The snow had been falling for who knew how long when, all of a sudden, a tremendous force yanked Gu Qichi backward, even as he clung to Bo Yu.

That blinding white light appeared again.

Gu Qichi struggled desperately to break free from its pull, to catch hold of Bo Yu’s hand again—but there was nothing he could do.

In the next second, vast bursts of brilliant white stabbed into his eyes, and Gu Qichi lost control of his grip.

When he opened his eyes again in a daze, the scene before him had completely changed.

The sky was a wide, empty blue. The sunlight overhead was blurred. Towering trees overlapped layer upon layer, their shadows interlacing, breaking the light beneath his feet into scattered fragments. A rustling sound brushed past his ears, and Gu Qichi narrowed his eyes slightly.

This place…

It felt so familiar.

It seemed that he had been here before.

Within the hazy, blurred rings of light, he lowered his head and gradually recognized where he was.

The sharply edged stone path, the heavy scent of incense, the low, chanting Sanskrit prayers of the monks—all of it echoed before him.

This was…

The temple on Yuling Mountain.

Bo Yu had brought him here before.

Then the temple bell rang out—

A deep, resonant, lingering sound, pure and rounded.

Gu Qichi’s whole body shook. His throat felt blocked, tight and painfully hoarse.

On the winding stone staircase leading upward, there was someone slowly, stubbornly climbing.

“They say… if there’s some attachment in your heart that can never be erased, or if there’s someone you want to see one more time but never can again, then you can come here and try…”

“The stone steps of Yuling Mountain number six thousand eight hundred and sixty-eight. One bow per step, without pausing even for a moment. If you climb while offering your devotion with sincerity, then at the prayer shrine on the summit, you may make a wish.”

“And the deity enshrined there will surely grant what you ask.”

Every word Bo Yu had once said to him became clear again, together with the image of his face.

The man kneeling on those six thousand six hundred and sixty-eight steps of Yuling Mountain—

was Bo Yu.

Disheveled, he moved upward one step at a time, bowing with every step, struggling forward with stubborn persistence.

With each rise, his lips moved faintly, as though murmuring something.

Gu Qichi realized something, and his heart gave a violent leap. His pupils shrank abruptly.

Bo Yu…

was praying.

Gu Qichi didn’t know how many steps he had already climbed.

He didn’t know how long he had been climbing.

But he knew one thing—

at that moment, Bo Yu had to be exhausted. And he had to be in pain.

Bo Yu had always been obsessively clean. If his clothes got stained with even the slightest bit of dirt, they would be thrown away immediately.

He would never normally allow himself to look so filthy.

And yet now, his hands and feet were streaked with yellow-white mud. His knees were covered with marks from the stone steps. Most likely, because he had bowed too hard—again and again, without a moment’s rest—his forehead was red and swollen, with several bruises already forming.

A painful numbness spread rapidly from Gu Qichi’s heart through his limbs. His hands and feet stiffened, his eyes reddened, and for a moment he could hardly breathe.

He stood where light and shadow flickered together, so heartbroken he could not speak.

“Bo Yu, if it were you, would you come here and make a wish?”

He had once asked that question with a smile.

And how had Bo Yu answered him then?

Never in his life had Gu Qichi remembered something so clearly.

At that time, Bo Yu had smiled and said—

“I’m a staunch materialist.”

At the summit temple, another monk stepped forward to strike the bell.

Dong—

Dong—

Dong—

Each toll was louder than the last, heavier than the one before. Every strike felt like a thousand-pound hammer slamming into Gu Qichi’s chest, leaving his entire body numb, his heart unbearably sore, tears already streaming down his face before he even realized it.

Only when one hot tear splashed against the base of his thumb did Gu Qichi suddenly come back to himself.

Bo Yu was thinner now than before. There was barely any flesh left on his face. A dead, violent aura spread from him, making one shiver instinctively.

“What is it you seek?”

A figure suddenly appeared beside him.

A dusty monk’s robe. Graying beard and brows. A calm, peaceful face.

