Chapter 56
Mid-September, on the set of Frost.
The scene was set in a ruin. Broken wooden tables and chairs lay scattered across the ground. Beyond a tall, narrow window, the sky was shrouded in a dull gray haze. Dark brown stains—dried blood—marked the back of the door, while weeds and vines had begun creeping into the corners.
Outside, the relentless sound of artillery fire echoed through the air.
But many knew—this was the final darkness before dawn.
By the day after tomorrow, or perhaps even by morning, the enemy’s surrender telegram would be sent to every corner of China. The suffering and devastation that had tormented this land for nearly a decade would finally come to an end. Injustice and bloodshed would be washed away, the sun would rise again, and songs of heroes would be sung across every inch of soil.
Everyone was waiting—crouched nervously in the shadows, their hearts pounding as they listened to the last deafening roars of war.
A young man—or rather, a young officer—stood among them. He wore a military uniform, holding a bottle of liquor in his right hand. He clinked it lightly against another’s and then downed the entire drink in one go.
He was tall and slender, his double-breasted jacket neatly buttoned, his trouser legs tucked into his boots, emphasizing his long, straight legs. The uniform suited him perfectly, making him appear both handsome and upright. Every button was fastened with precision, his epaulettes gleaming—a stark contrast to the surrounding chaos, lending him an air of solemn dignity.
But if one looked closely, they would notice the scar running from his right ear to the corner of his lips, the bandages wrapped hastily around his shoulder and abdomen, already stained with fresh blood.
He was at his limit.
The young officer lowered himself onto a stool, removing his cap and running a hand through his hair. His light amber eyes were calm and clear. Casually, he remarked,
“When this is all over, Xiao Dong can go back to performing. I’ve got a cabinet full of records at home. If he wants them, he can take them.”
“A few years ago, I took in a boy. There’s still some money left—enough to send him to school.”
“And—”
He hesitated, locking eyes with the man beside him.
The man next to him wore his military coat loosely over his shoulders, his face just as dirtied and wounded. He was strikingly handsome. This was Mo Shuangdong—a former street thug who had spent his days smoking and gambling. It was ironic, really. The two had met in a back-alley brawl.
Back then, neither could have imagined they would end up here.
The artillery outside raged on, growing louder. Time was running out.
“And…”
The young officer pressed his lips together slightly, clutching a jade pendant in his palm, hesitating to extend it.
Only then did the man beside him click his tongue.
“Something for your lover?” Mo Shuangdong shot him a sidelong glance, his voice rough and lazy. “Give it to them yourself. I don’t have time for this.”
“He’s not my lover,” the officer denied immediately, his face flushing in embarrassment.
He averted his eyes, awkwardly brushing his bangs aside. Suddenly, he inhaled sharply, his body racked with violent coughs, his face paling even further. A few flecks of blood splattered onto the floor.
Both men stared at the crimson droplets.
After a long silence, Mo Shuangdong reached over, took the jade pendant from his hand, and casually tossed it in his palm, smiling lazily.
“Fine. Consider it a favor.”
“He’s my… dearest friend,” the officer said with a small smile. “Thank you.”
“After this, don’t tell them I died. Just say I’m on a classified mission, handling loose ends. Tell them it’ll take a long time before I return.” He hesitated, then added.
Mo Shuangdong didn’t respond immediately. After a pause, he chuckled carelessly and let out a quiet “Mm.”
“Cheers.”
Their bottles clinked together one last time, and each of them drank their final toast.
The sound of artillery grew closer.
The man stood up, patted the dust off his uniform, and embraced the young officer.
“Safe travels.”
“You too.”
That was their farewell.
The man was tall, his gait casual and unrestrained. Blood trickled down his ankle, but he paid it no mind. In one hand, he carried a gun and an empty liquor bottle. With the other, he raised his arm and waved behind him without turning back.
There was no lingering sentimentality, no deliberately tragic goodbye. Both of them carried themselves with ease, as if they weren’t walking toward life and death, but merely parting after an ordinary banquet or a gamble.
