Chapter 2: The Reencounter

“Yo,” Lu Xiye leaned against the doorframe, tilting his head slightly to look inside. “So lively in here?”

Someone arriving uninvited while speaking in such a sarcastic tone should have been adding fuel to the fire.

Yet right now, not only could no one in the whole booth spark any anger, but every single one of them was acting cowardly.

Several people shifted their positions in unspoken unison, greeting him awkwardly: “Brother.”

Only Sun Lihuan remained relatively composed, standing up politely to call out: “Young Master Lu.”

At this point, there was probably no one present who wasn’t fully aware of who was inside Booth No. 1.

Sun Chenle remembered the bold claim he had just blurted out about kicking the person out, and his back tingled as if pricked by needles, while a fine, dense cold sweat silently seeped out from his pores.

The social circle they belonged to was extremely privileged, but behind that privilege lay an even stricter, far more ruthless hierarchy.

Inside this booth, Qin Moxun had originally held the absolute highest status—after all, the Qin family was considered one of the leading giants in the domestic apparel industry.

Yet if brought before the Lu family, the Qin family fell entirely short of comparison.

Setting aside the fact that the Lu family controlled the world’s most powerful pharmaceutical enterprise, just looking at WYUN—the international high-fashion luxury brand under Lu Xiye’s mother, Wu Yun—it was already more than enough to leave the Qin family far behind.

Wu Yun had spent her entire life devoted to fashion design with no interest in distracting herself with other business affairs, so as early as the year Lu Xiye turned eighteen, she had already transferred WYUN under his name.

Therefore, even without factoring in a behemoth like Lu’s Pharmaceutical, Lu Xiye’s personal net worth alone was more than enough to crush the entire Qin family.

Not to mention, how could the petty squabbles of the fashion industry ever compare to the assets and social value of Lu’s Pharmaceutical?

Thus, these people acting cowardly in front of Lu Xiye wasn’t considered embarrassing at all.

After all, looking across the entire social circle, the only person capable of matching Lu Xiye was probably Lin Qi, the head of the Lin family.

For a kid like Qin Moxun who hadn’t even touched the edges of his family business, no matter how wild he usually acted, he had no choice but to bow his head obediently when facing absolute authority.

The air pressure in the booth turned heavy and low, yet Lu Xiye seemed completely oblivious, merely nodding faintly at Sun Lihuan.

Only at this moment did his eyes sweep, seemingly without intent, over Jiang Suifeng, who had been standing in place the entire time.

The youth was not looking at him, merely standing there with lowered eyes, relaxed, quiet, and natural.

Like a tree, a blade of grass, listening to irrelevant people saying irrelevant things.

Since the youth was not looking at him, Lu Xiye fixed his gaze upon him without the slightest restraint.

Qin Moyan…

This name that had accompanied him for an entire lifetime in his past existence hadn’t been this vivid for a very, very long time.

In his past life, his Qin Moyan had fallen in the absolute prime of his life—at just twenty-five years old, he sank into the icy sea waters of N City, sleeping forever.

That day had also been the beginning of his own descent into the deepest depths of hell.

He looked at him in silence, not moving for a long while.

This was a sight he had never seen in his previous life.

He was even younger, cleaner, and purer, so stunningly handsome that one could not tear their eyes away.

Yet he overlapped perfectly with the youth of his past memories—jet-black hair, jade-like cheeks, and a cold, detached air.

The room suddenly fell quiet, and Jiang Suifeng tightened his fingers inside his coat pockets with a hint of discomfort.

Although he wasn’t looking at Lu Xiye, he could still feel that gaze prickling his back like needles.

As if it were a habit formed in his past life, he was exceptionally sensitive to every single movement, every smile, and every slight change in expression from Lu Xiye.

This sharp sensitivity disrupted his mind, filling him with intense distaste.

He wanted to leave, but Lu Xiye happened to be blocking the doorway.

Compared to the current trouble, he was far more unwilling to have any further contact with Lu Xiye—not a sleeve of his clothes, not his breath, nor a single word. None of it.

“Brother,” the uncanny silence persisted for quite a while, causing the air pressure in the room to drop even lower and making Qin Moxun feel even guiltier. “What a coincidence, you came over to hang out today too?”

“Mm, had a few drinks with friends next door while waiting to pick someone up,” Lu Xiye responded, his voice carrying a faint, dry rasp. “Happened to hear you were celebrating your birthday here, so I stopped by to say hello.”

He paused slightly before continuing: “Happy birthday.”

For some unknown reason, Qin Moxun felt that when Lu Xiye said “happy birthday,” his gaze shifted once more toward Jiang Suifeng beside him.

However, he didn’t overthink it—after all, to have Lu Xiye walk over just to deliver a “happy birthday” was a level of prestige not just anyone could enjoy.

