Chapter 1

“Ladies and gentlemen, our flight has safely landed at Haishi International Airport. The local time is four thirty-four in the afternoon, and the ground temperature is…”

The familiar sound of a Chinese announcement came over the plane’s speakers.

Wen Chaosheng huddled in the last row, frowning uncomfortably. He pulled off his eye mask and gazed blearily out the window.

A rain had just fallen, leaving the tarmac slick and gleaming under overcast skies. In the distance, the terminal building rose with a massive sign atop it—

Haishi International Airport.

“…”

Wen Chaosheng stared quietly at those words, a touch of daze settling over him.

Soon, the cabin filled with the clamor of movement. After a grueling flight with multiple layovers lasting over ten hours, the passengers were bone-tired and eager to bolt off the plane at the first opportunity.

Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz.

His phone, now connected to the signal, vibrated relentlessly.

Wen Chaosheng glanced down at his unread WeChat messages. The instant his eyes landed on a certain profile picture, that familiar wave of dizziness and nausea washed over him, his breathing quickening.

He checked the time, then fished a pre-portioned medicine pouch from his pocket. He popped out a small pill and swallowed it dry, without water.

A bitter taste spread through his throat.

Wen Chaosheng fought back the urge to retch and shut off the phone screen with a blank expression.

Dozens of WeChat messages, and not one he felt like replying to. Annoying.

The line finally started moving. Wen Chaosheng rose wearily and trailed silently at the end as they filed off the plane.

Fresh post-rain air seeped through the gaps in the jet bridge, carrying a humid heaviness unlike Florence’s scorching dryness. Only now did Wen Chaosheng truly feel like he was back in the country.

After so many years apart, he had finally returned to Hua Country.

…

After clearing customs and stepping out the airport doors, a loud voice rang out.

“Xiao Sheng! Over here! Over here!”

“…”

Wen Chaosheng turned slowly toward the sound.

He watched the man trot up, a faint, long-absent awkwardness flickering across his face. “Cousin.”

Song Ting gave his cousin a once-over and grinned. “You haven’t changed a bit. People would think you’re still a college student.”

Wen Chaosheng had naturally curly hair in a chestnut brown hue since childhood. His features inherited all the best traits from his parents—fair-skinned and handsome—though he always wore thick black-framed glasses that deliberately obscured much of his looks.

“…”

Wen Chaosheng’s ear tips flushed pink. He badly wanted to say, “Cousin, you’ve put on some weight,” but held back, figuring it would be rude.

Song Ting was used to his cousin’s quiet nature. With a chuckle, he took the suitcase. “Alright, alright. The car’s parked outside. Come on.”

Wen Chaosheng gripped the strap of his backpack. “Mm.”

As they walked, Song Ting asked, “That’s all your luggage? How long are you staying back this time? You’re not leaving again, right?”

“Eight months.”

Wen Chaosheng’s answer was precise.

Song Ting blinked. “You’re going back to Italy?”

“We’ll see.”

Wen Chaosheng’s eyes, hidden behind his lenses, darkened for a second. He changed the subject. “We’ll talk after I finish shooting this movie smoothly.”

“Fair enough. That film in the works is the priority.”

Song Ting nodded, sneaking glances at the taciturn Wen Chaosheng with his peripheral vision.

His uncle and aunt—Wen Chaosheng’s birth parents—were renowned gold-standard director and screenwriter in Hua Country’s film industry.

Thanks to his upbringing steeped in that world, Wen Chaosheng had shown extraordinary talent and passion for filmmaking from a young age. Before even graduating university, his self-written and self-directed debut feature had earned nominations at international film awards and launched its lead actor to stardom.

His second film, an arthouse piece, had been an even bigger hit, catapulting him to fame.

Unfortunately, during production on his third film, something went wrong with the crew. Shooting fizzled out, and even online searches turned up nothing.

As family, Song Ting had only heard vague mentions from the elders: after that, Wen Chaosheng had a falling-out with his parents and stayed abroad all these years.

As for exactly what happened?

Those in the know wouldn’t talk, and outsiders had no way of finding out.

Song Ting ran a small company providing film project services. Half a year ago, he’d suddenly gotten a message from Wen Chaosheng—

The guy said he’d written a new movie script and wanted to shoot it domestically. He’d asked Song Ting to help secure funding and assemble the team.

Logically, going to Wen Chunshen and Song Xuelan—the power couple—would’ve been easier. They were big shots with endless connections and resources.

But considering Wen Chaosheng’s rift with his family, Song Ting had stepped up without hesitation, hustling to make it happen.

Click.

The car door shut.

Song Ting handed over the prepped production documents. “Prep work’s almost done. The filming permit’s in process. Once we lock in casting, we should be able to start shooting before National Day.”

“Mm.”

Wen Chaosheng nodded like a little chick pecking at rice, his eyes glued to the project proposal, reading every word intently.

After waiting a bit, Song Ting asked, “Hungry? Want to grab some food?”

Wen Chaosheng shook his head. “I want to go back and rest first. I’m beat.”

“Sure.”

Song Ting respected his wishes completely. “I’ll drop you off then. Tomorrow, I’ll take you for something good.”

Wen Chaosheng had already lined up housing before returning, paying half a year’s rent upfront.

It was fairly central. The landlord had divided a single-level apartment into four independent studio units. The other three were occupied, and the shared entryway carried a faint whiff of smoke—not exactly pleasant.

Song Ting was here for the first time and couldn’t help wrinkling his nose.

The Wen family wasn’t short on money, and Wen Chaosheng had been pampered growing up. Why rent a subdivided shared place like this? Had he been scammed by some shady online agent?

Following the landlord’s WeChat instructions, Wen Chaosheng found the key hidden under a succulent planter and unlocked his door.

