Liang Zhi's heart pounded as the man stood in front of him, his presence casting a shadow over the apartment. The air between them felt thick, charged with an unspoken tension that both repelled and attracted him. For a brief moment, he considered slamming the door, retreating into the familiar comfort of his confusion and uncertainty. But something deeper—something that gnawed at his very soul—compelled him to stay.
He stepped back, allowing the stranger to enter. The man's gaze didn't waver, his eyes locked onto Liang Zhi with an intensity that made him feel exposed, as if all his secrets were laid bare for inspection.
"Who are you?" Liang Zhi's voice was barely a whisper, his chest tightening with anxiety.
"I'm someone who knows more about your past than you think," the man replied, his tone smooth, but with an underlying coldness. "And I'm here to help you remember."
"Help me?" Liang Zhi repeated, his mind racing. "What do you mean? I don't remember anything. I can't... I can't even remember her."
The man's eyes flickered with something like recognition, but his expression remained unreadable. "You don't have to remember everything at once. But you do need to face the truth. It's the only way you'll ever find peace."
A cold shiver ran down Liang Zhi's spine. The truth. What truth? What was this man trying to say? The pieces of his past were scattered, lost in the fog of his mind, and all he wanted was for someone to help him put them together. Yet this man's cryptic words only seemed to deepen the darkness that surrounded him.
The stranger moved further into the apartment, scanning the space as if searching for something—though Liang Zhi couldn't fathom what. He shut the door quietly behind him and turned to face Liang Zhi.
"You've been looking in the wrong places," the man said finally, his voice low, almost mocking. "Everything you need to know is right in front of you. All you have to do is follow the trail."
Liang Zhi frowned, confusion and frustration gnawing at him. "The trail? What trail?"
The man didn't answer immediately. Instead, he took a few steps closer, his eyes narrowing slightly as though he were evaluating Liang Zhi. Finally, he spoke again.
"Do you remember her? The woman who's been haunting you?" he asked, his voice suddenly sharp, full of intent.
Of course, Liang Zhi remembered her. How could he not? She was the one constant in his foggy existence, the one person whose presence seemed to awaken something deep within him. Her face, her voice, the way she had looked at him in the café—it all felt so real, so undeniable. And yet, every time he tried to hold onto the memory, it slipped through his fingers like water.
"Yes," Liang Zhi admitted, his voice barely a whisper. "I remember her. But... it's like she's a shadow. Every time I get close, she disappears again."
The man's lips twitched, almost imperceptibly. "That's because you haven't been searching for the right things. You're looking for answers in the wrong places, Liang Zhi. It's not about memories. It's about what's buried."
"Buried?" Liang Zhi repeated, confusion clouding his thoughts. "What's buried?"
The man stepped forward, closing the gap between them, his gaze piercing through Liang Zhi like a knife. "The woman. The love you shared. It wasn't always as pure as you think. There were things hidden in the dark. Things you'll need to confront if you ever want to know the full truth."
Liang Zhi's breath caught in his throat. He shook his head, trying to push back the rising tide of panic. "What do you mean? What things?"
But the man's eyes were cold, calculating. "I can't tell you everything now. But I can show you."
Before Liang Zhi could react, the man reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small, black velvet box. He opened it slowly, revealing a photograph—faded, old, and worn at the edges. Liang Zhi's heart skipped a beat as he looked at the image.
It was a picture of him and the woman—taken years ago, but not in the way he remembered her. In the photo, they were standing together, smiling, but there was something about the way they looked at each other that sent a chill through his veins. It was a different version of their love—one that felt distant, almost foreign.
"Where did you find this?" Liang Zhi demanded, his voice shaking as he reached for the photo.
The man didn't flinch. "It's part of the past you've forgotten. You don't understand it yet, but you will. All you need to do is trust me."
Liang Zhi's mind was reeling, his pulse hammering in his ears. The past he'd forgotten? What was this man talking about? Who was he to know about his life, about his love?
But something about the photograph—something about the way the man spoke—struck a deep, hidden chord within him. He felt the familiar ache in his chest, a longing that he couldn't explain.
"Why should I trust you?" Liang Zhi's voice was trembling now, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "What do you want from me?"
The man's eyes darkened. "I don't want anything from you, Liang Zhi. But you do want something. Don't you? You want to remember. You want to know the truth. I'm offering you the chance to find it."
The air in the room grew thick, as if every word spoken had somehow tangled them both in an invisible web. Liang Zhi's thoughts spun out of control, a whirlwind of doubt and desperation clouding his mind. Could he really trust this man? Could he afford to ignore the possibilities, to remain stuck in the fog of uncertainty?
His heart raced as he thought about the woman, the love they had shared, the pain that lingered in the spaces between his memories. He wanted answers—no, he needed them. But at what cost? What would he have to sacrifice to uncover the truth?
The man didn't wait for him to respond. He closed the velvet box slowly and placed it on the coffee table. "The choice is yours, Liang Zhi," he said softly. "You can keep running from the past, or you can confront it. But you won't be able to move forward until you do."
Liang Zhi stood there, staring at the photo, the weight of the decision pressing down on him like a thousand pounds. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to walk away, to shut the door, to forget everything. But another part of him—something deep, something primal—begged him to stay, to take the leap and confront the truth, no matter how painful it might be.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Liang Zhi spoke, his voice steady, though his heart was anything but calm.
"I'll do it. I'll confront it."
The man's lips curved into a faint smile. "Good. You'll need to be ready. The truth is not kind. But it will set you free."
Later That Night:
Liang Zhi sat alone in his apartment, staring at the photograph on the table. The room was dim, the shadows stretching long across the floor. He had made his choice. He had committed to facing the truth. But the weight of his decision pressed down on him with every passing second.
Was he ready for what lay ahead? Was he truly prepared to face whatever had been buried all these years? He didn't know. But there was no turning back now.
As the night stretched on, a sense of foreboding lingered in the air, a warning that the storm was only just beginning.