Qian Wang woke up and found himself lying in Zhao Ziqiang’s bedroom, tightly gripping the other person’s hand. The places where their skin touched were damp with sweat, slick and uncomfortable.

He closed his eyes—it was reality, not that dream so vivid it seemed almost real.

He sighed. His throat burned with dryness, and his skin was flushed with unbearable heat. His vision was hazy, and even his eyes felt sore from the heat, so he reached up to rub them.

As soon as Qian Wang shifted, the hand gripping his own stirred, waking Zhao Ziqiang. He had been slumped over, sleeping on a small stool beside the bed, and when he raised his head, the dark circles under his eyes were evident—clearly, he hadn’t slept well.

Qian Wang quietly looked at him, lost in thought for a while, feeling an inexplicable sense of familiarity, as if time had folded in on itself, giving the illusion that an eternity had passed in that single glance.

Zhao Ziqiang pulled his hand back, flexing his numb fingers for a moment before using his other hand to press against Qian Wang’s forehead. Realizing the fever hadn’t completely subsided, he frowned slightly, unhappily questioning:

“Where exactly did you go to end up coming back in this condition?”

Qian Wang froze, his groggy mind, still sluggish from just waking up, suddenly stalled.

“I don’t get it…”

Zhao Ziqiang withdrew his hand. If he didn’t want to explain, so be it. After sitting for hours on the small stool, his back and waist were aching. As he got up, stretching his stiff body, he coldly remarked,

“I don’t get it either. You came back in the middle of the night covered in foul-smelling water, then started burning up with a fever. When I tried to take you to the hospital, you were bawling, tears and snot everywhere, clinging to me like your life depended on it… and now, here we are.”

He spoke vaguely, and Qian Wang’s confusion deepened. Even if everything that had happened before seemed like a dream, upon waking, he should have continued along the path of reality. So why was there a blank space in his memory he couldn’t recall?

Qian Wang touched his bare chest, initially stunned, but then his confusion only grew as he tried to piece together what had happened.

Zhao Ziqiang furrowed his brows, bent slightly forward, and met his gaze. He muttered to himself deliberately:

“Eh? Could it be that the fever made you lost your memory?”

Qian Wang’s left ear caught the words, but they seemed to pass right through, as if they weren’t even in the same dimension as reality. His heart ached, painfully reminding him of Zhao Ziqiang from a few months ago—hurt and wronged in his dreams.

The more he thought about it, the more restless he became, and the harder it was to believe that all of it had been nothing but a dream.

But that was the only thing he could believe.

Zhao Ziqiang pulled back his body and noticed Qian Wang’s absent-minded state. A sense of frustration bubbled up inside him, but he quickly reminded himself that it wasn’t his place to get involved in Qian Wang’s matters. What did it have to do with him?

He sighed and said, “Now that you’re awake, take care of yourself. I’ll be running the shop as usual today.”

After saying that, Zhao Ziqiang left the bedroom.

Outside, the sunlight was bright and warm, and from downstairs, faint sounds of activity – clinking and clattering could be heard.

Qian Wang rubbed his forehead, stood up, and headed out. As he approached the bathroom, his half-closed eyes suddenly widened in shock. He saw a few pieces of clothes and pants tossed carelessly on top of the washing machine. What were those?

The weather had warmed up these past few days, and he had long stopped wearing sweaters, let alone the one he hadn’t even touched this entire year. There was also that coat, those pants—these were the exact clothes he had worn on that day in the dream.

Qian Wang stood frozen in place, his mind in a whirlwind, feeling utterly lost. He couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, all of this was real.

So, if all of this was real, and no one was in on some scheme with Zhao Ziqiang to fool him, then it must mean there was truly another parallel space…

He sat on the floor next to the washing machine, restlessly clutching his head, as if some answer was just on the tip of his mind, waiting to be spoken.

Zhao Ziqiang brought up the egg custard, but couldn’t find anyone. After placing the bowl and spoon on the table, he went to the bathroom and found the tall man, a full meter eighty, slumped on the floor. He thought Qian Wang had fainted.

In a panic, he hurried over and tried to turn Qian Wang’s face to check on him.

Qian Wang, aside from his confused expression, showed no other abnormality. When he saw Zhao Ziqiang, it was as if he passed right through him.

Yes, Qian Wang’s mind was trapped in a strange loop—if there was one parallel space like this, then it was possible there could be hundreds, even thousands, of countless others, each of them repeatedly going through the same things: the same betrayals and irreparable wounds.

At this thought, Qian Wang suddenly snapped back to reality. He looked at the person before him, who had already been through so much, and his heart ached with a sharp pang. Without thinking, he pulled Zhao Ziqiang into an embrace, murmuring apologies.

Zhao Ziqiang stood there frozen, his body stiff. A sense of unease crept into his heart. Could it be that Qian Wang had really burned his mind?

The two of them hugged for a while, both starting to sweat from the heat. Qian Wang, even more feverish, still refused to let go of Zhao Ziqiang.

Downstairs, the cashier Xiao Zhang had come up with counterfeit money, intending to bow his head and admit his mistake. Seeing the boss and the deputy manager in the restroom doorway, half-naked, hugging and cuddling, he hurriedly turned around and ran back downstairs.

Everyone in the shop knew about their relationship, but sometimes, when the two handsome men, who appeared perfectly normal, were being affectionate with each other, the young girls would still blush and run away.

