3

"A-Qian?" he looked at her with a puzzled expression, his voice laced with a tenderness she failed to notice.

"You're talking to me?" Rong Qian pointed to herself, uncertain.

His confusion deepened. She couldn't care less about propriety anymore—she stepped forward and asked bluntly, "Are you Weilong?"

"Why are you suddenly calling me that?" he asked, his gaze unreadable.

"You mean... you have another name?" she pressed.

He tilted his head, long lashes flickering beneath his gold-rimmed glasses. His eyes—soft, narrow, gentle—held a bewildered innocence that could disarm any woman. After a pause, he asked, "A-Qian, are we playing some kind of new game?"

"What game?" Rong Qian was at a loss, but quickly snapped out of it, her tone sharp. "Don't mess with me. I'm asking you a serious question."

He chuckled softly, covering his smile with a curled fist, eyes brimming with indulgent amusement. "You haven't changed one bit. Weilong is my stage name. My real name is Shen Yi. Have you forgotten?"

"Shen Yi?" she frowned. "How do you write it?"

Seeing that she was serious, Shen Yi, though unsure what kind of strange game this was, humored her. He took her hand and traced the characters "沈屹" into her palm.

His fingers were elegant—long, pale, well-groomed. Rong Qian was nearly distracted just watching him. When he finished, she softly echoed the name at her lips: "Shen Yi."

A thought struck her—maybe the reason she couldn't find anything about "Weilong" online… was because everything was under "Shen Yi."

But before she could process that, her pupils widened in alarm. She yanked her hand back and stumbled several steps away from him.

She had two guesses now: either she was dreaming—or she was possessed.

She pinched herself. Ouch. Not dreaming.

"Oh God," she muttered, pacing in panic. "I watched that man all night and now I've lost my damn mind…"

"Watched a man?" Shen Yi raised an eyebrow, his voice dropping an octave. "Who?"

"You, obviously!" she snapped. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes, trying to calm down.

What she didn't notice was how his lips curved the moment she said it. That same soft smile, gaze locked onto her, filled with a quiet joy.

"A-Qian," he said, "what gift did you bring me this time?"

Her eyes popped open. "Gift?"

He sighed, shaking his head with a faint, helpless smile—tolerant and affectionate, not a hint of blame in his expression.

Instead, he removed a watch from his wrist and fastened it around hers.

"This was meant for you," he said gently. "I didn't know when you'd arrive, so I kept it with me. Now, it's finally back where it belongs."

Rose-gold casing, crocodile leather strap, vintage automatic movement. The kind of watch that didn't need a price tag—you could tell it was valuable just by looking at it.

It was still warm from his wrist. No cold shock as it touched her skin.

Rong Qian stared at it, utterly confused. She didn't know this man, but he acted like they were intimately familiar.

"Master—oh, Miss Rong, you're here!" a voice chimed in behind her.

She turned to see an elderly gentleman entering, kind-faced and well-dressed, holding an antique camera in hand.

"Mr. Fu," Shen Yi greeted him warmly, smiling.

Rong Qian frowned. If this were just a dream, it might make sense—but now another person had appeared, someone she had never seen before.

She rubbed her chin, totally baffled. None of this felt real. It was like the first time she went abroad—foreign, unfamiliar, and unwelcoming. She didn't belong here.

"A-Qian, look at the camera," Shen Yi said suddenly.

Still dazed, Rong Qian looked up to see the old man lifting the camera.

She blinked—when had she moved to stand behind Shen Yi?

Then she looked down at herself—and realized what she was wearing.

Her eyes widened.

"Wait!" she cried.

"What is it?" Shen Yi turned toward her.

"I've seen this photo before!" she said, breathless. "That picture of you and me—this is it! I was standing just like this!"

She quickly struck the same pose: arms folded, smirk playful, eyes bright.

Click.

Mr. Fu pressed the shutter.

The flash flared. Instinctively, Rong Qian closed her eyes.

When she opened them again—

She was back in her car.

Stunned, she realized she was gripping the wheel—but not steering.

And she was barreling toward the car ahead.

With a gasp, she jerked the wheel just in time to swerve.

Then she glanced to her side—and saw it. The same black car. The same man in sunglasses making a gun gesture at her, signaling for her to pull over.

Her mind reeled.

This already happened… before the crash…?

When she didn't comply, the black car swerved into her again, just like last time.

But this time, Rong Qian was ready.

You want a rematch? Fine.

She floored the gas and tore through the traffic. At the intersection, instead of going straight, she spun the wheel hard.

The tires screeched in protest, the sharp turn throwing her sideways. She missed the incoming car by inches.

Her heart pounded, but her grip stayed firm.

This time, she made it.

Once she lost them in the traffic, she sped all the way to the station.

Only when she reached the safety of the precinct did she exhale, hands trembling slightly.

She closed her eyes and breathed in deep, then looked down at her passenger seat.

Her bag was there. She reached for it, rummaging through—and froze.

The photograph was gone.

She searched again. Nothing.

It vanished… just like before.

And then she noticed something else.

A weight on her wrist.

She lifted her arm—and there it was.

The watch. The same one Shen Yi had put on her.

Cold sweat formed on her neck. She pinched herself. Hard.

Pain.

Not a dream.

She leaned forward and let her head fall against the steering wheel, drained.

Completely overwhelmed.

Under her breath, she murmured—

"…Weilong… Shen Yi… what the hell is going on?"