He felt he was benefiting from his elder brother’s influence and felt thoroughly delighted inside, even relaxing his posture slightly: “Thanks, Brother.”

He didn’t stay happy for long, though.

Because Lu Xiye followed up immediately: “If I had known this birthday of yours was aimed at making headlines on the social news section, I really wouldn’t have dared to come over.”

“How could that be, Brother,” Qin Moxun awkwardly scratched his stylishly permed short hair. “It was just messing around.”

“Heh.” Lu Xiye smiled softly, neither agreeing nor refuting.

“Young Master Lu,” Sun Lihuan tried to shift the topic amidst Qin Moxun’s frantic winks. “Who was the person you mentioned you were waiting to pick up just now?”

Lu Xiye smiled again, but this time his smile clearly reached his eyes, and the corners of his mouth curled upward, looking remarkably handsome: “Nobody special, just a kid from my home.”

In his past life, he had lived for a very long time, so in his eyes, this person truly did count as a child.

“Huh?” Amidst the crowd’s shocked and puzzled gazes, Lu Xiye walked straight over to Jiang Suifeng’s side, reached out, and gripped his wrist!

Everyone: …

Jiang Suifeng: …

The wrist in his palm was very thin and very cool, yet remarkably strong, exerting a sharp, forceful tug outward the very moment it was grasped.

Lu Xiye tightened his fingers with considerable force, but his tone was completely opposite—overly gentle: “Let’s go.”

At this moment, Jiang Suifeng was finally forced to raise his eyes. His gaze was icy cold, as if even the sun in the sky couldn’t warm it up.

Yet this exact gaze and the shape of these eyes were what Lu Xiye was most familiar with and felt closest to.

Those pupils were dark like the finest ink, deep and far-reaching, with deep inner corners and outer corners turned slightly upward, opening wide.

In his past life, he had searched bitterly for ten years just because of these eyes.

And he had been separated from these eyes by death for more than fifty years.

He pulled him by the wrist and walked outward, the angular wrist bone pressing against his palm, aching faintly.

Stepping out of Booth No. 2, Jiang Suifeng immediately saw Lin Fang leading several people, pushing through the crowd as they rushed over.

Instinctively wanting to head over, he was instead held by the wrist as Lu Xiye led him down the stairs from the other side.

Dancers were currently performing on stage, and the dance floor was packed with young, vibrant bodies. The heavy rhythm pounded against the chest while the lights shifted rapidly, casting flickering flashes across Lu Xiye’s side profile like a deeply textured painting.

The line of his jaw in particular was sculpted exceptionally well—graceful in line without losing strength, the handsomest kind among men.

He was pulled through the crowded throngs, exiting the bar through the back door.

The freezing wind of early morning rushed forward without mercy, making him shudder, whereupon he forcefully yanked his hand away from Lu Xiye.

A slight friction sound of bones, as if something were about to pop out of joint…

It was amplified infinitely in the quiet back alley behind the bar.

Jiang Suifeng froze for a moment.

In his impression, Lu Xiye at this time did not know him at all; he had merely helped him out of kindness.

By comparison, his current behavior was neither polite nor gentlemanly.

Indoors and outdoors felt like two completely different worlds—one noisy and bustling, the other freezing and desolate.

Lu Xiye raised his wrist to rub it, curling his lips as he said: “You really have quite a bit of strength.”

Jiang Suifeng slid his hands back into his coat pockets, took a quiet step backward, and said softly: “I’m sorry.”

Then added: “Thank you.”

He was wearing a very thick padded jacket, yet he still felt freezing cold, a chill that seemed carved into his bones, impossible to shake off.

Lu Xiye, on the other hand, was only wearing a thin overcoat with a scarf loosely wrapped around his neck.

“It’s fine,” Lu Xiye lowered his hand, his smile appearing very gentle under the light—a gentleness that Jiang Suifeng had never been fortunate enough to possess before. “Shall I send you home?”

“No need,” Jiang Suifeng shook his head, lowering his eyes once more. How could he have forgotten? Lu Xiye liked eyes like this—in his past life, every boy who followed him had a pair of eyes identical to his own. His voice turned cold again: “We don’t even know each other. You’ve already helped me a lot, thank you.”

He didn’t know if Lu Xiye had heard his words, because as he spoke, his neck suddenly grew warm.

The scarf from Lu Xiye’s neck had been transferred onto his.

The scarf held Lu Xiye’s body temperature, warm and dry just like his fingers, along with a faint, familiar scent of tobacco.

While Jiang Suifeng was briefly stunned, Lu Xiye had already tied the scarf around his neck, tucking the loose ends into his coat collar.

Seeming quite satisfied, he smiled, took a step back, and tilted his head to look at him.

