Dongcheng No. 1 High School, as one of the few elite high schools in Dongcheng with an outstanding university admission rate, had produced so many students who went on to University A, University B, and institutions of that caliber that they were practically too numerous to count.

Bo Yu and Gu Qichi walked along this winding path, deliberately avoiding the other students and teachers along the way, and so naturally missed the muttered grumbling of that truant student from earlier.

But following the path forward, not far ahead, stood an enormous wall of honor.

During student life, every school had the psychology of a peacock spreading its tail to show off its outstanding students. Even an exceptional institution like Dongcheng No. 1 High School was, in this regard, happy to go with the crowd.

The wall of honor was divided into two sections. The front section was for distinguished graduate representatives; the back section was a large board listing the top ten students overall and the top scorer in each individual subject for the entire year.

Young people are the most flamboyant and passionate — like flowers blooming through the end of June, sprawling across every inch of ground.

Gu Qichi couldn’t help looking a few more times and suddenly noticed something interesting.

First place in the year-level rankings, and the top scorer in every single subject for Year Two, all bore the same person’s photograph. Lined up in a long, gleaming row like that, it was conspicuous and eye-catching.

The person in the photographs had a somewhat cold expression — as though they hadn’t quite woken up when the photo was taken. Their eyelids drooped lazily, their gaze lifting from beneath in a languid, careless way. The lines of their features were sharp, the T-zone beautifully sculpted, the bone structure exceptional.

“Who are you looking at?”

Bo Yu followed his gaze over to the wall of honor, his eyes landing on the name beneath the official headshot —

Shang Jue.

Bo Yu searched his memory briefly and said offhandedly, “A good name.”

“If I’m remembering correctly, he’s Old Master Shang’s grandson.”

He was just about to tease Gu Qichi and ask what he thought of Shang Jue’s looks, when the person in his arms suddenly vanished and moved to stand before another wall.

Bo Yu turned his head, and saw the young man narrowing his eyes, his gaze moving up and down the wall.

The transparent glass reflected his slightly dazed expression. As though he’d confirmed something, a faint astonishment surfaced in those beautiful, peach-blossom eyes.

Rather curious about what exactly had caught the young man’s attention, Bo Yu strode over, a faint smile at the corner of his lips — and was also taken slightly aback when he saw the wall of honor.

The person in the first row, first column, was unmistakably familiar.

Unlike the maturity of the present, the Bo Yu of that time had a youthful, unformed face, and his gaze was nothing like the cold, hawk-like quality it had now. The whole person looked at a glance like a pampered, privileged young master born into wealth.

And directly below Bo Yu, in the second row, first column, was none other than Gu Qichi.

Come to think of it, this was the first time Bo Yu had ever seen a childhood photo of Gu Qichi.

The brows and eyes were not as vivid and striking as they were now; the Gu Qichi of that time hadn’t yet fully grown into his face. His cheeks still held a little lingering baby fat on either side, the crease of his eyelids narrow and long, trailing to an upswept outer corner. His pupils were clear and translucent, yet they seemed to hold a layer of ice that hadn’t melted in a thousand years — without any warmth at all.

The two ID photos sat like this, one above the other, side by side, pressed close together, making one feel a moment of disorientation.

It was as if, in some other time and space, seventeen-year-old Gu Qichi and seventeen-year-old Bo Yu had also passed each other in a crowded corridor — perhaps as strangers who had never met, perhaps as classmates who had exchanged a few brief words, or perhaps in some other kind of relationship altogether, one where they had known and kept each other.

Gu Qichi blinked, tilted his head back to look at Bo Yu across from him, and teased: “Bo Yu, do you think there’s any chance we’ve seen each other before?”

He paused, then added: “On the premise that we had absolutely no idea what the other person’s name was.”

Bo Yu’s eyes went deep and dark. His throat moved. He wanted to reach out and adjust the scarf around Gu Qichi’s neck, but in the process his fingertips grazed the bare skin exposed at the collar.

His fingertips were slightly cool. The coldness spread the moment they touched the skin; Gu Qichi instinctively flinched.

Bo Yu looked at him, his voice coming out a little rough. He was just about to speak and tell him —

Gu Qichi, we’ve met before. A very long time ago.

But he was suddenly interrupted.

