Chapter 1

As consciousness slowly returned, Shu Shiyun’s mind still echoed with the piercing screech of brakes.

Before he could piece together what had happened, the mournful cries nearby drew his attention.

The solemn cemetery was crowded with people dressed in black, every head bowed, soft sobs rising and falling among them.

When Shu Shiyun spotted his father and uncle in the crowd, he froze in astonishment.

His parents had divorced when he was very young; his mother moved abroad and never returned, while his father remarried just six months later. Because of this, his uncle had always looked down on him, his face twisted in disdain whenever he heard Lan Suzhi’s name.

So how was it that his uncle now stood side by side with the person he despised most—and in apparent harmony? Moreover, his stepmother and stepbrothers were also present.

A bad premonition welled up in Shu Shiyun’s heart. It was then, with a sudden jolt, that he realized his body was floating above the ground, gazing downward in a detached, overlooking stance.

Could it be...

As if responding to his thoughts, his body drifted gently toward the earth, and the name on the tombstone below gradually came into focus.

[Shu Shiyun, aged twenty-five]

The monochrome photograph on the stone caught the light, and Shu Shiyun approached, stunned, to find a face identical to his own.

Yet the young man in the picture looked even more boyish, expressionless, and the black-and-white tones lent him a somber, brooding air.

He remembered making fun of this photo after it was taken, never imagining Lan Suzhi would ignore his complaints—and now this unflattering image had become his memorial portrait.

Disappointment and regret flickered through him, and he sighed, thinking Lan Suzhi’s memory really was failing.

Was it age?

Still, when he was alive, both Lan Suzhi and his stepmother, Tang Yitong, had treated him decently enough. Now that things had come to this, he couldn’t bring himself to care much; after all, he wouldn’t see any of them again.

He glanced around—everywhere, familiar faces. Yet only his uncle, Shu Yanshen, had eyes tinged red, which Shu Shiyun found hard to believe.

In his memory, his uncle was cold and indifferent, showing warmth only to Shu Shiyun’s mother. Toward him, there was responsibility, but never a hint of affection. And now…

A pang of guilt struck Shu Shiyun.

A month earlier, his mother had died in an accident. After attending her funeral abroad, Shu Shiyun had been lost in grief, never noticing his uncle’s state.

He’d even thought his uncle heartless for handling everything so efficiently and leaving for a business trip the very next day.

Looking back, someone as stoic as his uncle must have been suffering too.

Guilt, late and sharp, gripped him. He reached out, wanting to smooth the tension from his uncle’s brow, but his translucent hand passed right through.

He’d nearly forgotten—he was now just a soul, unable to offer comfort.

—

After the ceremony, the crowd dispersed, leaving only the Lan family.

Shu Shiyun watched Shu Yanshen put on his sunglasses and leave, a faint sense of loss gnawing at him.

Perhaps that was truly the last glance. At least, in death, he’d been allowed a final look at his family—a small mercy. He wondered if, now that he was gone, he’d be able to see his mother again.

As he pondered when his soul would fade, he turned to see his stepbrother Lan Xuan, who had just been weeping, now impatiently curling his lip.

“When are we leaving? This place is making my skin crawl.”

“What’s the rush?” Tang Yitong, her earlier sadness gone, smiled as she turned to Lan Suzhi, who was still gazing at the headstone. “Honey, did you settle things with Shu Yanshen?”

Lan Suzhi withdrew his gaze, satisfaction curving his lips. “We’ve come to an agreement. Shu Shiyun’s mother’s inheritance can’t all go to us, but all the assets Shu Shiyun accumulated over the years will be transferred to me.”

Delight lit Tang Yitong’s face. She wrapped her arms around him, tears of excitement welling where there had been none at the funeral just moments before.

“That’s wonderful. It’s more than enough.”

Lan Suzhi let out a long breath, hugging her back, his face relaxed and easy. “We’ve finally waited for this day.”

Their happiness was interrupted by Lan Xuan’s polite cough.

Tang Yitong, indulgent, looked at him. “Alright, alright. We promised you the villa downtown ages ago, and you don’t need to remind us. Your father and I both remember.”

Only then did Lan Xuan smile with satisfaction.

All three wore the expressions of those who have finally seen hardship end.

But even as they got into the car and drove away, Shu Shiyun, still floating midair, couldn’t process what he’d just heard.

He doubted his own ears, but the meaning in Lan Suzhi and Tang Yitong’s conversation was unmistakable, leaving no room for self-deception.

Since birth, his mother had secured countless assets for him, passing them to him as he came of age. Perhaps because Lan Suzhi and Tang Yitong had never shown any interest, he’d never imagined they might covet what was his.

A month ago, his mother had died, willing most of her estate to him.

And now, he himself had died unexpectedly.

Shu Shiyun’s mind reeled, but amidst the chaos, a strange suspicion took root.

