Luo Zhi never felt the hand that should have landed on his head.

Too many things had happened. Those things had drained the last of his strength.

As his protective arm fell away, Luo Zhi’s body quietly shut down all perception of the outside world.

Completely unconscious, he sat motionless, his head and neck drooping with that gentle pressure.

His body, having lost all consciousness, could no longer hold itself up. Just as Luo Zhi was about to fall into the muddy water, the hand caught him in time.

The person reached out to support Luo Zhi, gently patting his shoulder, trying to call to him.

Luo Zhi’s body gave no response.

…

“What’s going on?” The secretary finished organizing the power cords and whispered to the assistant who had come back looking for Mr. Ren. “What on earth did this person do that was so heinous?”

The assistant was equally confused, staring at the darkened video screen, shaking his head with heavy thoughts.

Ren Chenbai never talked much about Luo Zhi, but they had heard from some veteran employees that those two had been very close as children.

Very close indeed. Mr. Ren would sometimes bring Luo Zhi to the company, and when meetings or work got too busy, he’d have his son take Luo Zhi around the building.

…

They said back then, when they were only teenagers, Ren Chenbai would take Luo Zhi everywhere, never letting anyone bully him.

They said the two were inseparable. Even if temporarily separated, they would quickly find their way back to each other.

They said Ren Chenbai never even needed to call Luo Zhi. He could always guess where Luo Zhi was, what he was doing, and find him after just a few tries.

The assistant didn’t dare say more, just reached to shut down the computer.

As he saved files one by one with the mouse, he glanced unconsciously at the video again and was suddenly startled. “Is that this person?”

The secretary leaned over. “Which one?”

In the video, the man had apparently realized something was wrong with Luo Zhi. He picked up the unconscious Luo Zhi, frowning as he stood.

Because he had turned at a better angle, his facial features became clearer. The assistant recognized the face.

“The ‘mister’ of this generation of the Ming family… Don’t you watch the news? Didn’t a cruise ship just have an accident? It was under their company.”

The assistant clenched his fists, his face paling, cold sweat slowly forming on his forehead. “Why is it a cruise ship again?”

The cruise ship accident had been making waves these past few days, with related news everywhere.

Modern cruise accidents weren’t as dramatic as in movies. Because the subsequent rescue measures were quite professional, only about a hundred tourists were injured, with thirty-two missing.

These thirty-two people were gradually found—some rescued by passing fishing boats who hadn’t had time to contact anyone, some had been unconscious after falling into the water and couldn’t be immediately identified… In any case, thirty-one people had been accounted for.

The last one—some personal belongings had been recovered from the sea and sent back to the family.

…

Everyone knew what that meant.

Mr. Ren had asked him to investigate Luo Zhi’s whereabouts. The assistant hadn’t even left the company yet. While taking the elevator down, he had opened Weibo on a whim to search.

From experience, Luo Zhi’s whereabouts actually weren’t hard to find. Li Weiming’s plaza would regularly have sightings of Luo Zhi, then even more people would go to block him. Luo Zhi couldn’t turn invisible—someone would always find him.

The assistant had just habitually typed in that name again and clicked search.

The loading circle spun to completion, but the related results that popped up were no longer like before—nothing but endless abuse, slander, attacks, and curses so vicious even they found them disturbing.

…But it also seemed like an absurd curse.

The assistant swallowed dryly, picked up his phone and lit the screen, reading that news article one more time.

He was actually hoping there was someone with the same name—of course, the probability of this name being duplicated was ridiculously small. But what if? There were so many people in the world, maybe one or two didn’t care about meaning and just randomly chose characters from a dictionary…

Otherwise, why would Mr. Ren go through the trouble of having him investigate Mr. Luo’s whereabouts?

Otherwise, why, even now, was Luo Zhi still on that list with only one person remaining?

…

Ren Chenbai returned to the private hospital where Luo Zhi had once stayed.

He didn’t have anyone accompany him, just requested a quiet empty lounge to wait for Luo Zhi.

