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On the third day of the Lunar New Year, heavy snow fell.

Shen Yiqiong woke up early and came downstairs with Little Paper in his arms.

Breakfast that day was prepared by a hired chef. Normally, outsiders weren’t allowed in their residence, but they made an exception due to Zhou Jiayu’s condition.

The breakfast tasted good, and Shen Yiqiong mumbled that the New Year was approaching and he needed to make Little Paper some new clothes.

The others at the table, however, were mostly quiet, their expressions somber, as if worried about something. Shen Yiqiong was worried too, but he didn’t want to say anything. Zhou Jiayu once told him his words had a way of coming true, so he feared jinxing it.

“There are a lot of people outside today, don’t wait by the door,” Shen Yiqiong stroked Little Paper’s head. “It might scare people if they see you.”

Ever since Zhou Jiayu secretly left, Little Paper would wait for him by the door every day. But with the New Year holidays, there were even more people outside, and Little Paper being seen could easily cause panic.

Little Paper slowly nodded, acknowledging Shen Yiqiong’s words.

Suddenly, the sound of a car entering the compound broke the silence. Everyone paused, then, with a silent understanding, they all rose and rushed towards the entrance.

They saw Lin Zhushui’s driver at the wheel, and through the car window, they vaguely glimpsed another figure—Lin Zhushui.

“Mister! Mister!” The moment he saw Lin Zhushui, Shen Yiqiong immediately beamed. He thought that since Lin Zhushui was back, Zhou Jiayu must be with him, and both of them surely fine…

The others reacted similarly, all likely assuming Zhou Jiayu had returned too.

This assumption held until Lin Zhushui and Lin Jue, seated in the passenger seat, stepped out of the car. They did not see Zhou Jiayu.

Lin Jue’s face was utterly haggard. Her eyes were red and swollen, her complexion pale, as if she’d cried countless times. Lin Zhushui stood beside her, his face devoid of expression, and his once black long hair had turned completely white. A chill radiated from him—Shen Yiqiong realized instantly that the warmth Zhou Jiayu had brought to Lin Zhushui was gone again.

This filled Shen Yiqiong with dread; even the hand holding Little Paper began to tremble.

No one dared to ask what had happened to Zhou Jiayu. Everyone vaguely sensed an ominous atmosphere.

Another vehicle followed Lin Zhushui’s car into the courtyard. When everyone saw it, they fell into an even deeper silence—it was a hearse.

Little Paper, still bewildered, tugged at Shen Yiqiong’s sleeve, asking, “Where’s Papa? Where’s Papa?”

Shen Yiqiong’s lips trembled, unable to speak. He wanted to laugh, to make a joke, but after trying for a long time, he found he couldn’t force a single word from his mouth.

It was the first time he’d ever been so afraid to speak.

The hearse stopped. Lin Zhushui walked over, unlatched the door, and carefully pulled out an ice coffin. Then he slowly bent down, pressed his face against it, and softly said, “Jiayu, we’re home.”

Little Paper called out, “Papa,” in a dazed voice. It struggled to jump from Shen Yiqiong’s embrace. Shen Yiqiong didn’t want to let go, but Little Paper’s strength was too great.

Little Paper ran and bounced, quickly reaching Lin Zhushui’s side. It called, “Papa, Papa,” and then climbed onto the ice coffin.

“Papa.” Through the glass, Little Paper saw Zhou Jiayu. At that moment, its understanding of death was unclear; it thought Zhou Jiayu was just sleeping. It extended its flat little hand and gently patted the glass, “Papa, wake up, Papa, wake up, it’s Little Paper…” Zhou Jiayu didn’t respond.

Little Paper turned its head in confusion, looking at Lin Zhushui: “Big Papa, why isn’t Papa talking to me? I want him to hug Little Paper…”

Lin Zhushui reached out and touched Little Paper. He said, “I’m sorry, Little Paper, I lost him.”

Little Paper stood still, seemingly not comprehending Lin Zhushui’s words.

But while it didn’t understand, the people around them did.

