Xu Yichen

He sat alone in the darkness for a long time, unmoving, until the cold sweat on his back dried. Only then did Xu Yichen stretch his stiff neck and, with hands already numb, lift the quilt away.

Though the lingering chill of spring clung to the air, the room itself was warm, as if the season had already turned.

Naked, he turned on the shower. Warm water poured from the nozzle, cascading down his cheeks, neck, chest, and then straight onto the floor.

The bathroom became shrouded in mist, the vapor swirling poetically. Yet the tide of memory surged up, flooding the entire space.

That final moment before death—like a bloodstain—remained forever etched in his mind.

Once again, the cool and ethereal face of Liu Zhiqing flashed through his thoughts. Xu Yichen felt a stab of pain, squeezed his eyes shut, and tilted his head under the shower, as if hoping the water might wash away all his suffering.

He had died, and yet when he opened his eyes again, he saw the blinding white walls of a hospital.

He had returned to the year when he was fifteen.

In truth, the Xu Yichen before him was no longer the Xu Yichen of the past.

No, that was not quite right. It was still his body, but his heart belonged to the man he would become fifteen years later, at thirty.

Once, he had died beneath Xie Xitong’s car in an attempt to save Liu Zhiqing.

So, it was no wonder that when he opened his eyes again to see Wang Shu, the housekeeper who seemed ten years younger, he was utterly shocked.

He even wondered if the painful memories were nothing but delusions, or simply a dream.

But as thoughts of Liu Zhiqing and Chen Zimo swept over him, the pain was overwhelming—certainly not something a fifteen-year-old should bear.

At this age, he should have been reckless, dressed in finery, spending wealth just to earn a beauty’s smile.

Sitting on the sickbed, Xu Yichen looked around at the familiar yet strange furnishings, recalling everything bit by bit.

Yes, it was all because of an actress from Paradise on Earth that he had quarreled with the young master of the Li family.

Youthful pride led their verbal sparring to escalate into a full-blown brawl between their entourages. He was beaten badly—his head cracked open. He lost, and naturally, the Li family’s young master claimed victory.

Thinking of this, Xu Yichen touched the white gauze on his head, his lips curling in a cold smile. Li Shaoren, I’ll remember this debt for now.

Because of this, his father sent him far from B City, to a small county in H City.

Rongcheng.

Xu Yichen would never forget that place, nor the white figure spinning beneath the maple tree—Liu Zhiqing!

From then on, he began his mad pursuit of her.

Perhaps at first it was curiosity, or the thrill of something new. After all, such beauty was rare even in B City. But as he was rejected again and again, and as he came to understand her better through each refusal, his heart truly surrendered.

Yet the childhood bond between Liu Zhiqing and Chen Zimo was impenetrable.

He could not break it, nor could Xie Xitong, Chen Zimo’s sister.

It was like a vicious cycle—the less attainable she was, the more desirable.

Xu Yichen became obsessed. He wanted her, at any cost, even if it meant ruining the Chen family, even if it meant depriving Liu Zhiqing’s parents of their support.

Given his father’s influence in B City, it was not difficult.

That year, the two major factions in B City were in turmoil, and Liu Zhiqing’s parents’ superiors—being on the losing side—were inevitably dragged down.

Their own faction was affected, too.

But Xu Yichen, blinded by jealousy, used every trick to drive the Liu family to desperation, hoping Liu Zhiqing would come to beg him.

In the end, he both succeeded and failed.

Liu Zhiqing did come to him and promised that if he spared her family and the Chen family, she would marry him.

But she also said she would never forgive him.

She would love only Chen Zimo for the rest of her life.

Xu Yichen could not describe his feelings then—heart-wrenching, soul-shattering, agony beyond words, none of it captured his absolute despair.

When heartbreak and anger reach a certain intensity, people do things they could never have imagined.

At that time, he only wanted to kill Chen Zimo.

If he killed him, Liu Zhiqing would have only him to rely on.

Kill him!

The idea became a curse, echoing in Xu Yichen’s mind.

On the day of the engagement, seeing Liu Zhiqing and Chen Zimo whispering together, he could no longer hold back his jealousy. He got in his car and ran Chen Zimo down.

Xie Xitong, who arrived just in time, witnessed the scene. She already hated Liu Zhiqing.

Liu Zhiqing had ruined her parents, her beloved grandparents, her doting grandfather and grandmother. Now, even her only loving brother was killed by that wretched woman.

Liu Zhiqing had destroyed her family—how could she not hate?

If she couldn’t have Xu Yichen, then no other woman would.

Already half-mad, Xie Xitong got into Xu Yichen’s car and drove it straight at Liu Zhiqing, but Xu Yichen pushed her away with his hand.

His lungs ruptured, and he died on the spot.

Before dying, he heard Liu Zhiqing crying out, “Why don’t you die? Why aren’t you dead yet?”

Then, he saw Xie Xitong, eyes bloodshot from seeing Xu Yichen bleeding, drive the car at Liu Zhiqing, then crash it into a wall.

In his final moments, his gaze remained fixed on Liu Zhiqing, watching the car speed toward her, and the words “Don’t—” never made it past his lips.

“Why don’t you die? Why aren’t you dead yet?”

That sentence had lingered in Xu Yichen’s mind for nearly a month, and he still had not recovered.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Liu Zhiqing’s teary, hate-filled gaze as Chen Zimo died, and heard her venomous “Why don’t you die? Why aren’t you dead yet?”

In his previous life, right up until death, he never had the chance to tell her “I love you.”

Xu Yichen tilted his face upward, letting the water wash away all the pain and longing for Liu Zhiqing.

Missing her had become a habit.

He turned off the shower, didn’t bother to dry himself, simply wrapped a towel around his waist and walked out of the bathroom.

On the bedroom floor lay a thick, pure white handmade wool rug he’d had brought from abroad.

It wasn’t his habit—he preferred to walk barefoot on cold floors, preferred icy whiskey, vodka, or brandy.

But she liked red wine.

So, he began collecting it.

Everyone who knew him believed he loved wine.

But it was only her habit.

Standing by the window, one arm folded across his chest, holding half a glass of wine, Xu Yichen’s long, refined phoenix eyes brimmed with coldness as he gazed indifferently at the bustling city outside.