He had considered every possible place Luo Zhi might go.

Luo Zhi’s car had been destroyed by him. If he wanted to leave the city or even the province, he would need to take public transportation. Though it might take some extra effort, it wouldn’t be hard to trace.

Moreover, the possibility of Luo Zhi just leaving like that wasn’t very high.

Not because Luo Zhi didn’t want to leave—Luo Zhi had probably wanted to leave for a long time.

He hadn’t left before because he worried about Luo Cheng. He wouldn’t leave now because his mother’s grave was in this city’s cemetery.

Luo Zhi often went to that cemetery to talk to his mother, sometimes staying all day, reporting everyone’s news to her and chatting with her about him.

In earlier years, when Ren Chenbai hated Luo Zhi even more than now, he found this hypocritical false guilt disgusting. He had once had someone forge his mother’s will, saying she never wanted to see Luo Zhi again.

When he received the will, Luo Zhi was curled up by the tombstone, head down, gently playing a newly written guitar piece.

Luo Zhi didn’t believe that so-called will at all.

The people Ren Chenbai sent said the young master Luo had taken the will and made them correct every typo and punctuation mark.

Head lowered, voice cold and proud, Luo Zhi picked out errors Auntie Ren would never make, found every piece of evidence proving this letter couldn’t possibly have been written by Auntie Ren.

Luo Zhi tore the will to shreds. He didn’t throw the white paper scraps on the ground or into the fire. On the ground would dirty Auntie Ren’s grave; in the fire would upset her. He carried his guitar and walked all the way out of the cemetery, walked for a whole day, finally stopping at a trash can on the city’s edge barely far enough from the cemetery, throwing all those scraps inside.

Back then, when Luo Zhi got stubborn, he could go a whole day without eating or drinking, then sit by the sea in the dead of winter playing guitar nonstop all night.

…When exactly did Luo Zhi’s body develop so many problems?

The more Ren Chenbai thought, the more agitated he became. He pressed his forehead hard, stopped thinking about those irrelevant things, and forced his consciousness back to speculating about Luo Zhi’s whereabouts.

That forged will—Luo Zhi wouldn’t believe it. That wasn’t beyond his expectations.

That was Luo Zhi’s temperament. Anyone he trusted, no matter how many people came to slander, shake his faith, or deceive him with fabrications, he absolutely wouldn’t believe them.

But did this truly have no effect on Luo Zhi?

Ren Chenbai looked at his fingers, slowly moving them, trying to grasp a fistful of air he couldn’t hold.

How could it have no effect?

Anyone who knew about this and had the ability to forge the will could only be from the Ren family.

Luo Zhi was smart. He would understand what that meant.

The second day after returning from the seaside, Luo Zhi packed his things and, without telling anyone, quietly moved out of the Ren household.

Ren Chenbai knew where Luo Zhi’s new place was. He also knew that before finding it, Luo Zhi had been sleeping in a car.

Later, when Luo Zhi was old enough, he got his own driver’s license and no longer needed a designated driver. That car’s movements became freer and freer, its range wider and wider.

But no matter how free, Luo Zhi had never left this city.

That car carried Luo Zhi, as if tethered by an invisible kite string, firmly tied to his mother’s grave.

So this private hospital where he now sat was also the one most likely to be near Luo Zhi. Waiting here, he had a quite high probability of finding him.

He would definitely find him. He would keep waiting, and once he found Luo Zhi, he would try not to treat him so badly.

Luo Zhi would recuperate here with him, no longer tormented by the Luos. He wouldn’t push Luo Zhi toward that family anymore.

Ren Chenbai couldn’t sit still. He even found it strange that he was still sitting peacefully in the lounge.

So he went downstairs to the emergency hall, personally watching the coming and going of people.

It turned out there were so many unexpected disasters and calamities in this world.

The ambulance lights made hearts sink. Anxious family members were everywhere—some with sudden illnesses, some from serious car accidents, and many more chaotic situations impossible to discern, only panicked, confused crying audible.