Could the timing really be so coincidental…?

—

A faint engine noise approached, snapping Shu Shiyun from his thoughts. He assumed Lan Suzhi and the others had returned, but looking up, he saw a sleek motorcade instead.

Before the cars had stopped, a back door was flung open, and a man in a jet-black suit stepped out, long legs striding purposefully.

Shu Shiyun’s breath caught when he saw the man’s face; his first instinct was to flee.

The man’s features were sharp and striking, his expression cold and solemn to the extreme. Shu Shiyun couldn’t be sure if it was his imagination, but when the man approached the grave, his fingers seemed to tremble faintly at his side.

He crouched before the tombstone, staring intently at the black-and-white photograph, silent for a long, long time.

Only now did Shu Shiyun remember no one could see him. He drifted closer, and as he hovered near, he saw a shimmer of tears in the man’s downcast eyes.

“Shang Cheng…”

He uttered the man’s name in disbelief.

In truth, he and Shang Cheng had only met a handful of times. He knew little of the legendary Shang family—only that their only son, despite reaching his thirties, was notorious for his fickle affections, chasing a new romance every week.

So, the day Shang Cheng had invited him out and confessed his interest, Shu Shiyun had scoffed, calling him a lecherous old man chasing after youth.

He’d left without hesitation, and every time Shang Cheng tried to see him again, he refused.

There had been a few brief encounters, but Shu Shiyun always slipped away before Shang Cheng could speak.

Wasn’t this the man who confessed to everyone, only to dump them a week later? Yet all this time, he still remembered Shu Shiyun.

Perhaps it was true what people said: it’s always those we can’t have who linger in our hearts.

Shu Shiyun sighed inwardly, unsure how to feel.

Shang Cheng kept vigil before the grave for a long time—so long that Shu Shiyun grew bored. Only then did he see Shang Cheng finally rise.

From among the entourage, someone tiptoed up and whispered into Shang Cheng’s ear.

Too far away to catch the words, Shu Shiyun drifted closer, but the conversation had already ended. He only saw Shang Cheng’s gaze grow cold at whatever he’d just learned.

Bad news?

Before Shu Shiyun could guess, Shang Cheng glanced back at the gravestone, lingered a few minutes, then turned decisively to leave, showing no further attachment.

They were all gone now.

Shu Shiyun hovered aimlessly, unable to touch anything. Watching the wind lift the hem of Shang Cheng’s coat in the distance, he felt an inexplicable chill.

Suddenly, with a slam of the car door, a wave of dizziness swept over him. When he opened his eyes again, he was no longer in the cemetery.

Before him stretched a beautiful garden, lush with flowers and plants. A curly-haired border collie bounded through the grass, and at the sound of the gate swinging open, leapt toward him.

Shu Shiyun, uneasy around dogs, instinctively dodged aside—but the puppy ran right through him, circling at someone else’s feet.

Following the long legs upward, he saw Shang Cheng enter the house, ignoring the border collie, his face still icy.

Shu Shiyun felt as if he were dreaming—how had he followed Shang Cheng home?

Feeling strangely weightless, he drifted inside, taking in everything with curiosity.

Shang Cheng’s home was nothing like he’d imagined—warm, decorated in natural wood tones, vases of fresh flowers on every table and cabinet, brimming with life.

Shu Shiyun wandered the house. When he went looking for Shang Cheng, the man was nowhere to be seen.

He floated upstairs, searching each room, and finally found Shang Cheng in the study at the far end, standing by the window on the phone.

Shang Cheng’s coat was draped carelessly over the chair. He wore only a thin, deep green shirt, his broad shoulders outlined beneath the fabric. He didn’t look like a man in his thirties at all.

Thinking back to the time he’d mocked Shang Cheng as an “old man,” Shu Shiyun felt a pang of guilt.

—

For the next two days, Shu Shiyun stayed at the Shang residence.

He didn’t know why, even after death, his soul lingered. No one could see him, and there was little meaning in this half-life.

If only he could live again, he thought.

Even just a little more time—to do what he truly wished, to see clearly the people he needed to.

Out of boredom, he would sometimes sneak into Shang Cheng’s study to play.

But Shang Cheng was always the same: expressionless, methodical, working with relentless efficiency, as if Shu Shiyun’s death had changed nothing.

This calm held until the fifth day, when a single phone call sent Shang Cheng—who hadn’t left the house once—racing out in his own car.

At first, Shu Shiyun didn’t understand. He’d been watching the gardener prune the flowers when the sound of the engine drew him to the gate.

Shang Cheng had already gone, but luckily a bodyguard, realizing what was happening, followed in another car. Shu Shiyun hitched a ride.

The scenery grew more familiar, and when the car stopped, Shu Shiyun realized they’d arrived at his own beloved villa.

His mother had once lived here, and after it was renovated, Shu Shiyun had cherished it, keeping every corner immaculate.