One bedroom, one bath, with only basic furnishings. The space was small—cramped, even.

Song Ting couldn’t hold back. “Why rent a shoebox like this? A few steps and you hit the wall. Come stay with me, or at least let me book you a hotel.”

“…”

Wen Chaosheng caught the disdain in his tone and paused for two seconds before explaining, “It’s enough for me alone. This place is just temporary. Once filming starts, I’ll move in with the crew.”

Half-truth, half-lie.

Song Ting was married with a daughter, and Wen Chaosheng hated imposing—even on a cousin. He didn’t want to intrude on their family life.

“Fine. If it gets unbearable, I’ll help you find something else.”

Song Ting hauled the suitcase inside. With the place so tiny, there wasn’t much room to unpack.

Before leaving, he said, “Tomorrow afternoon, I’ve got a meeting with the boss at Script Box Media about the investment. Want me to pick you up? They specifically asked to meet you.”

“…Okay.”

“Rest up then. Beat the jet lag.”

“Mm. See you later, Cousin.”

The door clicked shut softly.

Wen Chaosheng let out a subtle sigh of relief. The post-flight headache and dizziness lingered, but he was used to enduring it in silence.

He shuffled to the inner side of the bed and yanked open the tightly drawn curtains.

The sky outside hadn’t darkened yet.

Across the street, the office building’s massive LED screen dominated his view with a giant real-life poster—

The man wore a broad-shouldered black dress shirt, the fabric gleaming with a cool sheen. His handsome face filled nearly the entire display in close-up, the shadows under his brow bones sharpening his eyes to razor edges.

At the bottom of the poster was a name Wen Chaosheng knew all too well.

—Xi Zhui.

The hottest rising male star in entertainment right now. He’d snagged Best Male Lead at the Baixiang Awards earlier this year, earning the Film Emperor title and riding a wave of peak popularity.

Xi Zhui’s personal studio was affiliated with Quansheng Entertainment, and as the company’s golden signboard, his poster naturally plastered the most prominent spot on their exterior LED wall.

“…”

Wen Chaosheng’s gaze stuck to the screen, his heart skipping several beats out of control. Memories flashed through his mind like a carousel.

Only when his eyes began to sting with tears did he hastily look away.

Pathetic.

How could just seeing this guy’s poster throw his emotions into chaos?

Wen Chaosheng thought silently, a dull ache finally registering in his chest—

Xi Zhui was his first love. His ex.

Back then, their relationship had faded across borders, not even ending with a proper “breakup”—just a hasty mention over WeChat.

Wen Chaosheng didn’t know how to explain it, but half a month ago, he’d spotted this exact window view in the landlord’s rental app photos and snapped up the tiny studio as fast as he could.

He lacked the courage to face his ex-boyfriend head-on, so he’d settled for this indirect approach: living right near the guy’s company.

Maybe one day, he could steal another glance at the man who haunted his every thought through this window.

Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz.

WeChat buzzed in a relentless chain. Whoever was messaging seemed determined to keep at it.

Wen Chaosheng’s frozen thoughts stirred. Before the call request popped up, his stiff fingers tapped out a reply:

“I’ve arrived and am about to rest. I’ll be busy from now on, so remember what you promised. Stop messaging me.”

He took a deep breath and, reluctantly, added:

“Once the eight-month deadline is up and the movie wraps on time, I’ll come back.”

After sending those two messages, Wen Chaosheng felt utterly drained, like half his soul had been sucked away. His breaths grew shaky, his thoughts sluggish, his vision swimming. The palpitations surged again.

He knew he was having another episode.

With trembling hands, he rummaged another medicine pouch from his pocket, swallowing a labeled dose. The familiar bitterness flooded his tongue.

Exhausted, he collapsed sideways onto the bed, his gaze lingering greedily on that distant figure outside the window—a false, tantalizingly close yet impossibly far silhouette.

The medication kicked in fast and hard, yanking him roughly into a black, viscous nightmare.

The dream teemed with overlapping accusations, voices tearing at his soul in the harshest tones. Indescribable agony morphed into gelatinous slime, closing in from all sides.

Wen Chaosheng had tried countless times to flee this nightmare, only to remain forever trapped and powerless.

Over time, he’d stopped fighting, letting the vortex of pain swallow him inch by inch, suffocating him.

He’d often thought that one day, he might truly die in this nightmare.

But this time, something was slightly different.

Just as Wen Chaosheng was on the verge of being devoured by the nightmare, a long-absent voice rang out. It was cold as a sharpened blade, yet it cleaved through the suffocating layers of darkness on his behalf.

“Wen Chaosheng, you’ve finally deigned to come back?”

“Ah!”

Wen Chaosheng jolted awake.

The medicine should have kept him asleep until morning, but the night beyond the window was still thick and impenetrable.

The drug’s side effects lingered on, parching his throat until it felt like sandpaper. He swallowed dryly and glanced once more at the “Xi Zhui” displayed on the massive LED screen outside. That accusatory tone from the dream still echoed in his ears.

The voice had been icy cold, laced with deep resentment. Yet it had been ages since he’d heard Xi Zhui call his name in a dream.

Well, tonight hardly qualified as a nightmare.

Wen Chaosheng had always been adept at consoling himself. He curled into a ball and lay there for a good while until his breathing finally evened out.

The LED billboard outside continued its relentless glow.

It was only then that Wen Chaosheng remembered he was now in Haishi City—less than a hundred meters from Xi Zhui’s company and studio. A soft, warm satisfaction bloomed quietly in the depths of his heart.

He licked his pale, bloodless lips and whispered so faintly only he could hear, “If only we could meet face-to-face one more time…”

I miss you so much.