"What?" Liu Yang pressed his fingers against his temples, the pain in his head throbbing in dull waves.
Shi Tao watched him in silence for a long moment, then sighed and left the room.When he came back, there was a folded newspaper in his hand.
On the front page — a photograph.Liu Yang and the model Carl, meeting secretly at a restaurant.The angle was poor, the lighting dim, but his face — unmistakable.
Liu Yang glanced at it briefly, his expression unreadable, still as glass.
"Still looking for her?" Shi Tao asked quietly.
"No." His tone was light, almost detached.
Shi Tao exhaled heavily. "It's been six years. You still can't forget, can you?"
"…I have forgotten."
Liu Yang's voice was calm — too calm.He set the glass down, picked up his coat, and stood. "I'm leaving."
The bar was loud, full of laughter and clinking glasses.At the doorway, Shi Tao watched as Liu Yang's figure disappeared into the blur of city lights,his thoughts adrift, his gaze dim.
Forgotten?
If he truly had forgotten,why did his expression always tightenwhenever anyone mentioned her name?
For six long years, Liu Yang had been searching — blindly, aimlessly —for Ying Ying.
When he drank too much, he would lie back with one arm across his eyes,a man of striking beauty who somehow looked utterly broken when he smiled.
He would whisper into the hollow dark, his voice hoarse with longing:
"America's so big…where am I supposed to find you?"
In America, he was often seen in the headlines — always rumored to be involved with some famous actress.His residence never changed; the same house, the same quiet street.Even when traveling became inconvenient, he never once considered moving.
Others didn't understand why.But Shi Tao did.
Ying Ying had been missing for six years.When you thought about it carefully, there were only two possibilities.
The first: Ying Ying had met with tragedy — an accident, perhaps, and she was gone from this world.The second: she had fallen in love with someone else, moved on, and simply… forgotten Liu Yang.
Liu Yang's friends feared the first possibility — that he would not survive the truth.Ying Ying's friends feared the second — that she had betrayed the man who had loved her so completely.
At T University, everyone adored Liu Yang.Boys respected him; girls admired him.He carried himself with quiet confidence — the kind that drew people in without effort.
But Liu Yang himself feared neither death nor betrayal.The truth was simpler, and sadder — every headline, every rumor, every appearance beside a glamorous woman —was a desperate message meant for one person.
He wanted Ying Ying to see him.To know he was still there.
Years ago, he had fallen terribly ill.In his fevered dreams, he would whisper her name —
"Even if you no longer love me… at least tell me so, face to face.Just once. Let me see you once more."
Sometimes, Shi Tao found himself resenting Ying Ying.If she was still alive, how could she be so heartless?How could she vanish so completely from his world?
That night, the driver, Chen Yu, stopped the car at the gates of T University — Liu Yang's request.
It was late — the kind of quiet that only came near dawn.The air was cold, the streets empty, the iron gates looming under the dim streetlights.
Liu Yang sat in silence, staring out the window at the familiar campus beyond the gates,his gaze distant —as if searching for a ghost that refused to appear.
With a sharp flick—pa—Liu Yang lit a cigarette. The car remained in darkness, the ember at the tip glowing faintly, pulsing like a restless heartbeat.
Chen Yu glanced toward the back seat. Liu Yang's figure was half-hidden in shadow, his posture still, his gaze distant. He was making a call.
In his pocket, another phone began to vibrate softly. He ignored it.
The ringing stopped. Then came a woman's voice—gentle, familiar, heartbreakingly calm:"Hello, this is Ying Ying. I'm not available right now. Please leave a message after the tone."
The line went dead. The silence that followed was heavier than any noise.
Inside the car, the man spoke at last—his voice low, almost lost in his throat."Drive."
It was barely a word, more a sigh—yet Chen Yu could hear the faint tremor beneath it, like something breaking.
Two days later, late at night, Liu Yang was still at a business dinner when his mother called. He had drunk a little too much; for safety's sake, Chen Yu took the wheel again.
The Liu residence was a place of old-world charm: carved wood, long shadows, and the faint scent of lotus drifting from the pond.Beyond the gate stretched a small garden and a wide lotus pool. In daylight, the water shimmered with gold—tiny fish darting between the lily pads like living sparks.
Smooth river stones marked the narrow path dividing garden and pond, leading toward a three-story European-style house.
Inside, Madam Han Shuhui sat in the living room, quietly eating fruit as the television played an old historical drama.When Liu Yang entered, she didn't speak at once. She merely gestured toward the sofa opposite her.