Chapter 77: A Message in a Dream

The moment he finished reading the piece of paper, Fu Rangyi felt as if he were a river that had been drained dry.

The exposed riverbed was instantly baked by the sun until it was parched and cracked. The fissures, like the scars on his arm, were deep and shallow, impossible to fill.

No. Stop. This isn’t normal. His brain began to devise ways to salvage the crumbling state of his emotions. The first strategy was, surprisingly, escape. A foolish thought controlled him: just hide these pieces of paper, and it will be fine. If I can’t see them, they don’t exist. If they don’t exist, they can’t disappear.

Like a headless fly, he clutched the stack of papers and frantically pulled open drawer after drawer in the bathroom.

He stopped when he opened the one containing the aromatherapy candles. Inside, neatly arranged and individually wrapped, were all the results of the time and patience he had spent at the craft store.

This in itself was nothing special. But Fu Rangyi’s eyes fell on a piece of paper stuck to the inner wall of the drawer. And he couldn’t stop himself from taking it out.

[Letter Fragment 9:
Please burn one for me every day. When I smell your pheromones, I will work twice as hard!]

His glasses were perfectly fine, but his vision grew increasingly blurry.

There was a ringing in his ears, and he lost his strength again. His reflection in the mirror wavered. He fell back, leaning heavily against the opposite wall. His uninjured left hand braced against the cold, hard tiles, but it couldn’t stop his body from slumping downwards, sliding along the wall until he was sitting on the floor.

When a person is grieving, their consciousness is completely uncontrolled. It’s a terrifying mental mechanism that they would recall countless sad moments they thought were in the past.

He was back at the orphanage, leaning against the window, watching yet another car drive away. He was back at the Fu family villa, listening to Fu Liaoxing tell the piano teacher, “He’s not my brother.” He was back in the endless days and nights shuttling between the hospital and high school, back to the moments of clarity brought by the pain of self-harm, back to the front of the Little Flower Pet Shop.

These past events had long forged a transparent glass dome around Fu Rangyi, isolating him from all approach, touch, and embrace. He was an uncatalogued but displayable lost relic.

However, his memory finally returned to the first day he wrote the [Rabbit Rearing Manual].

Zhu Zhixi had shattered the glass, leaving an indelible fingerprint on this object, as if he had marked him.

Then he had gently put it down, smiled, and said goodbye, said I’ve left you a lot of good things, remember to find them, stay and find them one by one.

Fu Rangyi fell into a state of profound confusion. Was there really anything in this world that belonged to him? Did it exist?

Was there anything, like a long, sharp nail, that could be hammered in to firmly pin him to this earth? Otherwise, this riverbed would just rapidly weather away, turn into quicksand, and vanish with a single gust of wind.

Every night is a night we might meet? What were the odds? And after waking up?

Why must he stay, and let these countless nights wear him down?

Why must he be obedient, and light one of these counterfeits day by day?

Was this an offering, or some kind of sacrificial ritual?

Stop it.

This is getting chaotic. Calm down. Quick. Fu Rangyi told himself.

Everything was unknown. A miracle might happen. He should control his emotions now, put these things back where Zhu Zhixi left them, pretend he knew nothing, smile at him, put his mind at ease, and accompany him in finishing what he hadn’t done yet, just like the countless times before, praying in his heart to the soul of a small dog.

He took a deep breath, trying again and again. A minute later, he attempted to shift his gaze from the words that caused him pain, looking blankly at other parts of the enclosed space to distract himself.

But then he saw something familiar, something that had appeared here before. Small, yellow, in the corner outside the bathtub. It was hidden from view when he was standing.

Don’t get it, don’t look for it, his brain commanded. But his body was too slow to execute. By the time he reacted, the thing was already in his palm. He had flipped it over, its wide bottom facing the ceiling, with a new piece of paper stuck to it.

Seeing the number 10 after “Letter Fragment,” Fu Rangyi even let out a laugh.

[Hello there, remember me? I’m the little yellow duck nurse bell. Intern nurse Xiao Zhu has already resigned because he’s a bit unreliable, doesn’t know how to take care of people, and only makes things worse. But he left this for you. If you’re unhappy, just squeeze me a couple of times to vent. He can hear it.
If you hate the sight of me, you can bury me.]