Lin Jue was the first to break. Her back began to bend as if she couldn’t bear the weight of her body. Muffled sobs escaped her throat, like weeping blood.

Shen Yiqiong also began to cry. He slowly walked to the ice coffin and saw Zhou Jiayu lying inside.

Zhou Jiayu’s body was well-preserved, as if he were merely sleeping. He lay there quietly, his long eyelashes casting dark shadows, his lips bloodless, and his skin almost transparent.

Shen Yiqiong suddenly felt a surge of self-hatred. Why had he called Zhou Jiayu “Guan’er”? What was originally a teasing term now became a heartbreaking appellation.

Tears fell in drops, and Shen Yiqiong began to sob.

He had experienced too much life and death, but never separation.

“You’re back,” Shen Yiqiong whispered, “Why did you take so long to come back…”

Everyone was utterly silent; the air seemed to have solidified.

---

After that, Shen Yiqiong was in a daze. He watched Lin Zhushui bring Zhou Jiayu back to the residence, but still felt a sense of unreality. He kept thinking Zhou Jiayu would come back, smiling and calling him “Blackie,” that he’d put on an apron, wash his hands, and make soup, or slowly stroke Little Yellow in his arms.

But everything was gone. Little Yellow sat silently on the sofa, leaning against Little Paper. No one spoke in the room, no one moved.

Everyone was processing this hard-to-swallow truth.

“How could he just… be gone?” Shen Musi mumbled.

Shen Yiqiong sat quietly on the sofa cushion, unable to utter a single word.

A few days later, Lin Zhushui personally handled Zhou Jiayu’s funeral. Shen Yiqiong had expected Lin Zhushui to break down, but unexpectedly, Lin Zhushui remained remarkably calm throughout. In fact, this calmness was frightening. Shen Yiqiong began to fear Lin Zhushui’s eventual breakdown.

Lin Zhushui handled everything for Zhou Jiayu. He personally dressed Zhou Jiayu in burial clothes, applied makeup, lit the funeral pyre, and even placed Zhou Jiayu into the incinerator.

As he performed the last step, Lin Zhushui opened his eyes, revealing a pair of black pupils.

This was the first time Shen Yiqiong had seen Lin Zhushui’s eyes open like this. He saw boundless tenderness in Lin Zhushui’s gaze. Lin Zhushui kissed Zhou Jiayu’s lips, whispered a few words into his ear, and then, surprisingly, smiled.

Shen Yiqiong felt a chill run down his spine looking at Lin Zhushui’s smile. He slowly walked to Lin Jue’s side and quietly asked, “Aunt, is Mister alright?”

Lin Jue wore a simple white dress with a white flower in her hair. After this ordeal, she looked as if all color had drained from her; the smile had faded from her face, and she barely spoke.

“Mm,” Lin Jue said. “He’s fine.” Her gaze was distant, fixed on the burning incinerator. “I went through it too, and I survived, didn’t I?”

Her eyes, however, reddened again. “Besides, with Zhushui’s personality, if he’s truly made up his mind, can I stop him?”

As she spoke, Little Golden Dragon stood beside her, looking somewhat dejected, unsure how to comfort Lin Jue. Outside, what had been a relatively clear day began to snow heavily again.

Lin Zhushui also personally chose Zhou Jiayu’s tombstone. It had excellent feng shui. Shen Yiqiong watched as Lin Zhushui slowly placed the urn containing the ashes into the grave, his expression incredibly tender.

Shen Yiqiong noticed that both Lin Zhushui’s and Zhou Jiayu’s names were already carved on the tombstone. It seemed Lin Zhushui had decided to be buried with Zhou Jiayu.

However, Shen Yiqiong noticed a detail that filled him with dread—both names on the tombstone were inlaid with gold, a practice typically reserved only for the person who had been laid to rest.

Lin Jue, however, showed no surprise. Her expression was indifferent, her gaze passing through Lin Zhushui to some unknown sight. When she buried her own lover all those years ago, no one knew what thoughts she held or what she relied on to get through it.

The entire funeral was exceptionally quiet. No one spoke, and the atmosphere was eerily silent.

