For the past few days, Xie Jinghe had been feeling a bit tired.

Tired in the physical sense.

Le Yan looked very worried about him, constantly watching him with eyes that practically screamed, ‘Xie-ge, you won’t do anything foolish, right?’ Although Xie Jinghe had explained himself several times, while Le Yan claimed to believe him, her actions grew even more vigilant, as if treating him like some fragile porcelain that would shatter at the slightest misstep.

Originally, Xie Jinghe had thought so, too.

But he didn’t shatter.

He didn’t know if it was because the man had consistently maintained an attitude of “wanting a divorce” from start to finish throughout the show, to the point that he had developed a desensitization to it—even when he received the divorce certificate from the hands of the Civil Affairs Bureau staff, Xie Jinghe didn’t feel the deep fear of abandonment he had imagined.

He hadn’t been abandoned.

He had simply gotten divorced from Shi Linchuan.

That was all.

When he encountered danger, that man would grab onto him tightly; when he cried in anger and grievance, that man would squat down beside him with a slightly embarrassed expression, wiping away the wet tracks on his face with gentle movements; and when his marriage failed, that man still gave him a lot of money.

Regarding that last point, Xie Jinghe felt an old saying was very accurate: Where the money is, that’s where the love is.

Shi Linchuan had given him so much love. So much.

Xie Jinghe suddenly felt so ashamed.

He would never forget that final snowy night stuck in Duodan. The man had rested his forehead lightly against his own, his cold-as-frost outer shell completely shattering into dense cracks, revealing the festering flesh beneath—every single word he spoke sounding as though it were being carved out of his own body.

He said, “I don’t want to be too happy.”

Yet Xie Jinghe heard it as, “I don’t dare to be too happy.”

At that moment, Xie Jinghe suddenly remembered that deeply impressionable fairy tale book: the pure white prince had his heart carved out, turning into a king ensnared by thorns, forced to spend the rest of his life constantly repeating magic spells to drive everyone away… because whenever someone embraced him, the thorns’ prickles would pierce into his own body as well.

He simply felt pain.

“…”

So, on the day Shi Linchuan moved out, Xie Jinghe didn’t stop him.

The man took almost nothing with him, leaving in a hurry while carrying just a small suitcase.

Le Yan might have formed a misunderstanding about his frantic cleaning and dirt-turning behavior over the past few days, perhaps believing he had been deeply triggered by the divorce and wanted to erase every trace of the man…

On the contrary.

He simply missed Shi Linchuan too much, missing him so much he couldn’t sleep at night, to the point that he needed to expend physical energy through massive amounts of housework just to suppress the urge to go find that person.

The two had left behind far too many memories in this house.

Xie Jinghe wiped and cleaned them one by one, staying busy all the way until today.

Tonight was the night the finale aired, but Xie Jinghe had no mind to pay attention to it. He only felt that winter in Tongcheng was far too cold; the flowers and plants in the courtyard had lacked care lately, looking quite withered…

This wouldn’t do.

Thinking so, Xie Jinghe held his small hoe and began digging up the dirt for the third time. He had stuffed his phone onto a small wooden stool in the corner of the courtyard to prevent himself from giving into the impulse of sending the man a text or calling him.

If he did, he would very likely break down crying on the spot.

That wouldn’t do either.

Just then, Xie Jinghe suddenly heard a ringtone specially set for a certain someone echo through the courtyard. The piano notes were crisp and tinkling, penetrating right into his heart from a distance.

In an instant, Xie Jinghe’s heart nearly leaped out of his chest.

Shi Linchuan rarely fell ill.

Falling ill was a very troublesome matter. Not only did it drastically reduce his mind’s control over his body, but it also carried a certain probability of affecting the brain, causing lantern-slide hallucinations or dreams of people he shouldn’t be dreaming about.

It felt like eating poisonous mushrooms.

Like right now.

His whole body felt dazed, alternating between hot and cold, his vision blurry. Yet Xie Jinghe’s dirty, smudged face lingered right in front of him, his mouth opening and closing without making any clear sounds.

His brain lagged, functioning with great difficulty.

Only after a good while did Shi Linchuan sluggishly react: it seemed the Xie Jinghe in his dream was asking if he was sick. With his eyes half-lidded, resting his head on one arm as he lay sideways, he raised his other hand to feel his forehead, answering with a pronounced nasal tone,

“Mm, running a bit of a fever.”

The white glowing sphere holding up the phone silently dimmed its brightness.

When being a sphere, the most important thing was to keep a low profile.

Sure enough, the man didn’t notice any anomaly. Instead, he grew even more convinced that the scene before him was a dream or illusion—anything but reality. So when he heard the person on the other end of the line ask if he had taken medicine, he answered very candidly: “I did, but it doesn’t seem to have much effect.”

Shi Linchuan answered the next few questions in succession.

After a brief silence, he suddenly heard the person in front of him ask,

“Linchuan, where are you?”

Shi Linchuan thought about it and answered, “Our former home.”

After a two-second pause, Shi Linchuan saw that person purse his lips with a complex yet pleasantly surprised expression. Then, those watery eyes glared over, scratching across his face like a feather, making half of his face tingle with a numb itch.

“You liar.”

He got scolded.

Shi Linchuan couldn’t help chuckling twice.

He buried his face into the pillow, his laughter muffled inside.

Xie Jinghe asked, “What are you laughing at?”

“Laughing at you. In the past, you’d believe whatever I said,” Shi Linchuan replied hazily. “Even if you had doubts in your heart, you didn’t dare to actually question me. You only dared to look at me secretly, and then ask me for kisses, hugs, or intimacy.”

“As if you were terrified others wouldn’t know how touch-starved you were.”

Lying in this small apartment, Shi Linchuan was reminded of many old memories and couldn’t help chuckling as he continued, “Then I’d always use bad technique as an excuse, intentionally acting very rough, making you howl in pain—yet you’d still insist you were feeling good, only to end up walking with your legs spread wide…”

“It was pretty hilarious.”

Just as the words left his mouth, the dirt-smudged Xie Jinghe suddenly straightened his face. The camera angle abruptly shifted from eye-level to looking down, aiming his nostrils at him, before finally squeezing out a sentence after a long pause: “Then that first time we did it, when you said you were a virgin, were you lying to me then, too?”

Shi Linchuan: “Didn’t you get drunk?”

A few seconds later, Xie Jinghe replied, “I wasn’t drunk to the point of losing my mind! Otherwise, why would I have kissed you on my own initiative?”

Shi Linchuan let out an ‘oh’.

The air suddenly fell silent.

Xie Jinghe pressed again: “Tell me, were you a virgin or not?”

Shi Linchuan let out another ‘mm’.

This dream was getting a bit long.

Shi Linchuan had spoken too much; his throat was dry to the point of burning. He couldn’t help coughing twice, then heard that person ask again, “Linchuan, you’re pretty sick right now. Can I come over to see you?”

Shi Linchuan felt puzzled.

He asked, “Aren’t you already right here?”

Xie Jinghe froze, asking back: “Where?”

On the screen, the man lay on his side, his black hair messy and damp. His cheeks were flushed, yet his lips were pale, lightly curling into a very faint smile.

“In my dream.”