A brutal battle lay ahead—one with little chance of survival.
The man disappeared through the doorway. Behind him, the young officer stood still amidst the ruins. He faced the direction where his comrade had left, and beyond that, where the light stretched far ahead. Straightening his posture, he raised his hand in a solemn military salute.
The dim light of the approaching dawn gathered in his eyes, deepening into something profound and unwavering.
Beneath the gray, oppressive sky, the young officer’s face held an almost unreal beauty. In his eyes reflected the flames of battle raging through the endless night, the vast mountains and rivers of his homeland, and the dawn that was soon to break—
The fire of belief burned ceaselessly, unwavering even as he stood battered and bruised, stained with dust and blood. It set him apart, lending him a noble spirit untouched by filth—a man of dignity, integrity, and unyielding resolve.
No matter if the road ahead led to ruin, exile, or death.
Behind him, the narrow door was suddenly struck with heavy blows, and moments later, it was kicked open!
The young officer did not move. He didn’t even turn his head. Instead, he calmly brushed back his bangs, adjusted his cap, and straightened it.
Behind him, countless guns were trained on him.
“Where is it?” A short, stocky man with a face full of hostility glared at him. “Hand it over if you don’t want to die. I don’t have time to waste on you.”
The young officer’s gaze remained gentle as he raised his hand slightly. “This?”
A flash of delight flickered in the man’s eyes. “At least you know what’s good for you. Hurry—”
The next second, his face drained of color.
The young officer struck a match, and the small scrap of paper in his hand was consumed by fire. As the summer wind blew, the ashes scattered into the air, a silent yet mocking display.
“I, Lin Shuheng, have lived my life—” The burn of liquor still lingered in his throat. After years of hardship and wandering, his voice was hoarse, but still steady and clear, untouched by the fear of death.
He spoke loudly and firmly, “I do not die for anyone. I die only for my faith.”
He paused briefly, lowering his gaze.
The deafening roar of gunfire and chaos seemed to fade into the distance.
He looked toward the window where light filtered through, and in that instant, it was as if he had crossed years of time, returning to a sky of brilliant blue. The sun was bright, white doves soared high, and the gentle sounds of water and wooden oars drifted from a peaceful southern town.
Someone had once stood before him, holding a rose in their palm, smiling at him.
Scenes flickered by like a moving lantern.
— I do not die for anyone. I die only for my faith.
And yet… that person was his faith.
Amidst the ruins, in the morning light, the young officer held a pistol in his hand, his finger resting on the trigger.
There was only one bullet left—reserved for himself.
In his final moments, all that was lost and all that was never his returned to him.
He felt, perhaps, that he had had him after all.
They had kissed beneath the lantern lights by the river, bought sugar figures at the Lantern Festival, grown from childhood companions to lifelong partners, and raised a little boy together.
At the end of his life, he finally chose to make peace with himself, to accept, to admit—
—He loved him.
The young officer closed his eyes, lips curled into a faint smile, and pulled the trigger.
*
“Cut!”
Lin Shengyun exhaled deeply. “Feng Lang, stay behind for the next scene. Fang Huai… Fang Huai, you can rest now. Go home and think about how you’ll perform tomorrow.”
His eyes remained fixed on the playback screen, growing more and more satisfied the longer he watched.
He was certain Frost would win an award. Of course, he couldn’t say that aloud—it would make him seem arrogant—but… Fang Huai’s performance was really good.
Good enough to hold his own even against a Cannes-winning actor.
Of course, part of that was because Feng Lang had intentionally restrained himself, letting Fang Huai take the spotlight. This was, after all, Lin Shuheng’s final scene. Even if Mo Shuangdong was the male lead, it wouldn’t have been right to steal this moment.
But even so, there was no denying it—Fang Huai had real talent.
Lin Shuheng’s final scene was complete. Fang Huai was nearly done with filming.
Only one scene remained for him—a solo performance.
As for why Lin Shengyun had saved that scene for last…
He hadn’t told anyone.