The principal of No. 1 High School, having been informed by security that Bo Yu had arrived on campus, rushed over in a hurry.

“Young President Bo!”

The principal had originally planned to hold a distinguished alumni meet-and-greet in honor of Bo Yu’s return to the school, but Bo Yu had come back on short notice and firmly, repeatedly insisted that he was only returning with his spouse to revisit their high school days and didn’t want to see anyone. The principal had no choice but to let it go.

“You know, you could have at least given me advance notice that you were coming back, so I could have gone to receive you — and shown you around the buildings that Bo Group invested in over the years.”

Bo Yu smoothly sidestepped the hand the principal extended, giving only a brief returning handshake as a gesture of courtesy.

“No need, Principal Lan. I just want to walk around on my own.”

Bo Yu’s voice was light and concise: “Too many people following along makes it too conspicuous. Besides, you’re the principal — if students see you, it’ll cause a fuss too.”

“It would end up disrupting their class.”

Bo Yu’s stance was firm. The principal had nothing left to say, and under Bo Yu’s polite deflections, exchanged a few more pleasantries before departing.

“Then you two go and enjoy yourselves. I’ll be off…”

“I’m certain that centuries ago, I already said I loved you — only you’d forgotten it, and I hadn’t remembered it yet.”

“We walked the same road, we crossed the same path, but we never truly met.” ①¹

The three of them stood chatting pleasantly behind the wall of honor. Principal Lan had just turned to leave when a ringtone broke out in the quiet open space.

Gu Qichi turned toward the sound and felt a helpless twinge — it was the same group of kids from when he and Bo Yu had come in.

Having barely escaped them once, they’d now walked straight into the principal’s line of fire. This group of kids was really quite unlucky.

“You lot! Stay right where you are!”

Perhaps also finding the scene a little awkward, Principal Lan gave a sheepish laugh before promptly running over and yelling the students to a halt, his expression fierce and severe.

“During class hours, just where do you think you’re sneaking off to?!”

Gu Qichi shook his head, hooked Bo Yu’s hand with his little finger, and silently mouthed: “Bo Yu, let’s slip away.”

Bo Yu was of exactly the same mind. The two of them glanced in the direction of Principal Lan’s scolding, and quietly departed in the opposite direction.

Their movements were subtle, but even after putting a little distance between them and the scene, they could still hear Principal Lan’s thundering voice:

“Where’s Yu Sui? What hole has he crawled into now? I’m telling you, the college entrance exam isn’t far off — stop running outside when you’ve got nothing better to do! Yu Sui especially — don’t let me catch him!”

“Principal, Yu Sui is in the classroom… he really didn’t run off with us…”

Another voice muttered under their breath: “Right, he’s been watched so closely by Shang Jue that he can’t even get out the door.”

The last thing Gu Qichi heard before walking away was swallowed by the wind. Bo Yu held his hand; the wind swept past their ears. The soft, warm light of a winter’s day scattered across their faces, like the hazy amber film grain unique to youth films — only a faint afterimage of two people running, left behind.

---

Their destination was the rooftop of Mingde Building.

The wind was wide and free, and the cold rode the air deep into the body. Gu Qichi caught his breath, the light in his eyes bright and open.

If there was anywhere in Dongcheng No. 1 High School that was the oldest, it would undoubtedly be this building, Mingde Tower.

People are sentimental about the past. This building had been built when No. 1 High School was first established. As time went by, students and teachers were replaced batch after batch; other teaching blocks and libraries sprang up all around it; but only this building had simply undergone basic renovation and had never once been demolished and rebuilt.

The rooftop of Mingde Tower was without question the most beloved spot for students. Since the building wasn’t used as a teaching block — it was set aside for the student council to organize files and keep watch — there were no teachers around to disturb anyone, and the rooftop space was generous. It was the top choice for young couples skipping class.

The far end of the rooftop was somewhat cluttered, but if you looked carefully, you could discover a small opening hidden beneath the disordered objects.

Peering through the opening, inside was an old, worn door.

Gu Qichi’s heart beat quickly. In an instant, something came flooding back to him.

He led Bo Yu by the hand toward it, gently moved aside the objects that covered the entrance, bent down to slip through the small opening, and pulled the door open. Dust came pattering down in a fine shower — quite stifling.