He also saw a boy who had secretly gone swimming in a reservoir and drowned, lying motionless on an emergency gurney.

The paramedics knelt on the gurney doing CPR. The family was so frantic they didn’t know what to do, could only follow in a daze, running wildly.

Just before entering the elevator, the boy suddenly coughed up water and gasped for breath, his body showing response.

The well-dressed middle-aged man accompanying them instantly lost his strength, legs collapsing. After being helped up several times, he shakily stood, staggering into the elevator.

Ren Chenbai stood in the crowded emergency hall among the constant flow of people.

…

Perhaps he had thought things too simply.

Even the calmest person might not have the ability to handle these scenes.

Seeing your closest person in danger, life hanging by a thread—this wasn’t a feeling that could be rehearsed or simulated in any circumstance.

That intense fear and despair of being unable to grasp anything, that futile struggle against death, simply couldn’t be compared to any other situation.

Perhaps Luo Zhi really had just panicked then.

Though this seemingly reasonable self-deceptive thought didn’t hold up to scrutiny—he understood Luo Zhi better than anyone.

The more dangerous things got, the calmer Luo Zhi became. He was a blazing fire that shone brighter the darker the environment.

In that kind of moment, Luo Zhi absolutely couldn’t panic, couldn’t be scared into frantic confusion.

…

But he had at least found an excuse for both Luo Zhi and himself.

He could use this excuse to hastily cover up everything from the past and never touch it again.

The crowd suddenly stepped back, making way for a new family.

This family had driven themselves. The husband, sweating profusely, rushed in carrying his unconscious wife on his back, other family members following. Emergency doctors immediately ran up to take over. Everything happened too fast to process.

Everything was too chaotic. After a group rushed into the elevator, two teenage boys were left in the hall.

A security guard went over to take them to rest, but the older one fiercely protected the younger.

They would wait here for their mother. They wouldn’t leave until they saw her.

…

Everywhere were people constantly pacing, waiting for some result.

Doctors hurried back and forth. Family members looked around anxiously.

Patients either struggled in pain, lay unconscious, or had already entered that calm, dazed final moments.

Everyone was waiting.

Waiting for that hope, yet also fearing another conclusion.

The daily tableau of humanity in the emergency room.

Ren Chenbai slowly stepped back until his back touched the cold wall.

He suddenly realized coming here was a mistake.

He had just wanted to quickly find Luo Zhi, confirm what condition Luo Zhi was in now, but he wasn’t prepared at all to see these things.

He suddenly had an intense headache. All those endless anxieties and irritations about Luo Zhi crashed around in his mind, then everything suddenly went dark.

He saw Luo Zhi walking slowly toward him step by step, taking his hand.

Luo Zhi seemed to have gotten smaller, looking only about a teenager.

The hand gripping his was very warm. He couldn’t control his desire to seize that warmth. He was too cold, so he desperately embedded his ice-cold, spasming fingers in tightly, regardless of everything.

Luo Zhi let out a muffled groan from his grip, but his face still showed nothing.

Luo Zhi seemed never to learn how to show pain.

Luo Zhi was most afraid of pain.

What was he doing?

What was Luo Zhi doing?

Why did Luo Zhi come to pull him, why care about him, why not leave him there…

“Brother Chenbai,” Luo Zhi reached out and hugged him. “Don’t be like this.”

Luo Zhi said, “Don’t be sad.”

Luo Zhi’s own face was also deathly pale. He saw a deep, frightening bloody mark on Luo Zhi’s arm, as if Luo Zhi had bitten it himself, mangled flesh embedded in the pale skin of his forearm, thin lines of blood still trickling down.

But Luo Zhi’s eyes were very calm—that kind of calm that became clearer the more grief-stricken, terrified, and desperate he felt, seeping with blood.

Luo Zhi’s hands were shaking. He could tell Luo Zhi had tinnitus, because when Luo Zhi walked over, he hadn’t heard voices from one side at all and had been bumped, staggering several steps.

But Luo Zhi said nothing, so he didn’t know what had happened.

