At first, Rong Qian thought she was mistaken. But when she rushed back to her room to retrieve the photograph and compared it to the screen, there was no doubt—it was the same man!
This actor had the kind of face that left a lasting impression, not just because of his striking good looks, but due to an effortlessly elegant aura rarely seen, especially in modern times.
Rong Qian sat cross-legged on the floor, her eyes glued to the screen, carefully watching his every frame.
In the movie, he seemed to play a morally ambiguous antagonist, his actions unpredictable. Yet, a mere glance from him revealed whether his intentions were good or sinister.
His screen time was limited, and when the film ended, Rong Qian rewound it, replaying his scenes obsessively. Sometimes, she even paused the video, staring intently at his face, unwilling to blink—as if enchanted.
By the time she finally stopped, dawn had arrived.
Rong Qian, now sporting prominent dark circles, stared at the TV and muttered, "This man is unreal. How can someone be so ridiculously handsome?"
She never imagined she'd spend an entire night fixated on a man—one who no longer existed, no less!
This actor, if he were still alive today, would probably be an old man.
The thought made her pause. Why did she instinctively think of him in the past tense? Did she subconsciously believe he was dead? Could it be that the deceased man in the car was him?
The idea jolted her. Quickly, she fast-forwarded to the end credits.
The cast list rolled across the screen, and near the end, she spotted the words "Special Appearance" followed by the name Wei Long.
This man was named Wei Long.
Her first instinct was to look him up online. Yet, her search yielded nothing—no information at all, only unrelated and trivial results.
Refusing to believe it, she tried searching for the movie itself. But something even stranger happened.
The movie still existed in digital archives, but all of Wei Long's scenes had been completely erased, as though someone had deliberately removed every trace of him.
Feeling disoriented, Rong Qian touched her forehead. No fever. She hurried downstairs to check the DVD player, only to discover that the film she'd watched was a pirated copy.
"Xiaoxian, what are you doing so early in the morning?"
Her father, yawning as he passed by, stopped mid-sentence when she stormed up to him, DVD in hand.
"Where did you get this?" she demanded.
Caught off guard, her father chuckled awkwardly. "Oh, just something an old friend gave me ages ago. I thought I'd watch it last night for fun."
"Then why didn't you turn off the TV?" Rong Qian's eyes narrowed suspiciously.
Her father frowned. "Didn't I? I thought I did."
"Never mind that. Dad, do you know anything about this actor named Wei Long? I couldn't find any information about him, and even the official version of the movie doesn't have his scenes. It's as if someone deliberately erased all records of him." Her tone was serious.
Her father, however, seemed unfazed and asked calmly, "Why are you so interested?"
Rong Qian rubbed her temple in frustration. "Dad, you're the police chief. Don't tell me you're unaware of the case my team is handling?"
"I know about the case, but what does this actor have to do with it?" he countered, still avoiding a direct answer.
To stop him from asking more questions, Rong Qian briefly explained what she had discovered the previous night. Her father listened, nodded, and simply said, "I don't know."
Rong Qian stared at him in exasperation. She was convinced he had only been probing her to find out what she was investigating. Typical of her sly old man!
Feeling increasingly unsettled by the mystery, Rong Qian hurriedly showered, skipped breakfast, and drove straight to the station to seek help from her colleagues.
Unfortunately, her day took a turn for the worse when, at a red light, a car rammed into her from behind with enough force to push her across the intersection.
Gripping the steering wheel tightly, Rong Qian cursed inwardly. Who had the audacity to hit a detective's car?
Unbuckling her seatbelt, she was about to step out when her gaze shifted to the rearview mirror. Her brows furrowed.
Two large men, dressed in black suits, exited the car behind her. Both briefly touched their waists in unison.
While others might overlook this detail, Rong Qian knew better. That gesture was a telltale sign of someone carrying a concealed firearm.
Narrowing her eyes, she glanced at the traffic light—seven seconds left. Leaning back in her seat, she discreetly observed them through the mirror.
Though their faces were obscured by sunglasses, she memorized their physical features.
As they approached her car and attempted to open the door, Rong Qian seized the moment. Slamming her foot on the gas, she sped across the intersection, leaving them momentarily stunned.
Through her mirror, she saw them rush back to their car, resuming the pursuit.
Rong Qian wasn't naïve enough to believe the collision was accidental. Judging by the force of the impact, those men were clearly targeting her.
Single-handedly steering the wheel, she called a colleague at the station to trace the license plate of the car pursuing her.
Moments later, her pursuers caught up, rolling down their window to signal her to pull over, even mimicking a gunshot gesture.
Rong Qian scowled. She doubted they'd actually shoot but was certain they intended trouble.
Ignoring their demands, she continued driving. But then, they rammed into her side, the impact loud and forceful, as if trying to overturn her car.
Her grip tightened on the wheel. Accelerating, she weaved through traffic with practiced ease. Her driving skills had yet to meet a match.
Yet fate was unkind. At an intersection, another car suddenly barreled into her from the side.
The violent collision sent her car skidding across the road, tires screeching against the asphalt—
Screeech—
As her car spun out, Rong Qian muttered a curse under her breath, "Damn it!"
The airbags deployed, cushioning the impact. Her bag, left unzipped on the passenger seat, spilled its contents, including the old photograph.
Caught in a gust of wind, the photograph drifted toward her.
Blood trickling from a cut on her forehead, Rong Qian reached for it instinctively.
But the moment her fingers touched the photo, it disintegrated into ashes before her eyes.
Stunned, Rong Qian had no time to process this as darkness claimed her consciousness.
When she next opened her eyes, she was greeted by a white ceiling. Thinking she was in a hospital, she sighed and closed her eyes again.
But then, faint voices reached her ears, familiar yet distant, as if coming from another room.
Frowning, Rong Qian sat up abruptly. Something felt off. She patted herself down.
No injuries. No pain.
"Strange... Wasn't I in a car accident?"
Her clothes were the same as when she'd left home. Her phone was still in her pocket. But there was no sign of the accident, and this place was entirely unfamiliar.
Wary, Rong Qian stepped off the bed and peered out the window. The night outside was pitch black.
Confused, she stepped out of the room but quickly ducked back upon noticing someone nearby.
Pressing her back against the wall, she held her breath, observing the situation.
Then, she heard a voice—a voice she recognized. "A-Qian, is that you?"
Her mind raced. A-Qian? Who's that?
And why did the voice sound so familiar?
Suddenly, it hit her. Wasn't that the voice of Wei Long, the man from the film?
Cautiously peeking around the corner, she saw a man in a white shirt sitting on an ornate European-style sofa, a white cat in his arms.
Rong Qian froze. It couldn't be.
Had she lost her mind, or was she dreaming of a man she'd obsessed over all night?