Bo Yu asked him nothing about what he was looking for. He simply, without a word, raised his sleeve the moment Gu Qichi bent down to enter, shielding him from most of the falling dust, and then followed him inside.

Beyond the door was a narrow corridor, only four or five meters long before it was completely blocked off by concrete. The corridor was just wide enough to fit three people walking abreast. Bo Yu and Gu Qichi stood side by side, lifting their heads to look at the dense, packed layers of sticky notes covering the walls.

Gu Qichi reached up and peeled one away. It was probably written by a girl — the handwriting was graceful but the strokes were forceful —

“The leftovers and scraps go unnoticed, but one day the dragon will soar and roar across the nine heavens.”

Dust hung suspended in the air; tiny particles moved in the shaft of light like a rippling river of gold.

The old door stood open, and through it came the faint, intermittent sound of a pigeon flapping its wings outside. The birdsong stirred a gentle current in the air, sending small vibrations rippling outward.

Gu Qichi reattached the sticky note and turned to explain to Bo Yu: “This is No. 1 High School’s most famous wishing wall. It’s something of a wonderful tradition here — whenever someone does badly on an exam, or whenever they’re in a bad mood for whatever reason, they come here to write down a wish.”

“Legend has it that this wall is blessed by the God of Exams, and most wishes written here come true.”

Gu Qichi smiled, the corners of his eyes curving upward, his whole person suffused with warmth, looking vivid and gentle.

Though in truth, more people called it the Lovers’ Wall.

There was no great mystery to it — simply too many couples came here to wish for a lifetime together. More than could be counted.

But then, when you thought about it, that actually made it all the stranger: many of the couples from Dongcheng No. 1 High School who came here to make that wish did, in fact, manage to keep their promise and stay together.

From school uniforms to wedding gowns, from the bloom of youth to reaching their thirties — the one who stood beside you here and made that wish with you was still, unchanged, the same person.

“How did I not know about this?” Bo Yu’s gaze traveled upward, a trace of curiosity entering his eyes.

Gu Qichi dug around in a small bag in the corner and found a colorful stack of sticky notes, picking a style with a simple pattern. He tore two off, passed one to Bo Yu, and kept one for himself.

“Want to try?”

He asked.

Bo Yu took the paper and a pen. He was just about to ask Gu Qichi what he planned to write, when he saw him turn his back and issue a loud warning: “Write your own. No peeking at mine.”

For some reason — it was a little childish.

Bo Yu let out a small sigh and humored him.

The two sticky notes ended up in Gu Qichi’s hands. He placed them in a spot quite deep inside the wall. Bo Yu wanted to see what Gu Qichi had written, but he was firmly blocked, and could only let it go.

Long afterward, when Gu Qichi looked back on that day, he could still recall every single detail.

The walls mottled with every color; the tendons raised on the back of Bo Yu’s hand; the handwriting pressed deep into the paper as though the force could pierce straight through.

He had seen it clearly — what was written on Bo Yu’s piece of paper —

Not a wish, but a sentence that defied simple description —

“You are my one-in-ten-thousand exception.”

After walking out of the school gates, Gu Qichi placed a kiss on his cheek, and the two of them went home together.

Perhaps many years from now — or perhaps in the very next moment — some student who stumbled in would also see the two sticky notes pressed close together, and puzzle over what was written on them.

“He is the accident within my predestined fate, my complete and utter surprise.”

“The one person in this entire world who is the sole reason I exist.”

---

…

The night sky blazed with stars. The sharp wind carried far and wide through the air.

“Come and wash up. Wife. I’ve run the water.”

Gu Qichi looked back at him. In the hazy lamplight, the man’s face was bathed in a soft glow, his expression without the slightest impatience — forever patient and gentle with him.

“Okay.”

Gu Qichi said.

There was, in fact, one more line on that sticky note — hidden perfectly beneath Bo Yu’s:

“If it’s possible, I hope I can love him just a little more.”

---

…

After returning to the variety show recording, having gone back to revisit the high school and lingered there for so long, Gu Qichi clearly felt that he had a much sharper grasp on the character Lin Jing.

Though there was his mother’s coercion and pressure, a young man was still a young man. Lin Jing would race forward without looking back — his heart like leaping flames, a burning youth that could never be extinguished.