Little Paper was tucked in Shen Yiqiong’s pocket. It, too, finally understood the meaning of death: that the cherished person in their heart wouldn’t return, but had gone to another world, never to be seen again.

After everything concluded, everyone went home.

Lin Zhushui spoke in the house, giving them some instructions.

Shen Yiqiong’s heart fluttered as he listened. He said, “Mister…”

But Lin Zhushui seemed to know what he wanted to say, waving him off, signaling him to be silent.

Shen Yiqiong could only shut up, his hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms. He wasn’t Zhou Jiayu; he couldn’t make Lin Zhushui change his mind. He could only watch as things slowly worsened.

Zhou Jiayu’s sudden departure drained most of the vitality from the house. The atmosphere became extraordinarily lifeless.

Shen Yiqiong also began to get busy. He had been Lin Zhushui’s apprentice for several years; it was time for him to go out and gain experience alone.

Lin Zhushui’s whereabouts became erratic; he was rarely seen at home. He seemed to be searching for something, but no one knew what it was.

Shen Yiqiong worried every day about hearing news of Lin Zhushui’s death. But one day, when he saw Lin Zhushui after a long absence, he actually had the strange illusion that death would be a release for Lin Zhushui.

Lin Zhushui’s hair was almost completely white. He sat in a living room chair, holding a steaming cup of tea. Hearing Shen Yiqiong enter, he looked up and glanced at him indifferently.

Those were a pair of black eyes, which should have been very beautiful, but now they were like frozen lake water, revealing only a deadly coldness.

He saw Shen Yiqiong, yet seemed not to see him, moving his gaze away coldly, then asked, “What is it?”

Shen Yiqiong’s heart sank. This was the first time he had so clearly felt the change in Lin Zhushui. The old Lin Zhushui, though outwardly cold, had a warm soul. But the person before him was now cold to the bone.

“Mister, I plan to travel,” Shen Yiqiong said. “It might be for several years…”

Lin Zhushui grunted, saying, “Go ahead.”

Shen Yiqiong said, “Mister…”

Lin Zhushui slowly took a sip of tea and said faintly, “If you want to persuade me, there’s no need to speak. I know exactly what I’m doing.”

Shen Yiqiong was speechless. He could only turn away with a bitter smile.

A fish without water cannot live. Water without a fish is stagnant water. He was there, yet it was as if he wasn’t.

Shen Yiqiong left the Lin family and began his journey alone. If he could, he would have remained a child forever, but one must grow up, no matter how painful the process.

Shen Yiqiong had always thought that the next news he received from his senior brothers would be about Lin Zhushui’s death; he had prepared himself for it countless times.

But when he had just escaped from a terrible place and received a call from his senior brother, he heard his senior brother say on the phone: “We found Zhou Jiayu!”

“What??” Shen Yiqiong was stunned. “You found Zhou Jiayu?”

“Exactly what it means, hurry back.” His senior brother was extremely excited.

Shen Yiqiong didn’t fully understand what his senior brother meant, but since he said it, he wouldn’t joke about Zhou Jiayu. So Shen Yiqiong hurried back home overnight.

And then, he truly saw Zhou Jiayu.

---

Once, Zhou Jiayu was a materialist, firmly believing that death was an endless sleep. But later, he met Lin Zhushui, experienced those events, and began to wonder what the legendary Meng Po looked like, whether Meng Po’s soup tasted good, and if crossing the Bridge of Helplessness truly meant forgetting past lives.

So when he opened his eyes and saw light, he was completely dazed.

“He’s awake, he’s awake!” An excited voice rang out. Zhou Jiayu’s mind was numb, completely unable to think. He felt like a solid piece of wood, lying stiffly in bed, unable to move any part of his body.

The white ceiling, white walls, and the smell of disinfectant in the air all told Zhou Jiayu one fact: he was in a hospital.

A doctor rushed over, and Zhou Jiayu heard that almost joyful, tearful voice again: “He’s awake, he’s awake!”

Zhou Jiayu turned his head and saw a woman with a big belly sitting by his bed. Her face was covered in tears, and she looked at him with surprised joy.

