Chapter 96
Before bed that night, Ye Yuyuan pulled out a small saucepan to warm a cup of milk for Fang Huai.
Fang Huai sat barefoot on a high stool, the cuffs of his pajama pants loosely rolled up. His fair, slender legs swung idly in the air.
He had always thought his boyfriend would look good in an apron. His gaze trailed along Ye Yuyuan’s shoulders and back before he slowly said—
“Teacher Ye, next month I’ll be filming Deciphering, and after that, Frost will be at the Cannes Awards…”
Reporting work progress had become a routine habit in their home.
Fang Huai was very satisfied with this feeling—he liked Ye Yuyuan keeping an eye on him. His bank card and all his payment passwords were set to Ye Yuyuan’s birthday.
“Mm.”
Ye Yuyuan turned off the stove, poured the hot milk from the saucepan, and lowered his gaze as he asked,
“How long will Deciphering take to film?”
“Two months.”
Fang Huai blurred the time frame a little.
It was May now. For the second half of this year, he had deliberately cleared a large portion of his schedule. Taking advantage of the filming, he had secretly booked train tickets—from Nan City to Tian City, then back to Sichuan Province.
He had to confirm something. Only after that could he propose to Ye Yuyuan with peace of mind.
If everything went smoothly, he hoped to get engaged this winter. He had already picked out several ring designs, quietly preparing everything behind the scenes.
Fang Huai wanted to marry Ye Yuyuan. He wanted Ye Yuyuan to stay by his side forever.
“Two months.”
Ye Yuyuan repeated the words, then, after a brief silence, finally nodded.
Only the small nightlight in the kitchen was on.
This was the penthouse apartment in the city center—just months ago, it had felt desolate, like no one lived there. That changed when Fang Huai moved in.
Manga books were spread out on the coffee table. A game controller was casually tossed on the TV stand. Oversized T-shirts and designer suits hung side by side in the closet. The balcony was filled with an assortment of green plants, swaying freely in the wind when the sun came out.
The nightlight was also something Fang Huai had bought abroad. Its design resembled a glass lantern, with soft, hazy colors—very much like Ye Yuyuan’s eyes.
Fang Huai took a sip of the warm milk from his glass and looked at Ye Yuyuan. Suddenly, he called out—
“Baby.”
Ye Yuyuan finished tidying up and, as he walked over, unbuttoned the first button of his shirt. “Mm?”
He raised an eyebrow slightly, his expression asking: What is it?
Fang Huai stared at him for a moment.
For some reason, he felt like Ye Yuyuan’s pupils had just changed.
It was subtle, but there was a shift—the deep obsidian color seemed to lighten, taking on a faint metallic sheen, almost glass-like.
“Nothing.” He shook his head and said, “Come here, kiss me.”
He figured he was just imagining things. He wasn’t normal himself—maybe that made everyone else seem a little strange, too.
Then, he gave Ye Yuyuan a kiss that tasted like milk.
*
Deciphering was less of a variety show and more of an educational program.
It was funded by the state and had already produced numerous episodes, gaining both reputation and popularity. The production team was innovative, never sticking to outdated methods. Over the past few years, they had continuously adapted to modern trends—for example, last year, they had begun integrating live streaming with edited segments, incorporating bullet comments and real-time interactive discussions.
Three years ago, the show focused on the Qin and Han dynasties. Two years ago, it covered the Tang and Song dynasties. Last year, the topic was Wei, Jin, Ming, and Qing.
This year, it was finally time for modern history.
Fang Huai was one of the most influential young celebrities of his generation. Moreover, he had played Lin Shuheng in Frost—so the production team thought of inviting him as the Decipherer for Lin Shuheng’s episode, serving as a special guest.
Over the years, Deciphering had gradually evolved from an indoor-only program to a mix of indoor and outdoor filming. For example, last year, the Decipherers retraced the ancient Silk Road, interpreting history along the way, which received great feedback from the audience.