Reading the last few words, Fu Rangyi felt all the blood in his body freeze. Yet, a dense electric current shot through his skin, his muscles, numbing him from his fingertips all the way to his face.

Bury me…

He numbly repeated these words, like a desperate person chanting scriptures to a Buddha.

For a second, he almost wanted to hate Zhu Zhixi. It was simply incomprehensible. But he truly thought, it would have been better if he hadn’t appeared. At least then, he could have continued to function stably and self-sufficiently as before. Before this, he had never been loved, had never learned to love, and had no way to learn. He had vaguely followed Zhu Zhixi, step by step, imitating, correcting, receiving feedback, and trying again… Seeing Zhu Zhixi’s happiness, he thought he knew what love was.

Suddenly, he laughed out loud. So it turned out he still didn’t, not enough. It wasn’t until this moment, when the thought of hatred flashed through his mind, that Fu Rangyi finally realized how much he truly loved him.

He squeezed the duck very lightly. Because it was so gentle, the sound it made was like the last gasp of a dying person, a wheeze from the chest.

Then that sound was stretched out, severed by the second hand, and segmented into isolated, sound-filled points: tick, tock, tick, tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock…

The sound of the countdown filled Fu Rangyi’s mind, endless and uncontrollable.

And so he completely overloaded and broke down in tears. His stomach began to hurt, and gradually he realized the source was not in his stomach. It was as if it was in the back of his neck, behind his ears, in his chest—he could no longer locate it.

Pain is graded. He had heard that one of the highest levels was the agony of a permanent mark being severed by death. An Alpha and Omega bound by a permanent mark would experience immense pain when their other half died, requiring isolated treatment.

Did the biological father I’ve never met experience such pain?

But my husband doesn’t even have pheromones. What is this I’m feeling now?

The intense pain spread with his tears, flowing throughout his body, corroding every inch of his skin like sulfuric acid. In his blurry vision flashed the smiling faces of Zhu Zhixi in different corners of the world, places he would never want to go to again in this life.

Tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock…

He curled up on the floor in pain, because of a yellow duck. It was too ridiculous.

Cold sweat and tears mixed together. Fu Rangyi could barely breathe. The pain forced a strange desire from his throat, a physiological instinct shared by all of humanity in fear and pain—he wanted to call for his mother. But his mother…

He couldn’t. He closed his eyes first,遁入 into a vacuum and darkness.

The sound of the countdown finally disappeared.

After that, his body became exceptionally light. Like steam evaporating, he floated up, leaving the darkness and arriving at a place full of light. It was very unclear; everything was fluffy, with no definite lines, only chaotic blocks of color—blue, gold, and vast, endless expanses of green.

And a tiny white speck, like a small dot dripped from a pen tip, rolled around, coming to his side…

In the middle of it all, he vaguely heard Zhu Zhixi’s voice, like a sound from another world, but it couldn’t pull him out of that fluffy utopia. It sounded like he was crying, gasping for breath, his tone exceptionally anxious. It made Fu Rangyi want to hug him, but his consciousness was helpless.

He didn’t know how long had passed. The small dot rolled far away, and he followed, finally falling heavily, plunging vertically back into the darkness. With a sudden struggle, Fu Rangyi woke up.

He opened his eyes. The blue color blocks had become a vast white ceiling. The air was filled with the smell of disinfectant. There was no ticking sound in his ears, only the sound of medical instruments, continuous and faint.

Then, Zhu Zhixi’s sobs.

So he really was crying… crying so pitifully.

Fu Rangyi couldn’t lift his head, but he instinctively reached out, wanting to touch him.

“You’re awake?” Zhu Zhixi suddenly threw himself forward, grabbing his hand and squeezing it extremely tight. He cried even harder, calling his name vaguely, the final sound of “Yi” distorted by his sobs.

“You’re awake?” another person appeared. It was surprisingly Li Qiao.

He covered his forehead with his hand and let out a long breath, then launched into a tirade, speaking so fast Fu Rangyi could barely keep up.