Why was Luo Zhi so sad? He didn’t know.

He didn’t know what Luo Zhi was grieving, didn’t know why he himself couldn’t stand.

He didn’t know why he was standing in a corner of the emergency hall. He desperately tried to find something in the crowd. What was he looking for? Why couldn’t he find it no matter what? His head hurt terribly.

His head hurt terribly. He couldn’t stand and knelt down.

“Don’t be sad. It’s not your fault, Brother Chenbai, it’s not you.”

Luo Zhi half-held, half-supported him. Luo Zhi’s strength wasn’t enough. Dragged down by him, he also knelt on the ground, blocking the gazes cast by the coming and going people.

Luo Zhi was trembling too, yet still tried his utmost to prop up his body to protect him, patting his back. “Auntie Ren was prepared early on. It’s not you…”

…What wasn’t him?

Why did he have no memory of such a scene at all?

Why was Luo Zhi still coming to care about him? Didn’t Luo Zhi know what condition his own body was in?

Almost as soon as this thought emerged, the change had already followed.

The body holding him slowly grew cold. The shelter that teenage Luo Zhi had propped up with all his strength finally began to slowly collapse under years of erosion.

Ren Chenbai shuddered violently. He cried out, “Luo Zhi!”

Luo Zhi’s body went limp before his eyes.

Ren Chenbai finally couldn’t control himself. Even knowing this was a hallucination, he still reached out in fear and panic to catch him.

He caught Luo Zhi’s body, holding Luo Zhi tightly in his arms, trying to help him back up.

He couldn’t. Luo Zhi’s body grew colder bit by bit, cold like sharp ice shards slowly cutting his flesh.

Was it because he had just stolen all the warmth from Luo Zhi’s body? He could give it back, could return it all. Luo Zhi had to wake up now. He wouldn’t be angry at Luo Zhi over anything anymore.

He would try hard to be good to Luo Zhi. He wouldn’t do those things anymore. Wasn’t this what Luo Zhi wanted? He could do it.

He would break with Jian Huaiyi right now, help Luo Jun deal with Jian Huaiyi. He would make Li Weiming completely finished. He wouldn’t use them to force Luo Zhi to come back anymore.

He would never mention the past again. He wouldn’t mention anything. Everything would be as if it never happened.

He would be good to Luo Zhi. He would bandage Luo Zhi’s wounds. He knew Luo Zhi had been very cold that night by the sea. He wouldn’t let Luo Zhi be that cold anymore.

So Luo Zhi had to wake up right now and look at him.

Luo Zhi had to look at him.

Ren Chenbai grabbed Luo Zhi’s shoulders. He could feel his body was probably already stiff and immobile, but fortunately, in the hallucination, he had grabbed Luo Zhi’s shoulders.

He kept shaking Luo Zhi’s shoulders hard, saying things to Luo Zhi that even he couldn’t understand.

Luo Zhi finally opened his eyes again.

Ren Chenbai joyfully went to hold his hand, wanting to embrace him, but embraced a pool of salty, bitter, cold, pitch-black ice water.

Ren Chenbai looked up in confusion.

Luo Zhi’s eyes were open. Those eyes were very dark, very clean—clean in an unusual way. The pupils inside quietly didn’t reflect light and could no longer hold anything.

Luo Zhi floated in the water, his body rising and falling with the current.

His face was paler than that drowned boy Ren Chenbai had just seen, probably because he was colder—tiny white frost even hung from his lashes.

He looked very tired, yet also showed a genuine sense of relief, relaxation and comfort.

“No.” Ren Chenbai said quietly. “No, that’s not right. It’s not like this.”

Blood began rising in his throat. Ren Chenbai curled his knuckles, pressing hard against his temple, wiping this image completely from the hallucination too. “It’s not like this.”

“How could you—” The accusation half-spoken, he forced himself to swallow it back with all his strength. For the first time, he apologized to Luo Zhi like this. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. It’s not your problem.”

“It’s me. How could I speculate about you like this? How could I curse you to death?”