Now, though, the yard was a chaotic mess—beautiful peach trees uprooted, flowers and shrubs flattened, his treasured possessions piled by the curb like so much garbage.

At the sight, Shu Shiyun flushed with anger, yet beneath it all was a deep, aching sorrow.

“How dare you throw me out? This is my house!”

A familiar voice rang out from inside, and Shu Shiyun saw Lan Xuan stagger out, looking utterly disheveled.

Shang Cheng followed, slow and composed, as if he’d overheard an amusing joke. “Yours?”

Lan Xuan stepped forward, snarling, “The owner’s dead! The transfer paperwork is almost done, and soon this house will be mine. I’m just clearing out what I don’t want—what’s it got to do with you—”

Before he could finish, Shang Cheng glanced away and raised his hand. At his signal, the bodyguards surged into the yard, dragging Lan Xuan out without a word.

Shu Shiyun stepped aside, watching in surprise. The bodyguards, though moving quickly, were careful not to trample anything in the garden.

The yard fell quiet once more. Shu Shiyun followed Shang Cheng on a tour of the house that no longer resembled the home he’d known.

In one corner, Shang Cheng picked up a blue-and-white plush toy, gently dusting it off.

Shu Shiyun felt a pang—this had been his favorite toy since childhood. Even into his twenties, he’d hugged it to sleep every night. Now, he’d never again feel its comforting softness.

Moments later, a bodyguard ran in from outside, presenting a few boxes to Shang Cheng.

“Mr. Shang, these were found on him. He took them from the villa’s safe.”

The safe?

Shu Shiyun’s heart skipped a beat, a wave of anger rising.

One by one, the boxes were opened, revealing an array of dazzling jewelry.

Seeing these, Shu Shiyun tasted only bitterness.

His mother, a passionate jewelry designer, had even founded her own brand, her bold, innovative work much sought after. Each year, she’d made Shu Shiyun a birthday piece—treasures whose meaning far outweighed their value.

Lan Xuan knew how much these meant to Shu Shiyun. Why would he do this?

Remembering how close and considerate he’d once been to this family, Shu Shiyun now felt only hatred.

With a soft click, the boxes were closed.

Shang Cheng’s expression turned thoughtful, as if making a decision.

“Contact Shu Yanshen.”

Hearing this, Shu Shiyun was taken aback.

As Shang Cheng left, carrying the boxes, there was a glint of coldness in his eyes that filled Shu Shiyun with an inexplicable dread.

Over the next month, Shang Cheng, working with swift and ruthless resolve, restored the villa to its former splendor. With Shu Yanshen’s approval, he emptied Shu Shiyun’s grave, exhuming him not long after his burial.

Lan Suzhi’s elaborate schemes unraveled; in their struggle with the Shu family, he nearly lost everything to Shang Cheng, who struck mercilessly while he was vulnerable.

When all his mother’s mementos and Shu Shiyun’s most beloved things were laid to rest with him in a new, specially chosen grave, Shu Shiyun gazed at Shang Cheng’s figure and felt as if he no longer recognized the man at all.

He couldn’t predict what Shang Cheng would do next.

Every day, Shang Cheng seemed calm, yet his actions grew more and more extreme.

He controlled everything, waging battles that harmed himself just to hurt others more—a strategy Shu Shiyun would never have expected from him.

Countless times, Shu Shiyun wished he could speak to Shang Cheng, to tell him all the words left unsaid. But fantasy remained fantasy—he was powerless to do anything.

The new grave, chosen for its auspicious feng shui, was perfect. On the day of the final ceremony, Shu Shiyun looked at the simple ID photo on his tombstone and sensed, deep down, that the end was near.

As the car pulled away, he watched Shang Cheng, face turned toward the window, and felt a surge of complicated emotion.

Knowing full well his words would go unheard, he still decided to offer his thanks, sincerely, just once.

“Thank you, Shang Cheng.” Shu Shiyun’s eyes stung. “What you’ve done… truly moved me. If only I could speak to you again.”

Even knowing he spoke only to himself, he could say nothing more sentimental.

He exhaled, glancing ahead—and his pupils contracted sharply at the sight before him.

A massive truck was barreling toward them, its horn blaring, the scene horribly familiar. Shu Shiyun watched as the car crumpled, though his own body felt no impact—a searing pain tore through him all the same.

His eyes widened as the car slammed into the guardrail and plunged down the mountainside.

He raced after it, and when he finally reached the wreck, he saw Shang Cheng in the back seat, drenched in blood and already unconscious.

Red washed over his vision. Shu Shiyun tried to grasp Shang Cheng’s hand, but his own faded through the other’s body as his consciousness blurred.

A fierce ache burned behind his eyes, and as darkness claimed him, only one thought remained.

If only he could have one more chance—he’d at least like to hold Shang Cheng, so he wouldn’t suffer so much.

…