Inside the intensive care unit, the lines on the cardiac monitor rose and fell with the beeping. The dim hospital room was lit only by light seeping through the door crack from the corridor. A passing cart clattered by, briefly disturbing the light, growing closer and then fading away. The person on the bed lay pale, breathing slowly and gently. If not for the undulating lines on the screen, one might have thought the bed held a corpse.
Such scenes filled half the building.
The war that had thrown everyone into panic had ended within a few short days—but it had claimed the lives of hundreds of millions. Countless were injured. Doctors shuttled between wards and operating rooms, not daring to slacken for a moment.
Shi Yuxing, still in his mask, had just finished a surgery. Shadows hung beneath his eyes; his legs, which had held him upright for five or six hours, were slightly swollen. An unfamiliar doctor beside him offered a bottle of water. “Dr. Shi, here.” He waved it away, mumbled a soft thank you, and hurried off toward the ICU.
The corridor was lined with temporary, makeshift beds. Dozens of people sat scattered on the dark floor, most of them dozing with their heads drooping. Shi Yuxing softened his footsteps and stopped in front of the second-to-last room. He took a deep breath and pressed down on the door handle.
Light spilled in, climbing over the white bedding and a figure hunched beside the bed. The moment he entered, the person at the bedside stirred, slowly straightened up, and lifted the monocle hanging from his collar to his eye.
“Beep—beep—”
Shi Yuxing closed the door. The ECG flickered in the darkness. He took off his mask and slowly walked over to Sun Youliang. By the faint light, he studied the man lying quietly on the bed, wearing an oxygen mask.
“How is he?” Shi Yuxing didn’t lower his voice. If anything, he hoped the alpha on the bed would wake up at the sound of his voice. The thing he feared most in this situation was the patient not waking up after surgery—if they didn’t wake, they could easily become a vegetable.
Steward Sun said: “Not optimistic…”
Those words chilled Shi Yuxing’s heart. His already taut nerves tightened further. Sun Youliang sighed: “But I can try to take him back to the future.”
Shi Yuxing’s expression grew serious: “Speaking of which—I want to ask you. Did you send the 18-year-old Gu Lingzhou back?” He’d been so busy these past days that he’d completely forgotten to ask about Xiao Zhou’s whereabouts.
“Yes,” Steward Sun didn’t deny it. “I found him already unconscious. At that time, finding a doctor was hard enough, let alone a hospital—I had no choice but to send him back.”
Shi Yuxing’s gaze turned deep and thoughtful. “You told Gu Lingzhou before that you could only travel from the future to the past—that was a lie, wasn’t it?”
Sun Youliang stiffened. Shi Yuxing couldn’t read his expression in the dim light. “Yes. If I’d let you know, you might have gone back to change the fate of his parents.” Steward Sun admitted. “The time machine is unstable, and changing someone’s death comes with consequences.”
Butterfly effect. The word surfaced instantly in Shi Yuxing’s mind.
“What would happen if it were changed?” Shi Yuxing pressed, swallowing hard. He thought he already knew the answer.
Steward Sun took a deep breath. “At worst… death. I once considered going back to save them. But it only caused more deaths. The ones I saved ended up dying in other ways. One time, when I thought I’d saved everyone, I returned to the future and found that the young master no longer existed. That was when I understood—changing life and death is very difficult. Sometimes, facing it head-on is actually the better choice.”
Shi Yuxing fell silent. Someone had prevented Lin Anran’s death before it happened—that was why Lin Wuyang had died instead.
“I used the time machine again because he was dying.” Steward Sun looked at the person on the bed. “After your death, he lasted eight years.” He shook his head. “Sigh—this child came to me begging, but at the time he didn’t know I was the former Steward Sun. I refused to see him. I’d just decided to seal away the time machine when I got word that he’d taken an overdose of sleeping pills. I knew he couldn’t live without you, so I took a gamble.”
He took off his monocle. “I brought both the past Gu Lingzhou and the future Gu Lingzhou here.”
The man in the white coat felt a knot in his chest. He stepped closer to the bed, the steady beep of the monitor still in his ears. Gu Lingzhou’s lashes were dark and thick; his straight nose and thin lips were sealed beneath the oxygen mask.
His hand brushed over the alpha’s brow, his fingertip lightly touching his lashes. “Fool. No one can’t live without someone else.” His gaze dropped to the thin chain at the man’s neck. He knew what hung there.
Sun Youliang watched as the person before him bent down and unfastened the necklace from Gu Lingzhou’s neck. On the chain hung a ring identical to the one on Shi Yuxing’s ring finger, glinting faintly. Shi Yuxing stared at it for a long moment before hanging the chain around his own neck. “I’ll take this. You’ve worn it for so long and never gave it to me—so I’ll just have to take it myself.”
He didn’t know that the person on the bed had twitched his finger the moment he finished speaking.
“When are you leaving?” Shi Yuxing adjusted the necklace and tucked it under his clothes.
Sun Youliang said: “Anytime. I’ll find a way to take him back. But since a person will suddenly disappear here, I’ll need you to handle that, Madam.” They had fabricated a name to admit Gu Lingzhou into the hospital; now they would have to quietly erase that name.
Shi Yuxing nodded. “Leave it to me.”