“Fu Rangyi, you’re really lucky to be alive! You passed out in the bathroom in the early morning! If Xiao Zhu hadn’t woken up and looked everywhere for you, you really… When you were brought in, your pheromones were out of control, even your fingernails were purple!” As he spoke, he aggressively grabbed Fu Rangyi’s wrist. “Look at your hand! It’s still like a claw even now. You try separating your thumb and index finger! Can you separate them?”

Fu Rangyi opened his mouth, wanting to tell him to stop. He didn’t know what had happened, he only felt that Zhu Zhixi would worry if he heard these things. But he couldn’t make a sound. He was still wearing an oxygen mask.

“What are you doing!” Zhu Zhixi cried, prying Li Qiao’s hand away. “He’s awake, that’s what matters! Why are you being so fierce with him?”

“You!” Li Qiao was furious. “I can’t manage either of you.”

He sat back down in the chair and pressed the nurse call button several times. “You’re very weak right now. The doctor gave you a lot of pheromone stabilizers during the emergency treatment… Tell me, what happened? Your Xiao Zhu was asleep. Who provoked you to this state?”

Fu Rangyi remained silent. Soon, the doctor came in, checked his pupils by pulling back his eyelids, and then checked the indicators on the pheromone monitor. “Still unstable. He needs to be kept for observation.”

Li Qiao followed the doctor out. “Wait a moment, Dr. Zhang, I need to consult you about something…” His voice was shut out along with the door.

Fu Rangyi felt Zhu Zhixi lay his head on him, so he reached out and stroked his hair and the back of his neck.

“It’s okay…” he said hoarsely.

“How could it be okay…” Zhu Zhixi’s sobs were muffled by the blanket. “You scared me to death.”

Death.

A keyword suddenly brought back some of Fu Rangyi’s memories.

The dreams he’d had before would grow increasingly blurry upon waking, eventually disappearing completely from his memory. But the dream he had while unconscious was the complete opposite. The color blocks were continuously refined, becoming clearer. The blue was the sky, the green was a vast, endless lawn. The white dot was Snowball.

The vague words also became clear and coherent.

The little dog could actually talk. It said: I finally, finally made it into your dream.

It said a lot more. Everything came flooding back into his brain like a tidal wave.

Fu Rangyi suddenly took off the oxygen mask, grabbed the railing of the hospital bed with his hand, and forced himself up.

“What are you doing?” Zhu Zhixi’s eyes widened, tears hanging on his face. “Don’t get up. You need to rest properly.”

Fu Rangyi tore off the electrode pads stuck to the back of his neck and behind his ears. The monitor emitted a continuous alarm.

He had no strength to speak, panting for a while before finally getting out three words: “…Where’s Snowball?”

“Here.” Zhu Zhixi picked up the bag that had been on his lap. “I brought it. What’s wrong?”

Fu Rangyi nodded and said with difficulty, “I’m… going to find him…”

“What?” Zhu Zhixi grabbed his arm. “Where are you going to find him now? It’s raining outside. You need to lie down first, or I’m really going to get angry.”

Fu Rangyi stubbornly got out of bed. As he stood up, the door to the room opened again. Li Qiao was back. He witnessed Fu Rangyi insisting on leaving and then collapsing onto Zhu Zhixi from weakness.

“Quick, help me.”

But this time, Li Qiao was not as intense. He just quickly moved to support him, his tone unusually gentle. “What do you want? You tell me, and I’ll go get it for you. You just lie here obediently, okay?”

Fu Rangyi was familiar with this kind of rhetoric and tone from Li Qiao. This was how he spoke to his mentally unstable patients.

He bypassed Li Qiao and grabbed Zhu Zhixi’s wrist.

“There’s… not much time,” he said, word by word. “Snowball… is waiting for me.”

Zhu Zhixi suddenly understood.

With his persuasion, Li Qiao finally compromised. After giving Fu Rangyi a booster shot of stabilizer, he helped him leave. After getting into the car, he sat in the driver’s seat and turned to ask, “Where do you want to go?”