Fang Huai set off on a rainy day.
Having to part with Ye Yuyuan again, he was reluctant to leave. He said goodbye over and over but still didn’t want to go. Ye Yuyuan accompanied him to the airport, and in the end, it was only because the production team kept urging him that Fang Huai finally dragged his suitcase out of the car.
After walking a few steps, he hesitated, turned back, and knocked on the car window.
“Baby, let me hug you.”
Ye Yuyuan was silent for a moment before opening the car door and pulling Fang Huai into his arms, kissing him.
Fang Huai hadn’t actually wanted a kiss—because the moment Ye Yuyuan kissed him, he didn’t want to leave anymore.
Ye Yuyuan didn’t say a word, but Fang Huai suddenly felt it.
He realized that Ye Yuyuan probably didn’t want to be apart either—maybe even more so than he did.
The air carried the cool humidity of early summer. The gardenias were already in bloom.
“Huaihuai,” Ye Yuyuan was silent for a while before whispering next to his ear, “…come back soon.”
“I’ll be waiting for you at home,” he added.
Fang Huai’s heart trembled, and his nose felt a little sour.
It took him a long time before he responded, his voice muffled, “Okay.”
In his heart, he thought—
When he came back, he wouldn’t just be Ye Yuyuan’s boyfriend anymore.
He would be his fiancé.
*
Fang Huai met up with Deciphering’s resident guests before boarding the plane.
The show had two regular hosts—one was Lao Hu, a middle-aged man with an air of wisdom but was actually a crosstalk performer. The other was Li Wan, a delicate and gentle history professor at W University, who also happened to be a popular online figure.
Since the filming hadn’t officially started yet, the three of them chatted casually, and the atmosphere was lighthearted.
Their first stop was Tian City—the city where Lin Shuheng had spent the last period of his life. After that, they would fly to Sichuan Province, then return to Nan City, retracing Lin Shuheng’s life. Most of their time would be spent in Sichuan Province, where Lin Shuheng had lived from age fourteen to twenty-six—a total of twelve years.
“Fang Huai, are you from Sichuan?” Li Wan studied him for a moment before smiling. “You look like you are.”
Fang Huai touched his nose in surprise. “I am.”
But not many people could tell.
After all, he hadn’t grown up in a typical environment. His accent was whatever accent Fang Jianguo spoke in.
And Fang Jianguo was the kind of person who spoke standard Mandarin most of the time—but the moment he got emotional, his speech would mix Tianjin dialect, Sichuan dialect, and various regional accents together.
Li Wan rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “My boyfriend is from Chengdu. A lot of Sichuan guys are fair-skinned and delicate-looking.”
And some were especially henpecked.
She glanced at Fang Huai.
He totally seemed like the type to spoil his girlfriend… or boyfriend.
The first thing he did after getting off the plane was call someone to check in, his voice so sweet it could melt a person.
And then there was the time he openly announced his relationship at the Silver Birch Awards.
When Fang Huai revealed that he was dating, he did lose some fans.
He had initially gained fame through Stellar Light, which meant he came from a pop idol background. A large portion of his fan base consisted of girlfriend fans and wife fans—not to mention, he had just turned nineteen. Announcing a relationship so early wasn’t exactly beneficial to his career.
But the timing of his announcement was quite strategic.
He mentioned it casually right after winning the Silver Birch Award. Since he was also nominated for the Seahorse Award, the mass exodus of girlfriend fans had minimal impact on his career—by then, his commercial image had already shifted. He was no longer an idol relying on fans to spend money out of love, but an actor whose talent people were willing to pay for.
His fan base also transitioned—from being dominated by young girlfriend fans to a more rational audience. As long as he didn’t stir up trouble himself, fan wars and drama would likely decrease in the future.
In the short term, his popularity seemed to decline. But in the long run, this move benefited his career development tremendously.
It was a bold decision.
*
The next day, the recording and live broadcast of Deciphering officially began.