Assistant Li Yunyun handed Fang Huai a towel. He was still covered in special effects makeup and artificial blood. After wiping his sweat, he took a sip of water. Fang Huai was extremely focused—even with only one scene left to film, he showed no signs of slacking off. After finishing his scene, he remained engrossed in the script, studying the next scene’s content.
Until Lin Shengyun waved him over.
“Fang Huai, come here for a moment.”
Fang Huai immediately stood up and walked over. “Director Lin, what is it?”
“The day after tomorrow is your wrap-up scene. There aren’t any lines in the script for it, right?” Lin Shengyun coughed and spoke casually, “I borrowed something, and it just arrived today. Take it back and look through it. Tomorrow, tell me how you think it should be acted.”
Indeed, in the script Fang Huai received, the next scene only had a few vague descriptions—there were no specific lines or actions written.
“Something?” Fang Huai was momentarily stunned.
“Yes… Lin Shuheng’s notebook.”
Lin Shuheng’s notebook had been found by his brother’s son and was still kept in the Lin family’s possession. From the beginning, Lin Shengyun had set his sights on it, but the Lin family had been hesitant. On one hand, they wanted Frost to portray Lin Shuheng as authentically as possible. On the other, they worried that revealing the notebook’s contents might damage his image.
It wasn’t until last week that Lin Shengyun finally secured permission. The notebook was being retrieved today and should arrive by the afternoon.
For Fang Huai, this was an unexpected gift.
He was almost eager to uncover the truth. Lin Shuheng didn’t have many scenes in Frost, and most of what was portrayed could be found online. Although Fang Huai was playing the role, he still didn’t truly know what had happened in the past.
Beyond that, something else had been troubling him lately.
Ye Yuyuan was… different.
But how was he different?
That was a question Ye Yuyuan had once asked him, and to this day, Fang Huai still hadn’t figured out the answer. What exactly made him different? Yet, his stubborn nature refused to let the question go. He could be vague about trivial matters, but when it came to things like this, the more he couldn’t figure it out, the more he wanted to know.
*
Lunch was eaten at their lodging.
They were no longer in the original filming city but had moved to the outskirts of a border town, where an independent filming site had been set up. The accommodations weren’t great. To make matters worse, the weather had been erratic lately. When they finished eating, the sky was bright and clear, but moments later, heavy rain began to pour.
The weather report soon issued a storm and typhoon warning, dampening the entire crew’s spirits—it meant yet another delay in the filming schedule.
Fang Huai watched the torrential rain and howling wind outside the window, his brows furrowing slightly.
A deep sense of unease crept over him. He didn’t know why, but it left him feeling inexplicably restless.
By the afternoon, his premonition came true.
Shi Feiran arrived at his door, holding a car key in one hand and a plastic bag in the other. As he entered, he was on the phone.
“Hello? Yes, it’s me. We’ll head there now—” Then he turned to Fang Huai, “Get ready, we’re going to pick up Mr. Lin’s notebook.”
However, the voice on the other end hesitated before finally speaking, somewhat hesitantly:
“About that…”
Shi Feiran froze. Then, his eyes slowly widened.
“What?! It got flooded?!” His disbelief was clear.
The person on the other end explained—it had happened so suddenly.
This border town was close to the sea. Because of the notebook’s significance, the Lin family had personally sent someone to deliver it. No one expected this would be where things went wrong.
The notebook had been left in the car. The person delivering it had parked in an underground lot and, in a moment of carelessness, left it behind while going to a hotel for a meal and some rest. They had planned to meet with the film crew afterward.
But out of nowhere, a typhoon hit.
And the hotel—located near the coast—was caught in the flooding. The storm surge had flooded the underground parking lot.
The typhoon wasn’t even supposed to pass through this city. But due to unexpected air currents, it had abruptly changed course.
The entire city was plunged into darkness—no electricity, no running water. All fishing boats were ordered to return to port immediately. Outside the window, the typhoon howled, sweeping everything in its path up into the sky in utter chaos.
