"Ye Qingliu."
"Um?"
"If one day..." Mu Xinrong's voice was a little hoarse, "you suddenly remember things from other world lines..."
A sycamore leaf spun and landed on the railing between them. The veins of the leaf were clearly visible in the sunlight, like some kind of sophisticated circuit diagram.
Ye Qingliu reached out to catch another falling leaf. The sunlight filtered through the thin leaves, illuminating his palm with a warm red.
"I don't know," he said honestly. "But at least now..." The leaves turned between his fingers, and dewdrops dripped onto the railing with a slight "tick". "In this world line, I choose to believe you."
Mu Xinrong watched the water droplet roll on the metal railing and finally fall. Before it disappeared, he reached out and grasped Ye Qingliu's wrist.
The pulse beats beneath my palm, warm and real.
The sunlight completely enveloped the two figures, giving this new world line a golden edge that would never fade.
———————————————
Mu Xinrong stood in front of the Ye family villa. The morning mist had not yet dissipated, and dew condensed on the intricate bronze lions on the iron gate, like a layer of broken diamonds.
The last time he came, he was carried in by Ye Qingliu, and his shirt was soaked with blood. In his blurred consciousness, he only remembered the halo of light reflected by the crystal chandelier, as if he had fallen into a sea of broken glass.
Ye Qingliu pushed open the heavy carved bronze door, and warm golden light spread out from the foyer, spreading on the fish belly white marble floor imported from Italy, so shiny that you could see your reflection in it.
Mu Xinrong stepped on it, and the sound of his footsteps was swallowed up by the Persian handmade carpet. The air was filled with the lingering scent of agarwood and cigar wood, expensive and mellow.
"Come in."
Ye Qingliu's voice was very faint, as if he was giving instructions to a servant who had not returned home for a long time.
Mu Xinrong followed him through the hallway. The Swarovski pendants hanging from the crystal chandelier jingled softly, making a sound as clear as wind chimes. He remembered that when he was unconscious, Ye Qingliu had carried him through here.
Mu Xinrong stood in front of the Ye family villa, his fingertips unconsciously stroking the old scar on his collarbone.
The last time he came, he was sent in unconscious.
——Ye Qingliu carried him through the black iron gate. His blood soaked the other's shirt, and his body temperature disappeared bit by bit due to blood loss.
And now, he stood here soberly, the morning mist had not yet dissipated, and the dew wet the tips of his shoes.
Ye Qingliu took off his coat and casually put it on the back of the sofa.
"Go to bed."
Mu Xinrong didn't move.
Ye Qingliu turned around and looked at him. The morning light slanted in from the floor-to-ceiling windows, giving his outline a very light golden edge.
"Last time you were in the medical bay," he said calmly, "this time you can choose a bed."
Mu Xinrong's breathing stopped.
————He remembered.
I remember being sent in covered in blood, I remember Ye Qingliu adjusting the medical parameters with a stern face, and I remember waking up to see him sleeping lightly on the console, with fatigue hidden in the shadow cast by his eyelashes.
Ye Qingliu had already walked up the stairs, his footsteps were very light.
Mu Xinrong followed him, stepping on the shadow he left behind.
At the end of the second-floor corridor, the door to the master bedroom was ajar. Ye Qingliu pushed it open and stepped aside to let him in.
——The bed sheets were changed to dark blue, and there was a warm yellow reading light at the head of the bed.
Mu Xinrong stood at the door, and in a trance saw another time and space overlapping here - he was lying in the medical cabin, pale as paper, and Ye Qingliu was guarding beside him, his fingertips hovering above the vital signs monitoring screen, and he had not slept for three days.
"I'm not injured this time." Ye Qingliu suddenly said, "So there's no need for a medical cabin."
Mu Xinrong turned to look at him.
Ye Qingliu stood against the light, his eyebrows and eyes sunk in the shadows, only the corners of his lips were touched by a little morning light.
"Just resting."
Mu Xinrong walked into the room and brushed his fingertips across the door handle—the metal was cool and felt real.
The bed was soft and the pillows were fluffy, everything was completely different from the cold medical cabin in my memory.
Ye Qingliu stood at the door without moving.
"I'll call you in seven hours."
Mu Xinrong sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at his palms - which used to be covered with bandages, but now there were only a few scars so faint that they were almost invisible.
The door closed softly.
He lay down, sinking into the soft bed. The scent of cedar lingered over him, exactly as he remembered.
——He did come back.
Come in a coma and leave in a conscious state.
And now, he is back.
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