The live broadcast was streamed online, while the edited version, which would air on CCTV, had both similarities and differences. The edited episodes consisted of footage from the live stream as well as separately filmed segments. Meanwhile, the live version of Deciphering was designed for younger audiences—highly engaging, filled with exploration and interactive elements.
For example, today’s episode was filmed from a first-person perspective, with Fang Huai holding the camera himself. He had undergone training before, so his hand was incredibly steady, with almost no shaking.
It was just past 8 a.m., and the entire city was waking up, carrying the distinct scent of a northern city.
Fang Huai, Li Wan, and Lao Hu looked just like three casual travelers, carrying backpacks and wearing sun hats while having breakfast at a small roadside eatery.
“This is soy milk,” Fang Huai said seriously, zooming in on the breakfast with the camera. “This is fried dough sticks, and these are soup dumplings.”
[Hahahaha, dude, I KNOW that.]
[Why does he sound like he’s explaining ethyl acetate propanol reagent?]
[Came to check out the Golden Tree Award winner—his voice is SOOO nice, my ears are in love.]
Fang Huai’s phone was lying face-down on the table. The dust plug charm in the headphone jack was a tiny robot figurine.
He pointed the camera at his phone and said:
“And this—this was a gift from my baby.”
[……]
[Bro… that’s a Ptah limited edition PE01 model. Straight-up rich people hobbies, I’m out.]
[It’s barely morning, and you’re already stuffing me with PDA. Thanks.]
[Lemons are on sale at the supermarket next door! Everyone, come grab some!]
Fang Huai chuckled before moving the camera away. Then, as planned, he had Li Wan and Lao Hu introduce themselves.
Since Lao Hu was originally a crosstalk comedian, none of them were the reserved type. The breakfast segment felt more like a comedy skit, filled with the distinct humor of Tian City.
*
After breakfast came the main event.
They headed to Lin Shuheng’s former residence, which was now a semi-open historical site.
It wasn’t what they had imagined—it was a small, ordinary two-story house. Even though it had been renovated and maintained, the signs of age and wear were still visible.
“We are now at the former residence of Mr. Lin Shuheng,” Fang Huai said. “He was imprisoned here for eight months—until he sacrificed his life for the country.”
[Wait… this episode is about Lin Shuheng??]
[Tbh, I never really liked him… wasn’t he a rapist, a gay guy, and a drug addict? And then he just got a redemption arc because he died for the country? I don’t get it.]
[Oh no… I can already sense a comment war coming.]
[The rape thing was a false accusation, right? He was framed. And he wasn’t a drug addict—just had a nicotine addiction.]
Lin Shuheng had always been a highly controversial figure.
Before filming the show, the director had him record a separate interview. The director asked:
“What kind of person do you think Lin Shuheng was?”
Fang Huai barely hesitated. Looking straight into the camera, he answered: “Lin Shuheng was a hero.”
And even now, Fang Huai still believed that.
He tightened his grip on the camera and continued walking forward, his voice soft but firm:
“He was a hero.”
The man Fang Jianguo loved was a hero.
[I agree. Deep down, Lin Shuheng was a very gentle person.]
[…Hero my ass. If you don’t know history, don’t talk nonsense, okay? Other than dying to protect a secret, what else did he ever do that was good?]
[Objectively speaking, Lin Shuheng was a rather controversial figure.]
Fang Huai stepped into the residence and followed the staff’s directions toward the basement. Gently, he placed his hand on the doorknob.
The basement had only been approved for public access today, and Fang Huai was about to be the first person—aside from the restoration team—to set foot inside.
History seemed to intertwine with the early summer breeze, overlapping with the present. Dust had settled on the doorknob.
Fang Huai let out a slow breath and pushed the door open.
The creaking sound of the door felt like some kind of mysterious chemical reagent, mixing with the air and igniting a chemical reaction—a spark that sent a tiny electric current through Fang Huai’s brain.
Something suddenly clicked.
