gu Qichi had certainly hated Gu Yuning before, it had never seemed like the sort of hatred that would reduce him to this state.

Bo Yu’s brows remained tightly drawn. His gaze was heavy, dark color surging restlessly in his eyes as he looked at Gu Qichi lying on the bed.

“Bai Heng. Find out what Gu Yuning said to him today.”

Bai Heng had only just finished dealing with the reporters and media outside, and now he immediately had to carry out Bo Yu’s latest order as well, hastily contacting the prison administration.

…

Just like in that dream before, Gu Qichi kept running.

Running without rest, as though there were never any end in sight.

Beyond this endless road, great sheets of white light spread outward, blurry halos drifting apart and burning emptiness into his vision for brief moments.

Tears flowed silently from Gu Qichi’s eyes, soaking his lashes.

His unease also reached Bo Yu, who was keeping watch at the bedside.

The hospital’s fluorescent lights overhead were harsh and glaring. The smell of disinfectant in the air was sharp enough to sting the nose. Gu Qichi’s hand unconsciously clenched tighter. Beneath the blue-and-white hospital gown, the outlines of his narrow shoulder blades stood out clearly through the fabric, trembling faintly.

“Bo Yu.”

“Bo Yu.”

He murmured the name uneasily, using all his strength to call out the one name that made him feel safest.

Bo Yu held his hand tightly and tipped a little water into his mouth. The rhythm of his heartbeat seemed able to travel through their clasped hands, through skin, straight into Gu Qichi’s heart.

Just as every time Gu Qichi had called for him in unease—whether in sleep, in the dead of an insomniac night, or at their closest, skin pressed impossibly close—Bo Yu answered him without hesitation, just as he always had.

He said, “Gu Qichi, I’m here. I’m right by your side. Don’t be afraid.”

Not once had his answer ever been delayed.

It was as if some strange magic had soothed him.

Once he heard Bo Yu’s reply, the trembling in Gu Qichi gradually subsided. Even the tension between his brows eased a little.

Unconsciously, he sought out the warmth beside him, nestling into Bo Yu’s arms.

Only then did he settle down, his breathing evening out as he slipped back into sleep.

That one sentence—Gu Qichi, I’m here—seemed to pierce through time, and through space as well.

Gu Qichi’s running steps came to a halt.

The blurry halos before him faded apart, and he followed that endless road forward.

And then he saw something he had never seen before—

It was not one of his own memories.

It was a scene from after his death.

The gray-white image was suddenly splashed over with color, as if someone had upended a bucket of paint over it.

Heavy snow drifted through the air, covering the whole world in blank whiteness. Even the black gravestone in the cemetery wore a thick layer of snow.

As if drawn by some instinct, Gu Qichi moved closer.

The moment he saw it, his pupils contracted violently.

Carved into the gravestone in pale gold lettering were the words:

The grave of my late husband, Gu Qichi.

Erected by his husband, Bo Yu.

The snow was falling heavily, just like that unforgettable first snow carved into Gu Qichi’s bones. Heaven and earth had turned white, the cold wind howling, great clumps of snow dissolving into the gale until it almost blotted out all sight.

And within that storm of snow, Gu Qichi saw someone slowly walking closer.

He wore a long black overcoat that reached his knees, the collar left open. Snow drifted straight down into it, enough to make anyone shiver.

It was Bo Yu.

Without thinking, Gu Qichi moved closer and tried calling him.

“Bo Yu.”

Bo Yu leaned down and sat heavily in front of Gu Qichi’s grave, dispirited and exhausted. He carefully brushed away the snow covering the gravestone, little by little, until the carved letters showed clearly again—along with the photograph of Gu Qichi smiling.

Gu Qichi tried calling him a few more times, but Bo Yu gave no reaction at all.

His lashes trembled.

Only then did Gu Qichi realize—

Bo Yu couldn’t see him.

He sat down beside him and looked at him quietly.

Snow had gathered on Bo Yu’s hair, and even his lashes were dusted with white. His whole face was pale to a frightening degree.

But soon Gu Qichi noticed that there was more on Bo Yu’s face than just pallor.

His eyes were red.

Gu Qichi had never seen Bo Yu cry.

In his memory, Bo Yu had always seemed invincible, unstoppable, capable of anything.

But not now.

Now, the Bo Yu before him was nothing like that.

He looked thinner. Much, much thinner. Beneath the loose overcoat, his shoulders had grown so gaunt it seemed as though they could no longer support the garment’s weight. The lines of his face had become colder, sharper. His gaze was dead and lifeless, the rims of his eyes crimson. Scalding tears slipped silently from the corners of his eyes, down his jaw, and then—pat—melted into the snow, leaving behind a shallow little hollow.

Bo Yu rested his forehead against Gu Qichi’s gravestone, pressing close to the gray-white photograph. His right hand moved over the carved letters again and again, carefully tracing every line.

Over and over.

Always the same three characters:

Gu Qichi.

His silent weeping was like a volcano forced into stillness—one touch away from eruption.

When Gu Qichi reached out instinctively to touch him, Bo Yu’s shoulders shook, and a raw sob finally broke from his throat.

“Gu Qichi, I’m sorry. I came too late.”

He pressed his fingers heavily against the engraving. The sharp edges sliced a tiny cut into his fingertips, and a faint trace of blood seeped out.

“Why didn’t you wait for me just a little longer? I was—I was so close to finding you.”

“It’s all my fault. I didn’t find you sooner. I let Gu Yuning bully you for so many years…”

The sound of his heavy sobbing echoed through the silent, empty cemetery. Soon, hot tears had soaked a small patch of fabric beneath him, and even the snow was dented into a shallow hollow where they had fallen.

Bo Yu cried until he could no longer contain himself.

For the first time in his life, he hated his own powerlessness so deeply—hated that he had been too useless to see Gu Qichi even once.

On the day of the fire and explosion, he had seen the news footage of Gu Qichi holding Ji Zhaozhao tightly, risking his life to shield her.

That was when he remembered everything.

But by the time he reached the scene, the fire had already spread too far. Gu Qichi had vanished into the flames alone, impossible to find.

Bo Yu had rushed inside.

Even his left arm had been burned by a collapsing beam, leaving behind scars that would never truly heal.

And yet he still hadn’t been able to save Gu Qichi.

That was the nightmare that would haunt him forever.

In the bitter wind and snow, beneath a sky devoured by fire, his beloved had died forever in that sea of flames.

Watching him, Gu Qichi did not know when he had sunk to his knees.

Even knowing full well that Bo Yu could not see him, he still wrapped his arms around him clumsily, desperately, trying to pull him into an embrace.

His voice, thick with tears, rang out hollowly.

“Bo Yu, it wasn’t your fault.”

Within the shattering void, Bo Yu seemed to lift his head in a daze.

But beyond the endless white snow, he could see nothing.

He turned slightly, the smile on his face utterly desolate.

“Gu Qichi, look at me. Is something wrong with my mind again? I feel like I heard you calling me.”

“But… how could that be?”

His smile turned paler and paler.

“You probably never even remembered me.”

Inside Gu Qichi’s empty chest, his heart pounded violently.

He choked on his tears, holding Bo Yu tightly in an embrace the other could not feel.

“Bo Yu, it’s me. I’m right here beside you. I’ll stay with you forever.”

“Don’t cry.”