Present - Liangcheng, 5 years later.
The hospital smelled of disinfectant and boiled water, the way it always did, as if the very air had been scrubbed free of color.
Gu Ze Yan walked the corridor with the measured steps of a man forcing himself to appear steady. His hands, however, betrayed him—the faint curl and release of his fingers, the tension straining against his skin.
He was nearly at her ward when the sound reached him.
Laughter too hushed to be polite, too bright for this floor. A cluster of nurses gathered near the nursing station, their heads tilted toward one another, voices dropping and rising again with the thrill of gossip.
"…he's really here?"
"…I saw him go in. So handsome! But why her room?"
"…do you think… she's his girlfriend?"
Ze Yan didn't break stride, but the words pressed against him like hands trying to hold him still. He turned the corner, and the whispers fell behind him.
Her door was half-closed. Light spilled into the hall.
He pushed it open.
And stopped.
---
Xu Wei Ran was standing at her bedside.
Even without the makeup of stage or the glow of camera lights, the man carried an aura that demanded attention. His disguise—simple cap, mask pulled low—did little to hide the posture of someone the world had spent years staring at.
But his gaze was not on himself. It was bent wholly, quietly, upon her.
Lin Qing Yun lay motionless on the bed, bandaged temple catching the light, her breath shallow but steady beneath the hospital blanket. Wei Ran's eyes, usually cold and distant to strangers, were softened in a way that ached to look at.
For a heartbeat Ze Yan thought of mirrors—two men, one shadow, both chained to the same woman's fragile form.
Wei Ran turned. Their eyes met.
No anger. No mockery. Not even rivalry. Only the silent acknowledgment of two men who loved the same woman, and the helplessness that came with that love.
The room held the sound of machines: a soft chime, a steady pulse, the sigh of air through vents.
Neither spoke.
---
Minutes passed before Wei Ran moved. He lowered himself into the sofa against the wall, his tall frame folding with a weariness he did not hide. His cap shadowed the lines of exhaustion beneath his eyes.
Ze Yan left the room briefly. When he returned, he carried two cups of coffee. One he set on the low table in front of Wei Ran.
The gesture needed no words. Wei Ran accepted it with a small incline of his head.
They sat.
Two men divided by history, united by the fragile thread of the woman between them.
---
Wei Ran's eyes drifted toward the bag beside the bed. "You went to her apartment?" His voice was quiet, stripped of stage polish.
Ze Yan nodded once. His throat worked before words emerged. "It's like a prison." He paused, the memory of bare walls and folded blanket cutting through him again. "Empty. I don't understand why she lived like that. I thought…" His voice faltered. "I thought she was with you."
Wei Ran exhaled, the sound heavy. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, hands loose between them. "After Lingjiang… a few weeks later, she left. No word. No reply to calls or texts. She just… vanished."
Ze Yan closed his eyes. The silence of an unanswered phone. The echo of his own apartment door closing. He knew the hollow that came after.
Wei Ran looked back at Qing Yun, his voice softer now. "I always knew her true side. She never pretended with me. But even then… she was different. It was like she was drowning. I tried to save her." His hand clenched once on his knee. "I really tried. But she slipped away. She faded until… there was nothing for me to catch."
The words hung between them, heavy with truth.
Both men fell into silence. The kind of silence that pressed on the chest, that made breathing feel like disobedience.
---
The monitor ticked. Her breath rose and fell. Outside the window, clouds shifted, pulling shadows across the pale floor.
Wei Ran finally broke it. His voice was raw.
"Gu Ze Yan… please save her."
Ze Yan's head lifted, eyes sharp with unshed fire.
Wei Ran went on, his gaze never leaving her face. "I know, deep down, she loves you. She may not show it. She may deny it. But I know she does. Only you can bring her back. Let her see light once again."
Ze Yan stood slowly. His body moved with the deliberate weight of someone stepping into a vow. He crossed to the bed, each step louder than the machines, louder than his own pulse.
He reached for her hand. Pale against the sheet, it lay open, as if paused mid-gesture. He closed his own around it carefully, as though afraid to harm something already fragile.
His voice, when it came, was low but firm. "That's why I'm here. This time…" His thumb brushed over her knuckles, the gesture tender and desperate at once. "…this time I won't let her leave again."
---
Behind him, Wei Ran watched. His lips pressed together, the curve almost a smile and almost a wound. He knew. He had always known.
His fingers tightened on the coffee cup, heat seeping into his skin. For years he had carried the role of protector, of silent witness, of man willing to burn quietly at her edges. But he was not the one she turned to in her sleep. Not the one whose name slipped between her breaths.
His shoulders eased. Acceptance came not as peace but as surrender.
He looked at her one last time—the girl he once called muse, the girl who once called him Rainy. His voice remained locked inside his chest.
Instead, he looked at Gu Ze Yan. Their eyes met. A faint nod. Take care of her.
Ze Yan answered with nothing but the steady way he held her hand, as though by grip alone he could anchor her back to life.
The room was quiet again, but it was no longer empty.
It was filled with waiting. With promise. With two men who had nothing left but to keep vigil by her side.