Jiang Suifeng’s breathing abruptly turned rapid and ragged.

The suffocating sensation that had been repeated tens of thousands of times in his nightmares swept over him once more, surging to submerge him whole.

He raised his hand, his slender, fair fingers trembling as he reached up, grabbed a corner of the scarf, and pulled down hard.

The air was cut off, and he was lifted by massive ocean waves only to be dragged down to the deepest center of the whirlpool.

Seaweed twined around his hands, feet, body, and neck like demons… snatching away every bit of his breath.

He probably wouldn’t survive this, he thought—he was only twenty-five years old…

When icy air flooded back into his lungs, he was being held in Lu Xiye’s arms, coughing violently.

His head was buried in Lu Xiye’s shoulder nook while a large hand continuously patted his back in rhythm with his coughing to soothe his breathing.

“Are you feeling better? Are you feeling better?”

…

He heard his voice right beside his ear, anxious and panicked, while the scarf that caused the trouble was messily trampled underfoot.

He stepped back, bending down to gasp for air violently, seeing through tear-blurred eyes as the scarf was swept out of sight by the wind.

“It’s nothing,” he said, taking a deep breath as he slowly straightened his back.

Lu Xiye stood extremely close to him, his eyes filled with both shock and pain.

Without looking at him again, Jiang Suifeng turned and took several quick steps, retrieving the scarf at the corner of the alley and handing it back to him.

“It got dirty, I’m sorry,” he said. “I can pay for your dry cleaning fee, is that okay?”

“Auntie can wash it,” Lu Xiye took it back, his hand so weak he could barely hold the lightweight scarf. “What happened to you just now? Are you sick?”

“It’s nothing,” Jiang Suifeng said. “I’m going home. I still have school tomorrow.”

“I’ll take you.” Lu Xiye took a long stride to catch up.

Jiang Suifeng’s brows knitted tight. He stopped in his tracks, his eyes turning cold and impatient as he emphasized: “We don’t know each other at all.”

Lu Xiye’s footsteps abruptly froze right where he stood.

He knew the person in front of him all too well.

In their past life, when he said he wouldn’t see him, he really never saw him again; when he said he was getting engaged to someone else, he got engaged; when he said he was going to die, he died—he wouldn’t even enter his dreams…

Every single decision he made left Lu Xiye completely helpless.

He suddenly remembered the dream he had had before he passed away in his previous life.

That was the only dream that wasn’t a repetition of his own memory dwelling on past fragments.

He had dreamt of the teenage Jiang Suifeng standing in front of a school gate.

He had been wearing a white shirt, wearing headphones, carrying a backpack.

The backpack was no longer the military-green one from his past life that had been used until it was tattered and worn, but a very clean blue backpack.

His dark hair had been soft and smooth, glowing with a soft luster under the sunlight, while his posture was tall, slender, fair, and thin, just like right now.

Many people looked at him sideways, stealing shy or hesitant glances at him, yet he remained completely oblivious.

The version of himself in the dream had been identical to right now, his eyes burning hot as he suppressed his emotions to call his name: “Jiang Suifeng.”

Yet the youth had merely paused his footsteps briefly before striding forward once more.

Without turning back, let alone looking at him.

Lu Xiye had also seen his dream self—so young, just like now, full of youthful vigor.

He had hastened to catch up, resting a hand on his shoulder and calling out once more: “Jiang Suifeng.”

The youth had finally stopped, tilting his head to look at him with cold brows and eyes, saying nothing.

His attitude toward him had been terrible, yet Lu Xiye had still smiled with joy, his eyes burning with soreness.

“Jiang Suifeng,” he had said, “Two years ago, you helped me in H City. Do you remember?”

Jiang Suifeng’s expression had remained icy cold as he shook his head and slapped away the hand resting on his shoulder: “I don’t remember.”

Lu Xiye pursed his lips, his throat dry and aching. He wanted to call his name just like in the dream, so he opened his mouth instinctively: “Qin…”

Half a word was blurted out before freezing abruptly, and he pressed his lips tightly together in distress.

His love for him had begun with Jiang Suifeng, yet after ten years of obsession, it had ultimately settled on Qin Moyan.

Even though they were the exact same person, after he passed away, in all those many years, he rarely thought of the name “Jiang Suifeng” in his heart.

All he called out in his heart was Qin Moyan.

Qin Moyan, Qin Moyan, Qin Moyan…

“Jiang Suifeng,” he said. “Two years ago, you helped me in H City. Do you remember?”

“I don’t remember.” Jiang Suifeng turned his face to look at him.

“It was spring,” Lu Xiye said slowly, his voice turning imperceptibly raspy. “In a small alley, you helped me.”

“I’m sorry,” Jiang Suifeng’s tone was cold and faint as always. “I don’t remember.”

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