Han Hao was also very satisfied with Gu Qichi’s state. Su Ming and Yu Sheng went without saying — both had broken through on the strength of their acting, and the costumes and styling for a youth campus drama were far simpler than the martial arts theme from the previous round. Their group’s progress was nothing short of flying.

Somewhat worried that moving too fast would result in a rough, unpolished final product, Han Hao scrutinized every frame painstakingly. In just a few days, deep shadows had formed beneath his eyes.

With the filming period extended, the actors also had more opportunity to interact with each other.

Wen Che was stuck in Jiang An’s group and couldn’t get out. Unable to see Gu Qichi, frustrated and unable to sleep, a flash of inspiration struck, bringing back the words Gu Qichi had said that day.

And so, fighting his way through every corner of the internet, and after several days of effort plus burning through his own connections, Wen Che finally unearthed the full story of Gu Qichi and Gu Yuning’s grievances — even scraping both the true and false young master situation of the Gu family, Gu Qichi and Gu Yuning, absolutely clean.

This accomplished, Wen Che was not at all gratified at having satisfied his curiosity. Instead, he was even more furious.

Above all, he felt sick at Gu Yuning’s shameless behavior of usurping Gu Qichi’s parents.

To the point that during filming, in order to help Gu Yuning “better experience the character,” Wen Che directly suggested to Jiang An that Gu Yuning be made to experience what it felt like to be bullied — let him suffer a bit more on set.

Even during breaks in filming, in order to better inhabit the character Ye Zhong, Wen Che was forever finding new and creative ways to launch personal attacks on Gu Yuning.

“Hey, Gu Yuning — how do you think there can possibly be someone as shameless as Ye Zhong in this world? Stealing someone’s parents and still having the gall to bully their son.”

“If I were Ye Zhong, the moment I found out they still had a son, I would have moved away. Gone somewhere far. Not messed up the bond between a biological parent and child.”

He deliberately bit down hard on the word “biological,” and watched Gu Yuning’s expression with leisurely interest.

The other’s face was thoroughly unpleasant, but with recording cameras all around, he could hardly storm off in a rage. He had no choice but to force a smile and hold on.

Wen Che still refused to let up. He grabbed a microphone directly from the props crew and, in a mock-interviewer style, went up to Gu Yuning:

“Gu Yuning, you’re playing the role of Xia You — you must particularly despise someone like Ye Zhong, right?”

With cameras pointed straight at his face, Gu Yuning held the script in hand, his knuckles clenched so hard they went white.

He forced the corners of his mouth upward in a rigid smile. “Yes.”

Gu Qichi and Yu Sheng came over to this group’s side to return something to a crew member, and happened to walk in on this exact scene.

Wen Che’s eyes blazed, sharp and keen: “Then curse him along with me — people like Ye Zhong, who steal someone else’s life, deserve to go to hell.”

Gu Yuning could stand it no longer, and was about to get to his feet — when he caught sight of Gu Qichi’s gaze from a short distance away, the look in those eyes hovering somewhere between a smile and not a smile.

Not only had Gu Qichi not left after returning the item, he had actually moved a little closer.

Gu Qichi crossed his arms, watching Gu Yuning with unhurried ease. He leaned forward slightly, drawing nearer, his tone leaving no room for resistance:

“Why have you stopped, Gu Yuning? You’re such a kind-hearted person, you’ve devoted yourself to charity all these years — surely you cannot tolerate someone like Ye Zhong continuing to live in this world.”

Everyone present stopped what they were doing and turned to look.

Yu Sheng had had her own vendetta against Gu Yuning to begin with. Seeing this scene unfold, she had no intention of keeping her distance and immediately fanned the flames with gusto: “Exactly, Teacher Xiao Ning — haven’t you always been speaking up for missing children? You must utterly despise a cuckoo-in-the-nest type like this.”

Everyone was forcing him to take a stance. Gu Yuning stared fixedly at Gu Qichi’s face, the muscles in his cheek twitching, struggling to keep up the pretense.

What did Gu Qichi mean by this — wasn’t he just forcing him to curse himself to death?

His gaze passed over Wen Che’s face, which wore a look of entirely genuine innocence, and his fingers balled into a fist.

It had to be Gu Qichi who had told Wen Che something. Otherwise, why was he constantly pushing him to answer with such pointed implications?

