That night, after a shower, Rong Qian sprawled lazily on her bed, the events of her meeting with Shen Shuhuai still vividly replaying in her mind.
The statement lingered in her ears: The person in the photo is you.
How could that be possible?
Yet the morning's events seemed to scream otherwise, as if the universe itself was confirming the absurdity.
Turning her head, Rong Qian glanced at the old photo album on her nightstand.
Shen Shuhuai had insisted she take it, suggesting it might help uncover the mystery behind Shen Yi's disappearance. He had even speculated that someone might have caused it.
Being entrusted with such a task weighed on her. She had merely sought to investigate a case, but now she was entangled in something inexplicable.
"Shen Yi… who are you really?"
Clutching her pillow, Rong Qian rolled around on her bed. If I could truly travel back in time, how would I even do it?
The photograph had already disintegrated. She had tried countless ways to replicate the phenomenon but to no avail.
At one point, she had almost set fire to the album but hesitated, suspecting that burning the photograph wasn't the key to unlocking the mystery.
She raised her wrist, staring at the watch Shen Yi had fastened on her. This tangible item was undeniable proof of their meeting.
What puzzled her even more was the way he spoke—as if they had met more than once.
The confusion gnawed at her. Frustrated, she got out of bed and headed downstairs, her slippers scuffing against the floor.
Among the items Shen Shuhuai had given her were all of Shen Yi's movie discs, neatly packed into a box. Shen Shuhuai had been generous, handing over everything.
Settling in front of the television, Rong Qian decided to watch his films chronologically, starting with his first role.
At fifteen, Shen Yi had played a deaf-mute boy in a supporting role with minimal screen time. Despite his limited role, his striking looks and compelling performance had drawn widespread attention, launching his acting career.
Over the years, Shen Yi had transitioned from American productions to Chinese films, collaborating with renowned directors of the past. Rong Qian couldn't help but marvel at his career.
It was hard to fathom how someone who had once captivated the world could vanish so thoroughly from history, leaving no trace.
Even after three decades, such erasure seemed implausible. The only explanation was that someone had deliberately wiped his existence from the annals of time.
As she watched the films, Rong Qian recognized some titles she had seen before, though Shen Yi's roles had either been cut or replaced by other actors.
Once again, she lost herself in his films, staying up all night. When she arrived at the station the next day, she was visibly exhausted. Chen Jia and Zhang Hao, noticing her haggard appearance, expressed concern.
Brushing off their questions, Rong Qian instead asked Chen Jia about the car owner's identity.
Chen Jia sighed regretfully. "The car was rented with fake credentials, and it's already been returned. We're now working on identifying the two men you described."
Rong Qian nodded, knowing she had to be patient. But she couldn't shake the feeling that the men might be connected to the decades-old case she was investigating.
In the nights that followed, Rong Qian's dreams became increasingly vivid.
She often felt a warm hand gently stroking her face, accompanied by a soft voice calling her name.
"Ah Qian…"
"Ah Qian…"
"I'm waiting for you…"
Each time she opened her eyes, Shen Yi's serene gaze would meet hers as he sat by her bed. Startled awake, she always found herself alone.
Unable to sleep, Rong Qian took to watching his films in the living room. Her attention, however, fixated only on his face whenever it appeared on screen.
The more she obsessed over finding him, the more elusive he seemed.
One evening after work, Rong Qian stopped by a street vendor and bought some oden. She sat on a small stool, savoring her meal, while a little girl next to her licked an ice pop.
Unable to resist, Rong Qian patted the girl's head. The child grinned, and Rong Qian's expression softened.
Pulling out the old photograph she always carried, she gazed at it with a mix of curiosity and nostalgia.
The figure in the photo felt both familiar and alien to her, as if it were another person entirely. The weight of the photo's history was palpable.
Resting her chin on her hand, she murmured, "Who were you worried about in this photo? Why do you look so concerned?"
Creak.
A sudden noise above her drew her attention. Glancing up, she saw an overhead billboard flicker before it crashed down with a deafening roar.
"Watch out!"
Rong Qian instinctively shielded the little girl, wrapping her arms tightly around the child's head.
As the billboard loomed over them, the photograph in her hand disintegrated into ashes and vanished.
The last thing Rong Qian heard was the thunderous crash, followed by the distant strains of a piano melody—a soothing, familiar tune. Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata" drifted through her consciousness like a gentle stream.
Rong Qian awoke abruptly to darkness.
Realizing she was in an enclosed space, she felt her way along the walls, searching for an exit. Her hands found what seemed to be a door. Pushing against it, she was surprised when it opened easily, causing her to tumble out.
"Ah!"
She landed awkwardly on the floor, the piano music stopping abruptly.
Rubbing her bruised knee, Rong Qian sat up and looked back to find she had fallen out of a large, ornate wardrobe.
The vintage European-style piece was filled with clothes, but before she could inspect them, a clear, youthful voice spoke from behind her.
"Who are you?"
Turning, Rong Qian saw a boy seated at a grand piano by the window. His hands rested lightly on the keys, his bright eyes calmly observing her. Despite the unusual situation, his composed demeanor was unnerving for a child.
The boy wore a miniature suit with suspenders, polished leather shoes, and an air of sophistication far beyond his years.
Rong Qian's breath caught as she studied his face—refined features, alabaster skin, a picture of angelic perfection.
Yet, the more she looked, the more familiar he seemed. His elegant, serene demeanor was unmistakably reminiscent of Shen Yi.
Her mind raced. Could this child actually be Shen Yi?