Nie Shanglin thought of Cheng Zhou.

Sometimes, the longing became unbearable, prompting him to instruct the private detective not to report on Cheng Zhou’s situation that day. Instead, he chose to visit the places where Cheng Zhou lived and worked, quietly observing from the side.

On that day, Nie Shanglin learned in advance that Cheng Zhou, as a photographer, had been invited to a party hosted by a well-known magazine. He had also received an invitation to the event. Originally, he wouldn’t attend such a non-business event, where the invitation was merely for publicity, but when he found out that Cheng Zhou was also invited and would most likely go, he had his assistant accept the invitation.

On the day of the party, Cheng Zhou indeed showed up.

Nie Shanglin raised his wine glass and saw Cheng Zhou, well-dressed and smiling, chatting with an elderly man from a distance.

He recognized the old man as a master in the photography field; this magazine was founded by him.

Nie Shanglin also knew that the old man was somewhat of a mentor to Cheng Zhou, which explained why Cheng Zhou, who usually avoided social gatherings, chose to attend the party.

How Cheng Zhou came to be the old man’s apprentice was unknown to Nie Shanglin, but he knew that Cheng Zhou held the elder in high regard.

The party was crowded, with well-known photographers and young talents just starting to make a name for themselves. Among them, Cheng Zhou looked different from when he used to manage the Cheng family business; he seemed more relaxed and confident, full of energy. When he smiled, he had the easygoing charm of an artist.

While chatting with a few people, he caught sight of Nie Shanglin from a distance. He barely frowned for a moment before quickly returning to his composed, distant smile and nodding in acknowledgment toward Nie Shanglin.

Even though Cheng Zhou seemed distant, Nie Shanglin couldn’t help feeling a surge of happiness inside. After all these days, Cheng Zhou finally smiled at him—not a mocking smile, but a genuine one.

Then, an unexpected incident occurred.

Halfway through the party, two young faces entered the room. They were likely newcomers to such an event and appeared somewhat flustered. In their confusion, one of them accidentally knocked over a wooden rack leaning against the wall. The heavy rack tipped over, creating a domino effect that caused a large overhead panel above Cheng Zhou to sway dangerously.

The first to notice was Nie Shanglin, who had been intently watching Cheng Zhou. Without a moment to think, he shouted and rushed forward.

From a distance, Cheng Zhou heard Nie Shanglin calling his name and instinctively looked up at the sound above him, just in time to see the overhead panel swaying precariously, about to fall.

There was no time to run. In a split second, Nie Shanglin dashed over and pushed Cheng Zhou out of the way, while Cheng Zhou instinctively reached out to shield Nie Shanglin from the heavy piece of wood that was about to crash down on him.

A wave of intense pain shot through Nie Shanglin’s leg as his left leg was pinned beneath the massive, heavy wooden panel, a large wound gaping open. He could feel the blood flowing out. In that moment, Nie Shanglin instinctively grabbed Cheng Zhou’s hand to check on him. Cheng Zhou’s hand was bruised and scraped, and he couldn’t tell if any bones were damaged.

Nie Shanglin felt anxious, fearing that if Cheng Zhou’s hand was too severely injured, it would affect his future in photography. Even as he risked fainting from blood loss, he still held onto Cheng Zhou’s hand tightly.

The scene at the wine party was chaotic; people were running around, and someone quickly dialed for emergency services.

——————

When Nie Shanglin regained consciousness, he found himself lying on a hospital bed with his left leg in a cast, slightly elevated by a bandage.

He felt disoriented for a moment before he snapped back to reality, looking around. He spotted Cheng Zhou sitting in a chair nearby, slightly lowering his head as he quietly peeled an apple. Sunlight filtered through the lush leaves outside the hospital window, casting dappled light on the tips of Cheng Zhou’s hair and his profile, making him look particularly gentle.

Nie Shanglin was stunned for a long time before he finally reacted. He looked at Cheng Zhou’s hand and, with a hoarse voice, cautiously asked, “Is your… hand okay?”

Cheng Zhou heard this and looked up. After a moment, he smiled and said, “You’re awake. Is there anywhere that doesn’t feel right? My hand is fine, it’s just a scrape.”

Hearing that it was just a scrape, Nie Shanglin didn’t feel relieved at all. He wanted to get up to take a look for himself, but his injured left leg wouldn’t allow him to move. Seeing this, Cheng Zhou approached the hospital bed and handed him the peeled apple, saying, “If I can peel an apple this skillfully, what could possibly happen? You, on the other hand, need to take good care of yourself since it’s a hundred days for bone injuries to heal. During this time, I’ll bring you bone broth every day to help you recover.”

Upon hearing this, Nie Shanglin looked up in surprise.

Cheng Zhou’s eyes still held a smile as he nodded in confirmation.

The following months were the happiest time of Nie Shanglin’s life.

There were no pretentious facades, no barriers, no disappointments.

Cheng Zhou no longer despised or felt annoyed by his relentless pursuit. He would sit quietly beside him, smiling as he peeled apples, and would personally prepare soups with different flavors for him to drink every day. He would laugh and ask how his leg felt and whether he needed to rest.

Cheng Zhou would occasionally push him to the yard to bask in the sun and take walks, sharing strange anecdotes from his photography adventures. When Nie Shanglin struggled to walk during rehabilitation with his left leg not quite cooperating, Cheng Zhou would encourage him with a smile, saying, “Keep going! Soon we can go home.”

Going home…

Nie Shanglin would often think later, if only time could stop in that moment, even if his two legs were permanently disabled, what would it matter?