Gu Qichi recognized him.

It was the monk who had spoken to him back at the temple before.

At the time, the monk had lingered at his side, saying many things that seemed obscure and half-meaningful. But now, in this moment of dazed clarity, Gu Qichi suddenly understood what he had been trying to tell him.

In the dream, Bo Yu’s eyes were dark and heavy. His face was haggard. His hair, damp with sweat, clung to his skin.

When he spoke, even his voice was hoarse with strain.

“I’m looking for someone. Someone I lost.”

“I want to see him one more time.”

The monk walked one step at a time behind Bo Yu. Hearing this, his face remained calm, and his tone as peaceful as ever.

“Do you know that all you seek is an illusion?”

In the dream, Bo Yu turned his head blankly. His lips trembled, and his throat worked up and down with the violence of his emotions.

“But I can’t find him anymore. I only want… to ask for one more possibility for him. Even if I have to trade myself for it, I would still be willing.”

Then the final bell sounded.

Birds burst from the woods in all directions, wings beating noisily against the air.

Dong—

Dong—

Dong—

Gu Qichi’s consciousness completely scattered.

He was fully swallowed by the white light before him.

At the very last moment before awareness vanished, he heard the old monk’s calm voice echo beside his ear:

“Go back.”

He did not know whether those words were meant for him—

or for the Bo Yu inside the dream.

“What you wish for… will come true.”

The dream ended there without warning, but the voices did not disappear.

“Master, why did you say that he would definitely get what he wanted?”

“Perhaps sincerity truly moves the heavens. After all, this is not the first time he has come here.”

“But Master, since I came to the mountain, he’s the only person I’ve ever seen finish climbing those steps. Why have I only seen him once?”

“Silly child. In the places you could not see, he has already come here seventeen times…”

Gu Qichi’s consciousness sank completely into darkness.

…

…

…

Gu Qichi remained unconscious for a full three days.

He finally woke in the middle of the night on the third day.

The smell of disinfectant in the hospital was still sharp. The medical equipment beside the bed let out its steady, emotionless beeping. The small bedside nightlight cast a dim, gentle glow.

Gu Qichi’s fingers twitched, and he opened his eyes.

The moment he turned his head, he found Bo Yu asleep by his bedside, still holding his hand.

He was a tall man. Now his broad shoulders were bent awkwardly, and his long legs disappeared beneath the hospital bed. One look was enough to tell that he had not been sleeping comfortably.

The dreams of the past had grown more and more vivid each time.

So vivid that they no longer felt like dreams at all.

They felt like things that had truly happened beside him.

And Gu Qichi knew now that what he had seen was not some baseless fantasy.

It had to be what had really happened after his death.

His eyes slowly reddened.

The sorrow and aching grief in his chest surged up uncontrollably, as though something inside him had split open and could no longer be stopped.

Through all the agony and struggle of his repeated rebirths,

Bo Yu had been with him every step of the way.

And in some ways, Bo Yu’s suffering had been even greater than his own.

The “fate” Gu Qichi had fought so desperately to escape, the life that had been stolen and replaced—

all of it had been prayed back for him by Bo Yu, kneeling and bowing one step at a time through winter cold and ancient temple lamplight.

What Bo Yu had always given him was love without reservation.

Love reckless enough to sacrifice everything.

…

Gu Qichi’s waking movement had been very slight.

But even that faint rustle was enough to wake Bo Yu immediately.

Bo Yu opened his eyes. Fatigue was impossible to hide on his face, but even that could not suppress the joy of seeing Gu Qichi awake.

He reached out and laid a hand against Gu Qichi’s forehead. The burning heat from before had already gone down, and only then did he let out a breath, the tension wound tight in him over the past three days loosening at last.

“Does anything still hurt?” Bo Yu asked.

In the dim yellow light, he leaned closer and only then realized that Gu Qichi’s lashes were damp and the corners of his eyes were red.

Bo Yu took off his coat, flexed his numb legs a little, then bent closer and gently wiped the tears from the corners of Gu Qichi’s eyes.