“Who… are you…” Zhou Jiayu struggled to speak, his voice as faint as a mosquito’s buzz.

“Zhou Jiayu, it’s me!” Fortunately, the woman understood his words and leaned close to his ear, “You’re awake! Our baby is about to be born!”

Zhou Jiayu: “…” He was stunned for a moment before realizing, “Baby? Our baby?” His mind was a mess, as if filled with paste.

“Yes,” the woman said. “Do you want to feel?”

Zhou Jiayu, in a state of bewilderment, slowly reached out and touched.

The woman asked, “Happy?”

Zhou Jiayu nodded foolishly.

“Hahahahahahaha, you idiot, you really don’t remember anything!” Seeing Zhou Jiayu’s expression, the woman burst into laughter, tears streaming down her face. “I’m not your girlfriend! Besides, you’ve been in a coma for over three years, where would you get a child?”

Zhou Jiayu’s mind was still sluggish, unable to fully process what the woman was saying. He only grasped one fact: the child was indeed not his. He seemed a little disappointed, muttering that he felt he should have a child…

The woman laughed again, saying, “Where would you get a child? Was it born in a dream or something?”

Zhou Jiayu felt strangely wronged.

Because he had slept for so long, Zhou Jiayu’s physical condition and memory were very poor. Later, after being reminded by a few people, he learned that he had been in a car accident three years ago and had been in a coma ever since. Doctors had originally said the chances of recovery were slim, but unexpectedly, after lying there for so long, he actually woke up.

However, Zhou Jiayu couldn’t remember anything from before. His mind was very chaotic. He constantly felt as if he had forgotten something very important and tried hard to recall it. But his friends told him not to rush; he was just a single dog with no worries, so forgetting was fine, he could start anew.

He had three friends: two men and one woman, with one pair being a couple, and the woman had just become pregnant. They had known each other since childhood and had always been very close. After Zhou Jiayu’s accident, they never thought of giving up on him.

Zhou Jiayu was naturally very grateful.

However, lying in bed for so long had severely affected Zhou Jiayu’s body. First, he was weak, his limbs extremely thin, unable even to stand.

“Rehabilitation will be quite difficult,” the doctor said. “It requires a strong will from the patient.”

Although the doctor said this, Zhou Jiayu gritted his teeth and persevered, wanting to quickly restore his physical condition and retrieve his lost memories. He always felt he was missing something very important.

Rehabilitation was indeed very painful. A distance others could walk in dozens of seconds took Zhou Jiayu dozens of minutes. The worst part was that his body was completely unaccustomed to exercise; he would sweat profusely with the slightest movement.

His leg muscles had also atrophied, and there was a huge, hideous scar from the car accident on his spine.

His friends had all married and started their own families, but they still came to see Zhou Jiayu every three or four days. It showed how strong their bond was.

Zhou Jiayu learned from them that they all came from the same orphanage and regarded each other as siblings. Moreover, Zhou Jiayu had always taken care of them, so when he had the accident, they chose to silently stand by him.

In that car accident years ago, three people died, all from Zhou Jiayu’s workplace. Zhou Jiayu was severely injured but luckily escaped death.

“Then I’m really lucky,” Zhou Jiayu said. “Do I really not have a girlfriend?”

The pregnant woman chuckled: “Why do you always ask that? Did you have some strange dream? Of course you don’t have a girlfriend, you like boys, so how could you have a girlfriend?”

Zhou Jiayu: “…” He was shocked.

His friend sounded so certain, clearly not lying. So Zhou Jiayu began to ponder his own sexual orientation, wondering if he really did like cute boys.

This confusion lasted for a while, until one day.

It was a sunny day. Zhou Jiayu had finished his rehabilitation and was being pushed outside for a walk by his friend.

His friend said he needed to use the restroom and left him alone in the garden.

Zhou Jiayu sat under the shade of a tree, half-closing his eyes for a nap, listening to the rustling of the wind through the treetops, and slowly drifted off to sleep.

It wasn’t until he heard footsteps beside him that he opened his eyes, muttering, “You’re back?”