A few seconds later, Fu Rangyi said hoarsely, “Our high school…”

Both Li Qiao and Zhu Zhixi were stunned.

Not long after they started driving, Zhu Zhixi called Liang Yi’en. With Li Qiao’s help, he gave him the full address over the phone and arranged to meet there.

During the ride, Fu Rangyi kept wanting to look at his phone, to see the countdown, but the phone wasn’t here. He could only turn his head to look out the window and calculate silently in his head. As he calculated, his mind suddenly became much clearer, his brain more active.

The rain outside grew heavier, pattering against the window. Everything from the “dream” became clearer and clearer.

As they were about to arrive, his fingers could finally move, and he had the strength to speak a complete sentence. He really wanted to say to Zhu Zhixi, I think I know what death feels like now.

But he didn’t. He changed it to the next sentence at the last minute. “When I was unconscious, I had a dream. In the dream, it came back to find me.”

Zhu Zhixi grabbed his hand. “You mean Snowball?”

Fu Rangyi nodded.

“We’re here,” Li Qiao said, unbuckling his seatbelt and turning his head. “Xiao Zhu, there’s an umbrella at your feet.”

The three of them got out of the car. Under the effect of the booster shot, Fu Rangyi gradually regained control of his body and could walk independently. Zhu Zhixi held the umbrella for him. He felt uncomfortable with it and took the umbrella himself. After a few steps, the umbrella began to tilt.

But Zhu Zhixi’s heart was entirely focused on him and didn’t notice.

Li Qiao walked quickly ahead, spoke with the security guard for a moment, registered, and then led them in.

The campus scenery was veiled by a curtain of rain, turning it a hazy, damp cyan. Other than that, it was almost identical to the past. Fu Rangyi had no attachment to this place, even a certain aversion, and so he had never returned after graduation.

They followed the wet path forward, step by step, through the long corridors of the teaching buildings, the tree-lined roads, stepping over deep and shallow puddles, to the single-person dormitory building he most resisted, and finally, stopped by the trash can at the foot of the dormitory.

There was a large camphor tree here, its branches and leaves lush, blocking much of the rain. It was because Snowball had hidden here that it hadn’t been completely soaked by the rain back then.

“I’m here,” Fu Rangyi said softly, holding the small, soft body of the puppy. “It’s me.”

Suddenly, a gust of wind rose under the tree. The rain slanted, and Fu Rangyi’s black pant leg moved, creating an unusual fold.

He felt a ball of melting warmth approach, finally coiling around his feet. A weight so light it could almost be ignored, plip, landed on his shoe.

Fu Rangyi squatted down and placed Snowball’s body close to the ground.

The voice from the dream appeared again in his ears. In the dream, he had been happily playing with Snowball, doing things he had never done with it before: playing frisbee, tug-of-war, holding it and stroking it gently, rubbing its ears. But every word Snowball spoke was sad and anxious.

[A puppy’s soul has been separated from its body for too long, its memory is almost gone. I really wanted to come find you, but I got lost. I walked for so long, my paws are worn out, and I still couldn’t find you…]

[But I felt it. You’re in so much pain, you’re about to die. So I desperately tried to find a way, and finally, I contacted you. Why are you in so much pain? Why? I’m so worried, what should I do, what should I do…] In the dream, the little dog on the big lawn was spinning in circles with anxiety.

[Oh no… my memories are all disappearing. I’m going to disappear too. Can you come find me now? At the place where you first found a dog. You remember, right?]

[You’ll come find me, okay? Come quickly. Don’t cry.]

In the nest formed by his hands, the sleeping puppy moved, letting out a faint whimper.

[This puppy has lived long enough. Don’t be in pain. I’ll leave him behind for you.]

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Author’s Note:

Blowing my nose has affected my writing speed orz

Snowball originally had no strength left, and because of memory separation, was gradually becoming a ghost puppy. But as soon as it sensed Fu Rangyi’s immense pain, its ears perked up, and it suddenly rallied, found a way to send a dream to its dad, let its dad come find him, huffing and puffing its way back to the trash can where they first met, and waited obediently. In the first chapter, and a few previous chapters, Snowball was always found by a trash can.