“Did you have a nightmare?” he asked softly. “Why were you secretly crying?”

This time, unusually, Gu Qichi said nothing.

He simply struggled up in silence, wrapped his arms around Bo Yu’s waist, and pressed his face into Bo Yu’s chest.

His head was trembling faintly. His dark hair brushed against the side of Bo Yu’s neck, where the blue veins beneath the skin could be seen clearly.

Only after a long while did Gu Qichi finally manage to steady himself enough not to cry out loud. In a hoarse voice, he said:

“Bo Yu… if one day I disappeared, if I wasn’t by your side anymore, what would you do?”

It was the kind of teasing question couples in love often asked each other.

Gu Qichi had once overheard Wen Xi asking her ex-boyfriend the same thing, and at the time he had only found it amusing.

He had never imagined that one day he himself would ask it.

Still less had he imagined that the person he would ask would be Bo Yu.

But in the end, people could not escape such things.

And the moment he thought of Bo Yu kneeling helplessly on those long stone steps, Gu Qichi’s heart shrank painfully, and even his voice trembled.

Bo Yu loosened his hold slightly, took his hand again, kissed his forehead, and said softly:

“I won’t let you leave my side. And no one can take you away from me.”

Gu Qichi breathed in his scent.

The usual cold muskiness was gone, replaced by the smell of hospital disinfectant—but somehow, it still made him feel unspeakably safe.

He lifted his eyes.

His lashes at the corners were clumped together with tears, pitifully tangled. His gaze was damp. He blinked a little, then asked again in a trembling voice:

“But if that day really came… what would you do?”

His tone was too serious.

In his eyes was reflected Bo Yu’s face—steady, restrained.

Bo Yu lowered his gaze, picked up the warm water he had prepared earlier from the bedside, and handed it to him. While watching Gu Qichi cradle the glass and sip from it little by little, he thought for a moment.

The small nightlight at the head of the bed cast a faint, hazy glow.

Bo Yu’s lashes were long and thick, throwing pale shadows beneath his eyes.

As he drank, Gu Qichi peeked up at Bo Yu again over the rim of the glass.

The Bo Yu now was fuller than the one in the dream. His face and body were no longer gaunt. His jawline was still sharply drawn, his features strikingly sculpted, his brows and eyes deep-set, his nose high and straight, giving him a cold severity. But when he lowered his lashes, that sharpness softened into something more careless, more gentle.

Bo Yu had never been someone whose emotions showed easily.

When he noticed Gu Qichi looking at him, he met his gaze and answered with grave seriousness:

“If one day you disappeared, if you were no longer by my side, I would definitely go looking for you.”

“No matter how long it took, and no matter how far apart we were, I would do everything I could to find you and bring you back to my side.”

Gu Qichi set the glass down on the bedside table.

Then he shifted backward a little, making space on the narrow hospital bed.

Patting the empty spot beside him, he looked up and said in a soft voice,

“Bo Yu, come up and sleep with me. I want you to hold me while I sleep.”

Bo Yu did as he was told.

The bed was narrow—fitting two men over six feet tall onto it was difficult, which only forced them closer together.

Curled in Bo Yu’s arms, Gu Qichi tipped his head back to look at him, meeting his eyes directly.

He raised a hand and, with two fingers, traced from Bo Yu’s hairline down over his forehead, along his brow bone and nose bridge, until finally stopping on his lips.

Holding onto Bo Yu’s shoulder, Gu Qichi shifted closer and wrapped an arm around him.

In the darkness, their warm breaths tangled together. Gu Qichi’s lashes brushed lightly against Bo Yu’s jaw, and then, clumsy and without any technique—like a foolish little puppy—he kissed Bo Yu on the lips.

Bo Yu didn’t move.

He simply let Gu Qichi suck and kiss at him, one unsteady attempt after another.

Gu Qichi had always been the one being kissed. And whenever Bo Yu kissed him, it was always fierce and urgent. So now, with their roles suddenly reversed, he had no idea what he was supposed to do.