Even the phone signal was intermittent. Shi Feiran barely had time to ask for details before the call was cut off.
Fang Huai, who had been sitting, suddenly shot to his feet.
That notebook was important!
Not just because he wanted to uncover his childhood and his past, but because, over the course of this past month, as he portrayed Lin Shuheng, he had come to understand and deeply respect him.
Lin Shuheng carried a controversial reputation in history, shouldering many accusations. But when Fang Huai delved into historical records, he realized that some of the charges against him were completely unfounded.
This notebook, along with some sketches, had only been discovered recently—just last month. There hadn’t even been time to study or archive them properly. If the notebook was lost, crucial truths might be buried forever.
Fang Huai’s brows knitted tightly. Without hesitation, he turned to Lin Shengyun and asked,
“Where is it?”
“Where is what?” Shi Feiran glared at him. “Wait—you’re not seriously thinking of—?”
*
The typhoon enveloped the entire city.
It had come so suddenly that most people hadn’t even had time to react. Instinctively, they shut their doors and hid inside. The winds were so strong that even high-rise buildings swayed slightly.
Members of the film crew and the Lin family stood in the hotel lobby. The person who had been tasked with delivering the notebook was on the verge of breaking down, his face pale as a sheet. But at this point, there was nothing that could be done.
Seawater continued to flood the parking garage.
His car was parked deep inside. Even if it hadn’t been completely submerged yet, no one dared to go in to retrieve the notebook. It was too dangerous. The notebook was valuable, but any attempt to retrieve it now could cost someone their life. If the entire parking garage flooded, anyone trapped inside would likely drown.
There had been cases like this before.
“I don’t know if anyone’s still in the parking garage,” someone suddenly said. “If someone’s trapped down there…”
The group fell silent.
The mere thought of it sent a chill down their spines.
This was the largest hotel in the small city, with heavy foot traffic. It wasn’t surprising that someone had been in the parking garage when the typhoon hit.
But at this point, everyone was looking out for themselves. No one was going to risk their life to check.
A heavy silence filled the room—until the door was suddenly pushed open.
A young man rushed in, his clothes soaked from the rain. He was bold—he had actually ridden a bicycle all the way here through the storm. His light-colored eyes shone with determination as he pressed his lips together and asked,
“The notebook is still in the parking garage?”
“Yes.” The crowd pointed in that direction and explained, “It’s impossible to go in now. Your safety is more important.”
They were worried Fang Huai might insist on going in, but after a moment of silence, he managed to remain calm. His eyes were slightly red, but he didn’t act recklessly.
Life is the most important thing.
Even if he didn’t want the truth to be buried forever…
Fang Huai walked to the floor-to-ceiling window and looked out at the flooded parking garage. Suddenly, his pupils contracted slightly.
He saw a small rubber duck.
The kind that children play with in the bath. It slowly drifted out from the knee-deep floodwater, a piece of paper stuck to it—soaked through but still faintly revealing two crookedly written words:
Help me.
*
The man had just finished a meeting. He silently set down the documents in his hand and gazed out the window.
Outside, the sky stretched into a vast expanse of brilliant blue, bathed in golden sunlight.
But after a moment, his brows furrowed slightly. He had checked the weather forecast—the city where Frost was filming had been hit by a typhoon, and the warning level had already been raised to red.
He picked up his phone, about to make a call, when it suddenly rang.
Ye Yuyuan’s tense expression softened, his dark eyes relaxing.
“Hello?”
But the moment he answered, he froze.
A second later, his lips pressed into a thin line, and he suddenly stood up.
“Ye Yuyuan,” came a voice through the phone—faint static and the sound of water in the background, with an eerie echo. “I…”
Fang Huai waded through the filthy floodwater, scanning his surroundings as he moved deeper into the parking garage. His phone battery was nearly dead, and his grip on it tightened slightly—he wasn’t fearless.
No one is unafraid of death.
But at this moment, the question that had plagued him for so long was suddenly answered.
Ye Yuyuan is special.
How special?
It was simple—If this was the last call of his life, he would call him.