And then, like a flood, memories came rushing in.
A damp breeze carried scenes from years ago, overlapping with the present—
“Uncle’s house is really small. It’s dark, there’s nothing fun there. You might not like it.”
“How old are you this year?”
“Four. Do you like cloth tigers?”
There had been telephones back then, but they weren’t common yet. Fang Huai remembered being taken to town by Fang Jianguo, where the entire town had only one rotary phone.
Lin Shuheng’s voice had been low and gentle over the crackling line.
At the time, young Fang Huai had imagined Lin Shuheng’s home to be a bright, spacious place, warm even in winter.
But the fragments of memory that had surfaced quickly slipped away, disappearing with the wind before he could grasp them.
Lin Shuheng had spent the last eight months of his life here.
The space was small and slightly damp.
There was a simple—almost crude—wooden desk.
A map of China hung on the wall, meticulously circled and marked.
Above it, written in bold calligraphy, was a single word:
“Revival.”
The items on the desk had all been preserved as they were. A few books and documents lay neatly stacked, though some had long since been damaged and had undergone laminated restoration.
There had been rumors—whispers in the streets that Lin Shuheng had spent the last eight months of his life in Tian City indulging in hedonism, frequenting prostitutes, using drugs, and living a life of debauchery in a foreign concession villa.
But looking at this room now, it was obviously not the case.
This small space was no different from a prison—a narrow iron bed, a high, tiny window, and the fact that he had only been allowed to leave once a month.
And on the desk, there were exactly twenty-three documents.
All of them were confession letters.
They had been drafted by traitors, who forced Lin Shuheng to sign them—documents meant to declare his betrayal of the nation, his surrender, and his willingness to hand over military intelligence in exchange for endless wealth and luxury.
Yet at the end of every single one, Lin Shuheng had written:
“Lin Shuheng is innocent.”
On the very last document, the words “innocent” had even been written in blood—because he no longer had any ink left.
Being a homosexual was not a crime. Loving one’s country was even less of a crime.
Behind the desk was an entire cabinet filled with gruesome torture devices.
They had rusted, turning a dull brownish-red—but it was easy to imagine what they had once been used for.
Fang Huai remained silent for a long time.
Even the livestream chat had fallen into a brief silence.
After a while, without a word, Fang Huai suddenly turned off his camera.
The stream switched to the cameraman’s perspective.
Through the slightly open doorway, viewers could vaguely see the silhouette of a young man.
His back was straight and tense, his thin frame exuding an air of loneliness.
A sliver of his handsome profile was visible, and his eyes were faintly red-rimmed.
Fang Huai walked toward a shelf in the corner.
There, sitting quietly, was a small cloth tiger.
It was old—very old, its stitching clumsy and uneven, as if someone had stitched it together with great effort, but little skill.
The character “Wang” (king) was embroidered crookedly on its forehead.
The cloth tiger held a small fabric letter in its paws.
On the letter, there were a few stitched words:
“For little Fang.”
It had waited all this time, not knowing if the one it was waiting for would ever come.
But still, stubbornly, it curled up in the dark corner, tilting its head as it waited.
And now—the one it had been waiting for had finally arrived.
Eighty years too late.
*
That night, after returning to his hotel, Fang Huai sat in a daze for a long time.
Part of it was because of Lin Shuheng’s story.
But the other part…
He had actually lived for more than eighty years.
It felt completely unreal.
His entire understanding of himself had never been this shaken before.
The memories were too clear—too detailed to be fake.
He remembered himself, as a child, saying over the phone:
“I’m four years old this year.”
And he remembered that the town had had only one rotary phone.
But if he really were just a normal eighteen-year-old, then by the time he was four, phones should have already been widely available.
Fang Huai looked down at his own hands in suspicion.
What exactly… was he?
Would Ye Yuyuan find him strange?
“……”
But then, he quickly tried to put himself in Ye Yuyuan’s shoes.