Qian Wang playfully clung to Zhao Ziqiang, not caring even when being dragged around. Zhao Ziqiang had no choice but to turn around twice before putting him back in the bedroom, settling him down and saying:

“I’ll go get the egg custard, you wait here!.”

Qian Wang retracted his hand, feeling dizzy as he leaned against the head of the bed, his mood darkening immensely.

Zhao Ziqiang, however, first went downstairs to resolve the dispute before returning upstairs with the bowl. The egg custard was still warm, and Zhao Ziqiang knew it was Qian Wang’s favorite.

Who would have thought that when he handed over the bowl today, the man didn’t eagerly grab it and devour it as usual. Instead, he looked like he was about to be abandoned, pouting and not moving.

Zhao Ziqiang furrowed his brows, picked up a spoonful, tasted it in his mouth, and then clicked his tongue.

“The temperature and taste are just right. Eat quickly. Stop making a fuss. I’ve still got things to do.”

Qian Wang’s eyes fixed on Zhao Ziqiang as his hand slowly reached out, wrapping around his waist. His voice, husky from the fever, sounded even deeper as he spoke:

“Will you feed me…?”

Zhao Ziqiang had long since lost his patience for Qian Wang’s pitiful, whining antics. He sighed and said:

“Could I really say no…?”

He straightened his back, signaling Qian Wang to loosen his grip. Only then did he pick up the bowl again, feeding him spoonful by spoonful while saying:

“A few thugs came down earlier, trying to pay with counterfeit bills. Xiao Zhang almost cried. The young guys in the kitchen were all useless, none of them dared to speak up. If it weren’t for a few other men backing me up, this wouldn’t have ended so easily today.”

Qian Wang listened absentmindedly, his gaze fixed intently on Zhao Ziqiang’s eyes. After a long pause, he spoke cautiously, “I need to tell you where I went yesterday… you have to believe me.”

Zhao Ziqiang gave him a strange look, casually responding as he took the medicine from the bedside table and placed it properly. Then, straightening up, he spoke in a tone as if comforting a child,
“Alright, go ahead, tell me.”

Qian Wang, somewhat displeased, hugged him tightly. He then rubbed his chin on the top of Zhao Ziqiang’s head, repeatedly confirming Zhao’s trust before telling him everything about a certain day he had returned to in the past. He spoke in a manner almost like summarizing a paper, with clear logic that instead made Zhao Ziqiang suspect he was making up a story.

After finishing, Zhao Ziqiang remained silent. Qian Wang tightened his arms around him, nervously saying:

“You don’t believe me, do you? You don’t believe, right…”

Zhao Ziqiang sat up, chuckling lightly, and replied:

“I believe you… but just consider it a dream.”

Recalling the suppressed days had put him in a bad mood.

He turned his head to look out the window,

“Some things are inevitable. Because I believe in the existence of demons and spirits, I can also believe what you’re saying.”

Qian Wang blinked, feeling a sense of relief, as if the fever had subsided. He sniffled, about to say something, but Zhao Ziqiang interrupted him.

“But… what does that really account for? Even if you saw that person, even if it was me, there’s no direct connection to who I am now. They’re like another version of the same story. Let’s just focus on the present.”

He recalled Qian Wang’s anxious concern and regret from earlier, and continued:

“You really have a tendency to overthink… I’m going to get some water now. Take your medicine. Don’t spend the whole day lost in those unnecessary thoughts.'”

He said it casually, but Qian Wang was absorbed in thought. He realized it made sense. Even if there was another Qian Wang, who had made mistakes, still had to bear the same feelings of remorse, torment, and repentance… none of that had anything to do with him.

Having come to that understanding, his mood lightened. It was true what people said—sharing burdens really did make a difference.

Though his steps were still unsteady and his strength hadn’t fully returned, he put on his shirt and hurried out to find Zhao Ziqiang. Zhao Ziqiang, holding a bottle of mineral water, stood by the stove waiting for the water to heat up. When he was suddenly embraced from behind, he leaned back into the arms of the person holding him. After a busy night, he was also quite tired.

Qian Wang suddenly asked,

“What time is it?”

Zhao Ziqiang glanced at his watch, softly replying,

“It’s almost noon, 11:30… it’s time to…”

Qian Wang buried his nose in Zhao Ziqiang’s neck, his voice low as he said:

“Good afternoon… I love you.”

It was the first time he said it so strangely yet sweetly, and there was even a hint of shyness.

Zhao Ziqiang froze for a moment, then replied in a daze.

“Ah… good afternoon.”

After having dinner, Zhao Ziqiang washed and arranged the bowls one by one. Qian Wang, as usual, hung around his waist like a giant accessory. Once Zhao Ziqiang placed the last plate, Qian Wang asked,

“What time is it?”

Without suspecting anything, Zhao Ziqiang glanced at his watch and answered,

“It’s 6:30…”

“Mm! Good Evening… I love you.”

Zhao Ziqiang couldn’t help but turn in his arms, facing Qian Wang directly. A strange question rose in his mind, but seeing Qian Wang’s naturally sweet expression, he swallowed it back down.

Qian Wang smiled on the surface, but his heart was heavy. He didn’t know when he would hear Zhao Ziqiang’s sweet words again.

Some words, when you most want to hear them, may never be spoken again.

Some words…

Perhaps they need to be said over and over to heal the wounds and erase the scars of doubt.