Perhaps it was the rising concentration of disinfectant in the air stinging his eyes—Shi Yuxing’s eyes reddened. “Gu Lingzhou, you have to live. Otherwise, I’ll think less of you… We doctors hate people who don’t cherish their lives. You said I saved you once—and of course, you saved me once too. I’ll cherish this life. You must cherish yours too—do you hear me? That’s an order!… Please live. Just so you can see me again.”
After a long moment, Shi Yuxing wiped his face clean and turned around. “Is there any possibility of coming back in the future?”
Steward Sun neither nodded nor shook his head. “If research on the time machine continues to stabilize, there’s a chance—provided Dr. Lin is still around.”
“Dr. Lin?” Shi Yuxing asked, slightly puzzled.
Sun Youliang’s expression was complicated as he left behind one sentence:
“Lin Wuyang of this timeline is dead.”
·
At five in the morning, Shi Yuxing stood at the hospital entrance. The pale eggshell blue of the sky was slowly overtaking the stars.
He stood beneath a magnolia tree, receiving a guest who bore no physical injuries.
The “guest” was brought by Gu Lingzhou, trailing half a step behind him, trembling uncontrollably. The man had a smaller frame than Shi Yuxing, even thinner. His light brown eyes were bloodshot. The moment he spotted Shi Yuxing, he quickened his pace without hesitation, overtaking Gu Lingzhou.
Shi Yuxing knew this was the person he’d been waiting for. He stepped forward. The next second, one of his hands was seized. The beta’s lips trembled; his tear-filled eyes stared at Shi Yuxing. “What did he say? Please tell me.”
Shi Yuxing didn’t pull his hand back. He glanced past the grieving face at Gu Lingzhou, then turned his attention back to the beta. “I have something for you.”
Hearing this, the beta pressed his lips together, unable to hold back the tears that spilled in large drops. Shi Yuxing pulled from his pocket the key he’d cleaned—still bearing the imprint of the deceased man’s fingers.
The man’s attention was immediately captured. That silver key—it was the last relic left by his beloved. He released Shi Yuxing’s hand, his glistening eyes overflowing with even more tears, his lashes clumping together. Shi Yuxing placed the key solemnly into his palm, unsure whether to offer comfort or say something else.
The beta clutched the key in both hands, pressing his forehead against the backs of his hands as if his spine had been ripped out. He collapsed limply to the ground. Shi Yuxing reached out in alarm—fortunately, Gu Lingzhou caught him just in time.
Shi Yuxing watched the sobbing man, weighing his words for a long while before speaking: “He said he bought a house and asked me to give you the key.”
The martyr’s family member choked out between sobs, as if the air in his chest had been drained: “Did he… sob… say anything else…?” Braced up by Gu Lingzhou, the beta’s frail body trembled as he clutched the small key, a glimmer of hope mixed with his grief-stricken eyes.
Shi Yuxing parted his lips slightly. He didn’t use flowery language to praise the fallen soldier, nor did he mourn his deeds with sorrowful words. Shi Yuxing felt that no amount of words could compare to having the fallen return to the world.
Looking at the man before him, Shi Yuxing thought of Gu Lingzhou from the other world—he must have felt this same despair and anguish.
“He said you were wonderful, and that your child was wonderful too.” Shi Yuxing forced the words out, but his eyes were fixed on Gu Lingzhou, who stood beside the beta like a crutch.
In that silent gaze, the first ray of sunlight broke through the dark clouds. Gu Lingzhou stood with his back to the light, his broad, tall silhouette outlined by its glow. His brows and eyes were soft, as crisp and gentle as the morning breeze.
The martyr’s family member was led away—along with him, the soul of the departed.
Shi Yuxing stood shoulder to shoulder with Gu Lingzhou, slipping his arm through his husband’s. “Gu Lingzhou.”
“Hm?” Gu Lingzhou’s voice was low and rough from lack of sleep. He looked down at the person in his arms. “What is it?”
“Where do the martyrs go in the end?”
“Some return to their families. Others stay at the Martyrs’ Cemetery.”
Shi Yuxing looked at the burning red clouds. “Gu Lingzhou—the future you and Steward Sun have gone back. I hope he doesn’t become a martyr.”
“He had no family left in the future.”
Gu Lingzhou’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “No—you took his ring, didn’t you?”
Shi Yuxing stiffened, then looked up, a little timid. “How did you know? Did Steward Sun tell you?”
Gu Lingzhou turned his gaze back to the distant view—devastation everywhere, few intact buildings remaining. Only that ray of sunlight seemed no different from before.
“Are you angry?” Shi Yuxing leaned in, his nose catching the scent of fir. He tried releasing a little of his own pheromones to soothe him—then Gu Lingzhou suddenly turned, bent down, and kissed his lips.
The morning light stretched the shadows of the two figures tightly fused together. After a moment, the shadows parted slightly. The rising sun dispelled the leaden gray clouds—but the stars hadn’t disappeared. They formed a small river, waiting for someone to row across and discover their beauty.
The first warm breeze of morning unfurled, plucking petals from the magnolia tree, sweeping over collapsed bricks and tiles, leaping onto dusty broken walls—and at last, riding on a white dove’s feather, soaring into the sun-drenched sky.
—The End—
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