Gu Yuning was on the very edge of snapping. Gu Qichi gave a languid, light laugh, the contempt in his eyes completely undisguised: “It seems Yuning hasn’t fully studied the character of Xia You, if you can still bring yourself to tolerate the one who did the bullying.”

He threw a meaningful glance at the cameras: “I wonder what the viewers will think when they see this behind-the-scenes footage.”

The clenched fist slowly released. Gu Yuning’s eyes went red, the corners of his lips hooking upward in a stiff smile: “Of course I understand the character perfectly. Someone like Ye Zhong… deserves… to die.”

Watching him in this sorry state, Gu Qichi stepped back, losing interest.

How dull.

“Then I do hope those words of yours all come true.”

With that, Gu Qichi turned and walked away without a backward glance.

Once they’d gone a fair distance, Yu Sheng shrieked excitedly in front of him:

“Holy hell, Chizi — you are SO cool!”

“That fake-white-lotus Gu Yuning deserves exactly this kind of treatment!”

“By the way, why did he react so intensely this time? Was it because of the cameras?”

Gu Qichi answered a few of her questions, his mind elsewhere, thinking: of course Gu Yuning broke down — because he was that person who deserved to die, that fraud.

Yu Sheng kept going: “What I despise most is that kind of fake-to-the-bone hypocritical creep. And I happen to have a lot of dirt on him.”

“Is that so. I’m very interested.”

---

…

The second round of variety show recording wrapped up quickly, and even the behind-the-scenes footage they’d shot earlier was included as program material.

The day the mentors gave their assessments, the look on Gu Yuning’s face couldn’t have been more wretched.

The moment Longing came on, Jiang An’s eyes went straight — his gaze never once left Gu Qichi.

Gu Qichi’s acting was superb — fluid, natural and alive. He showed not a trace of nervousness when acting opposite mentor Yi Zhiyin, and his explosive power and emotional magnetism were extraordinary.

Not only Jiang An — even mentor Bu Huiyang gave Gu Qichi an unprecedented S+.

While the previously most-anticipated Pale Moonlight from Jiang An’s group came out slightly inferior.

For some reason, whenever Gu Yuning portrayed his character, there was an inexplicable sense of wrongness that couldn’t quite be put into words. It was as if he fundamentally despised the character of Xia You from the depths of his heart — resisting him, rejecting him, utterly incapable of empathizing with him.

By contrast, Wen Che — whose acting had been criticized as wooden in the previous round — had made a leap-and-bounds improvement under Jiang An’s guidance.

During the mentor assessment, Gu Yuning received only an A rating, without a single S card.

And then Jiang An, after the film was screened, said the following in front of the entire audience:

“Gu Qichi — I have always believed that you were the first choice for Xia You.”

This was an unmistakable, ringing slap to Gu Yuning’s face.

And Jiang An happened to be the very director he had been trying to court, as well as the show’s most prestigious invited mentor. No one could influence his opinions, let alone the vote count.

Gu Yuning had no choice but to put on a mask of composure, feigning humility as he gave a bow: “Teacher Jiang An, I will continue to work harder.”

Afterward — in a stroke of coincidence — backstage after the assessments had ended, Gu Yuning accidentally walked in on Jiang An and Gu Qichi in conversation.

Having spent so many days in Jiang An’s production team, the director had never once shown him the slightest warmth — it was constant, unrelenting criticism at every turn.

But in front of Gu Qichi, Jiang An seemed like a completely different person: his smile gracious and kind, his words mild and gentle.

Jiang An: “You are a very gifted actor. Far better than I had imagined.”

Jiang An: “You have exceptional plasticity. That is the very finest thing an actor can be.”

Gu Yuning had never heard Jiang An praise anyone like this. His eyes immediately reddened.

But Jiang An continued: “What, are you still annoyed with me for what I said in the first round — not willing to come to my group?”

The backstage lighting was dim. Gu Yuning was hidden in a corner with his back to Gu Qichi; Gu Qichi naturally had no idea he was there.

He was somewhat taken aback that Jiang An had come back to seek him out, but answered honestly: “I wasn’t angry. What you said was actually correct — my appearance has given me great advantages, and at the same time it has placed great constraints on me.”

He smiled faintly. “I am, in fact, a vase. Fortunately, though, I am a vase with substance.”