Drawing on the vague memory of all those past kisses, Gu Qichi hesitantly and slowly used the tip of his tongue to pry at Bo Yu’s teeth.

Bo Yu pulled back slightly.

His broad palm, hot against the skin, came up to the back of Gu Qichi’s neck, rubbing there twice—hard, deliberate, impossible to read.

Rejected so suddenly, Gu Qichi looked a little lost. He opened his eyes, gaze wet and confused, and looked at him blankly.

Bo Yu’s voice was hoarse when he spoke.

“You just woke up and you’re already tempting me? Don’t you want to sleep?”

Gu Qichi shook his head. Growing bolder, he hooked his arm more tightly around Bo Yu’s neck and pulled him down.

“I’m not sleeping. I want to kiss you.”

Bo Yu’s lashes trembled.

His eyes were very dark now, the blackness inside them churning restlessly.

He tilted up the back of Gu Qichi’s neck and kissed him.

Unlike Gu Qichi’s clumsy, formless kisses, Bo Yu’s was forceful. He bit Gu Qichi’s lower lip, forced open his mouth, and sucked fiercely and urgently on the tip of his tongue. A long tide of emotion spread through them. Gu Qichi narrowed his eyes, kissed until his waist and legs both went weak.

He couldn’t help responding, trying his best to keep up with Bo Yu’s rhythm, but still finding himself unable to quite manage.

Heat spread between lips and teeth.

Gu Qichi tilted his head back slightly, his gaze unfocused, his whole body sinking into a dazed haze.

He had been unconscious for three days.

At first, Bo Yu had still been able to maintain his calm and control. But with every day that Gu Qichi failed to wake, the violent, frenzied darkness in him had grown heavier and heavier.

The darker parts of him, those emotions he could never fully control, now crashed down onto Gu Qichi with crushing weight.

As if he sensed something was wrong with himself, Bo Yu narrowed his eyes and had just started to pull away, intending to step outside and calm down—

when Gu Qichi seemed to sense it too, and held onto him tightly, refusing to let go.

Bo Yu let out a sigh.

He patted Gu Qichi’s back in quiet reassurance until his emotions steadied.

The corners of Gu Qichi’s eyes were still damp and red.

Bo Yu looked at him, and that faintly cruel impulse stirred again.

He caught the soft flesh of Gu Qichi’s earlobe with his teeth, licking and grinding it until Gu Qichi let out a small, helpless whimper.

Even then, he still didn’t let go.

Then Gu Qichi spoke, his voice thick with tears.

“Bo Yu, you’re so stupid. Are you an idiot?”

He had known perfectly well that Gu Qichi was already dead, that there was no possibility of bringing him back—

and yet he had still stubbornly gone searching for a possibility that should never have existed.

Hadn’t he said before that he was a staunch materialist?

And yet this same staunch materialist, in order to bring him back, had bowed before every god in heaven.

It wasn’t only those two vivid scenes that Gu Qichi had seen.

He had also seen other shattered fragments—pieces of Bo Yu’s past.

After taking his body back from the Gu family, Bo Yu had gone to find Gu Yuning.

Because Gu Yuning had lied to him.

The “Gu” Bo Yu had always been searching for was never Gu Yuning.

It was Gu Qichi.

Gu Qichi, whom Gu Yuning had driven to death.

The Bo Yu standing before Gu Yuning had carried a near-cruel gloom and brutality. Gu Qichi saw him do it with his own hands. Hot blood splattered across his face. Gu Yuning cried and screamed on the ground, but not once did it stir even the slightest mercy in Bo Yu.

He wanted Gu Yuning to pay for what he had done.

Every single time, Gu Yuning died horribly at Bo Yu’s hands.

Not once was there an exception.

…

In the end, Gu Qichi once again fell asleep in Bo Yu’s arms, still sniffling softly.

But this time, he slept far more soundly than before.

Bo Yu stared at his face, then gave a very faint smile.

“Gu Qichi,” he murmured, “you’re the real idiot.”