Ren Chenbai murmured quietly, “Don’t be like this, Luo Zhi. You can punish me, but you can’t be like this.”

“I’m afraid of you dying.” Ren Chenbai admitted haltingly, brokenly. “I’m afraid of you dying.”

He had long been afraid of Luo Zhi dying—not for some ridiculous reason like “wanting Luo Zhi to live to suffer punishment.” That was just a logic he fabricated for himself. With that logic, he didn’t have to face the interrogation and struggle of hatred.

He was afraid of Luo Zhi dying.

That day at the hospital, when he pushed Luo Zhi away and saw him fall to the ground, he was so afraid he almost completely lost all rationality.

“Don’t be like this, Luo Zhi.” Ren Chenbai lowered his head, begging him. “I’ll let you go. Don’t scare me.”

…

The pitch-black boundless icy sea drained away with a splash, disappearing without a trace.

Luo Zhi fell to the ground with it.

The arm that had been protecting him behind finally dropped.

The thin wrist bone struck the cold, hard tile with a deafening sound.

Ren Chenbai briefly came to his senses from an inexplicable hallucination.

He was still standing in the corner of the emergency hall, phone clutched in his hand.

He leaned against the wall, his entire body soaked in cold sweat, still trembling uncontrollably. But escaping the hallucination still made him thoroughly relieved, almost feeling some post-disaster gratitude.

Ren Chenbai slowly moved his cold hands, pressing his still-racing chest.

He didn’t want to alarm anyone in the hospital. He walked to a vending machine to buy himself water.

When he picked up his phone to scan the code for payment, he suddenly discovered the phone showed it was in an active call.

It was a call from his assistant.

Ren Chenbai frowned.

He had no memory of this call at all. The call had been going for almost five minutes. He didn’t even remember what they had said.

…Had he been infected by Luo Zhi? Was his brain also becoming abnormal?

Ren Chenbai laughed self-mockingly. He steadied his breathing and picked up the phone. “What were we just talking about?”

“Mr. Ren?” The assistant seemed to have been waiting for him for a long time. His voice immediately responded. “Are you alright? Is it serious…”

“What would be wrong with me? I just spaced out. What do you need?”

The assistant seemed to pause at the question, hesitating a moment before lowering his voice slightly. “Mr. Ren, you asked me to investigate… Mr. Luo’s whereabouts.”

The assistant said quietly, “I was just reporting this to you.”

Ren Chenbai’s heart, which had just calmed down, suddenly caught again at that name.

He didn’t speak immediately, taking several deep breaths, telling himself it was okay.

He had figured it out, thoroughly figured it out—good thing he had figured it out. He would treat Luo Zhi well.

He would never mention the past to Luo Zhi again.

Perhaps because he had finally figured this out, his heart eased considerably. He even felt some long-lost relaxation, warmth, and anticipation.

Luo Zhi’s body this time must be quite difficult to nurse back to health.

But it didn’t matter. He would take care of Luo Zhi.

Just like when Luo Zhi first came to the Ren household, they would be like they were back then. No more fighting.

“Oh, that.” Ren Chenbai smiled, his tone much gentler. “Where did we get to? What did I just say to you?”

On the other end of the phone, the assistant suddenly stopped speaking.

Ren Chenbai waited a few seconds, slowly frowning. “Speak.”

Ren Chenbai asked, “What did I just say to you?”

The assistant, trembling, stammered out a rushed, garbled sentence.

Ren Chenbai stood there, somewhat dazed.

He had indeed said that.

He had indeed said that.

Those briefly auto-blocked memories suddenly returned. Ren Chenbai remembered what had just happened. He had been standing in the corner of the hall when he received the investigation results sent by his assistant.

He had spent great effort understanding those investigation results. He thought his assistant must have gone mad, actually using such fabricated nonsense to fob him off.

Just before the hallucination appeared, he heard this sentence echoing in his mind, then intense headache suddenly and without warning swallowed his consciousness.

…

“How could Luo Zhi possibly die in a maritime disaster?”

He said, “Stop joking around.”