If Ye Yuyuan wasn’t a normal person either—if he had an unnaturally long lifespan—would he find that strange?
No.
He wouldn’t.
He would only feel regret.
Not being able to grow old together with Ye Yuyuan—even just thinking about it, it already felt like such a regret.
*
The next stop after Tian City was Sichuan Province.
After finishing the show’s recording, Fang Huai requested a leave of absence from the production team.
He wanted to go home.
In his memory, from ages four to eleven, he had spent seven years living in the mountains.
Then, he had gone abroad.
…But why had he gone abroad?
For as long as he could remember, Fang Jianguo had lived in seclusion with him.
But why?
Fang Huai had never understood before.
But now, he felt like he was finally starting to realize.
If a person is not normal at all, and time flows more slowly for them, then living among the crowd would inevitably draw attention.
Something must have happened when he was eleven years old.
Fang Huai didn’t tell anyone about taking leave—not even his agent, not even Ye Yuyuan. He first took a bus to the county town, then switched to a motorcycle. When the motorcycle could go no further, he transferred to an ox cart.
“Kid, do you live in the mountains?” The old man driving the ox squinted at him. “Or are you here to visit a grave?”
“I live in the mountains,” Fang Huai replied in the local dialect.
He glanced at the old man a few times and felt something was off. The man looked to be in his sixties, smiling with a crescent-shaped scar at the corner of his eye.
He looked somewhat familiar.
“Well, I’ll be,” the old man took another look and exclaimed, “Kid, is your grandpa named Fang… Fang Huai? You look just like him!”
Fang Huai: “…”
He had seen this old man before when he was a child. He was the son of the town’s butcher, and back then, they were about the same age.
Experiencing it firsthand and admitting it were two different things. Fang Huai felt his whole worldview was about to collapse—it was too unbelievable.
“You live up there? Don’t go wandering into the mountains too often these days,” the old man chuckled. “It’s not safe. Heard there’s an escaped convict around.”
“Thanks.” Fang Huai didn’t pay much attention.
The last stretch of the journey could only be traveled on foot. By the time he climbed up the mountain and reached his home, night was approaching.
The small courtyard was fenced off with wooden stakes. What used to be farmland was now overgrown with weeds. The wooden hut’s door was left ajar, and in the backyard, a pile of firewood had been left to rot.
The glass tank he had made for his fish had been moved outside, placed next to the dog’s old sleeping spot by the door.
It felt as if invisible steel cables were tightening around his stomach, a sour ache spreading from his abdomen to his heart.
Fang Huai hesitated to go in right away. The sunset over the mountains was breathtakingly beautiful, the twilight reflecting on the lake like something out of a documentary. The camellias were in bloom. He unwrapped a lollipop, bypassed the courtyard where he had lived for nearly ten years, and headed toward the lake behind the house.
The lake had a natural water source. It had dried up during a severe drought but later filled up again. It was quite deep. Fang Jianguo used to tell him there was a water monster in it.
Fang Huai climbed up a tree by the lake, sucking on his lollipop.
He had sharp eyesight. Suddenly, he noticed something left by the lake—a phone and a bag, signs that someone had been there recently.
Fang Huai thought back carefully, and the old man’s words flashed in his mind—”an escaped convict.”
His heart skipped a beat.
He wanted to call Ye Yuyuan, but after thinking it over, he ended up calling Shi Feiran instead.
“Hello?” Shi Feiran answered almost instantly. “Fang Huai, where are you? You took leave without telling me? President Ye has been calling me every ten minutes—he’s about to report you missing! What… what are you up to?”
“Sorry, the situation is a bit unusual right now. I’m—”
The sun slowly sank below the horizon, casting rippling light across the lake. The evening breeze carried the scent of camellias. Just as the last of the twilight was about to fade into darkness, an unnamed mountain wind suddenly rose.
Fang Huai’s words came to an abrupt halt.
Across a distance of several dozen meters, he locked eyes with a pair of dark gold, slit pupils.