“I’m back.” The response wasn’t from his friend, but a husky male voice. Zhou Jiayu opened his eyes and saw a beautiful man.

The man had a picturesque face, his white long hair tied back, and he exuded a fresh scent of sandalwood. His black eyes were gazing at him tenderly. Zhou Jiayu’s heart instantly began to pound uncontrollably. Before, when his friend said he liked men, he had dismissed it as a joke. But at this moment, Zhou Jiayu was certain that he truly did like men, and he had fallen for the man in front of him.

“H-hello,” Zhou Jiayu stammered, trying to make conversation. “Have I… seen you somewhere before?”

The man raised an eyebrow, a knowing expression on his face.

Zhou Jiayu felt somewhat afraid for some reason, slowly pushing his wheelchair back a little. But he was also reluctant to retreat too far, so he could only look up and continue to whisper, “Is there something I can help you with? Why are you… looking at me like that?”

Suddenly, the man bent down and held him tightly, with such strength that it felt as if he would crush his body. Zhou Jiayu was so frightened that he dared not move, like a quail.

Just then, he saw a piece of white paper slowly emerge from the man’s pocket. Zhou Jiayu initially thought it was just his imagination, but then the paper actually climbed up the man’s back to his head and began excitedly pulling at his hair: “Papa, Papa!”

The piece of paper was calling out in a sharp voice.

Zhou Jiayu felt his worldview shattering. He even began to wonder if he hadn’t truly woken up from his dream.

“Too thin,” the man said, resting his chin on Zhou Jiayu’s shoulder, in a low voice. “You need to gain some weight in the future.”

Zhou Jiayu didn’t move, cautiously asking if the man had mistaken him for someone else.

He didn’t know what it was about that sentence, but the man’s aura suddenly became agitated. He gripped Zhou Jiayu’s chin and said, “Do you know how long I’ve been looking for you?”

Zhou Jiayu looked utterly bewildered.

The man, however, directly kissed him.

Their lips met, and Zhou Jiayu involuntarily grabbed the man’s shoulders. This feeling was so familiar, giving him the sense that he had been in love with this man for a very long time.

“I’ve been looking for you for so long,” the man said. “I only knew your name was Zhou Jiayu. I didn’t know if you were male or female, old or young, or if you were even still alive—”

Zhou Jiayu’s breathing was uneven from the kiss. His eyes even began to tear up from lack of oxygen. He gasped for air, startled by the man’s extremely fierce gaze.

“But at least I found you,” the man said. “I was about to give up.”

After saying that, he directly picked up Zhou Jiayu and, to Zhou Jiayu’s exclamation, carried him out of the hospital.

Zhou Jiayu struggled relentlessly, even attempting to call for help, but under the man’s fierce gaze, he stiffened into a quail.

Did I do something wrong to him? Zhou Jiayu thought secretly. How did he get like this? And why is he so thin? Could it have something to do with me too?

The car sped out of the hospital. Zhou Jiayu subtly asked if he could call his friends.

The man casually tossed him a phone. Zhou Jiayu asked for the password.

The man stated a number. Zhou Jiayu exclaimed, “Huh, why is it my birthday?”

The man sneered, “We have a child together; why can’t I use your birthday?”

Zhou Jiayu: “…” He silently looked up and saw the white paper still engrossed in pulling his hair on his head, “This one?”

The man asked, “Are you still being picky?”

The white paper on his head suddenly stopped, bent down, and said, “Papa, do you dislike Little Paper?”

Facing the white paper’s accusing gaze, Zhou Jiayu caved in three seconds: “No, no, I just think I’m too happy.”

Only then did the man and the white paper show satisfied expressions.

This continues to be a very emotionally charged narrative! It sounds like Zhou Jiayu has been “reborn” in a new life, having lost his memories, while Lin Zhushui has endured a long and painful search for him. The reunion is both heartwarming and tinged with the sadness of what Lin Zhushui went through.

What do you think will happen now that Zhou Jiayu and Lin Zhushui have found each other again? How do you think Zhou Jiayu will react when he starts to remember his past?