The admiration and appreciation in Jiang An’s gaze were completely undisguised, and Gu Qichi was no fool — he could see it clearly.

Jiang An’s body of work could be called internationally renowned, his prestige and caliber consistently excellent, and Gu Qichi had even privately collected vinyl recordings of his films. To say he wasn’t a fan would be impossible.

He brushed the loose strands of hair at his temple aside, his gaze sincere: “What I said before wasn’t an excuse — there were genuinely some unpleasant memories associated with it. The Longing script suited me well, and Director Han Hao was someone I had already worked with before. That was why I declined.”

Gu Qichi: “Next time, I hope we can collaborate.”

Gu Yuning’s jealousy had his eyes going red. Crouched in the corner like a rat in a ditch, he silently watched everything, and then, consumed with hate, took out his phone and carefully, stealthily photographed Jiang An and Gu Qichi shaking hands and embracing.

Then placed it in an encrypted folder named “Gu Qichi.”

---

…

Lately, it wasn’t just the variety show that was going wrong. Gu Yuning noticed that a great many of his resources were being cut off at the pass. Even a magazine cover that had been confirmed long ago had vanished into thin air. He called to ask, and the other party stumbled over their words without being able to say anything clearly.

Gu Yuning slammed his phone down in a rage. The blanket nearby was tossed aside carelessly; the scalding water spilled onto the assistant who had just come in, and the glass shards from the shattered phone dug into the assistant’s calf.

He couldn’t have cared less.

His only thought was to find out who was working against him from behind.

---

When Gu Qichi received the red carpet invitation from this year’s Alla magazine, he was genuinely surprised. After all, it was a magazine reserved for top-tier figures — that they had sent an invitation to him, a total nobody in the eighteenth tier, was nothing short of baffling.

Wen Xi on the phone was also unusually excited, rattling off several luxury fashion brands and planning to borrow a suit worthy of the occasion on Gu Qichi’s behalf.

Perhaps because the earpiece volume was a touch loud, the words also reached Bo Yu, who was seated beside him.

President Bo waved his hand with grand magnanimity and directly took the phone, his tone brooking no argument: “No need to think about those brands for him. Gu Qichi’s wardrobe — leave it to me.”

Wen Xi was momentarily speechless, but then figured that a newly-rich man’s money was there to be spent, and graciously agreed — making a point, multiple times, of stressing that Gu Qichi should be dressed in the expensive stuff, none of those random no-name brands.

President Bo had nothing to say to that, and was in fact quite pleased. He immediately made several phone calls and then summoned Bai Heng, who brought over the latest current-season fashion magazines. Bo Yu leafed through them at a leisurely pace and selected the pieces that caught his eye.

All were the latest haute couture of the current season, having just come off the runway and not yet been shown to the public.

Gu Qichi didn’t understand any of this and simply gave up entirely, leaving the whole matter in Bo Yu’s hands.

A few days later, early in the morning, barely any time after dawn had broken, Gu Qichi was woken up by Bo Yu and carried out of bed: “Wife — time to get up.”

Bo Yu picked out a thin shirt and trousers for him to change into and, while helping him get ready, reminded him:

“A designer will be coming to the house later to take your measurements.”

“Wear fewer layers — otherwise the measurements won’t be accurate.”

Gu Qichi hadn’t fully woken up yet and had no choice but to let him do as he pleased.

When the designer arrived at the Bo residence, Gu Qichi’s eyes flew wide open.

The living room sofa held several clothing racks; the plastic wrapping hadn’t even been removed yet — clearly delivered just moments ago, without time to be properly arranged.

Bo Yu picked up a fashion magazine, had the few pieces he most fancied brought out first, and wanted Gu Qichi to try them all on.

Gu Qichi stared at the clothes covering the floor, a little unhappy: “Bo Yu, you’re being extravagant again…”

Bo Yu, however, was entirely unconcerned, and only laughed softly, pulling him by the waist: “Just a few clothes. They’re nothing.”

The designer, upon hearing these words, lowered their head in silence.

---

At the same time, from the Gu family villa, came Gu Yuning’s sharp, piercing voice:

“What did you say — someone has put out word that they’re going to blacklist me?!”

1. ① A reference to the lyrics of the song “几百年前” (“Centuries Ago”) by Ding Dang (丁当). ↩︎