POTINS 2

In a quiet alley on the outskirts of the city, a withered plane tree leaf drifted down slowly.

A man was lying on the ground.

It was the cusp of autumn and winter, and fallen leaves had formed a thin layer over him.

No one knew how much time had passed before his curled fingers twitched slightly, and he slowly opened his eyes.

The impact from the car crash still left him dizzy, but the sharp pain of his body being crushed and torn had faded.

Wen Zhongyi instinctively touched his belly.

The baby was still too small to move noticeably. But miraculously, Wen Zhongyi could sense that the baby was still safely nestled within him.

He let out a small sigh of relief.

But the very next second, that breath caught in his throat.

Supporting himself against the tree trunk, Wen Zhongyi stood up and looked around. His long, dark eyebrows drew together slightly, his eyes tinged with confusion.

Where was this?

He had clearly driven out to the suburbs. Even if he’d survived, he should’ve still been at the scene or in a hospital—why had he ended up in this unfamiliar place?

Wen Zhongyi walked down the alley and stopped at the roadside.

Unlike the battered and desolate state of the Independent Nation, this place was filled with skyscrapers and heavy traffic. The glass façades of the buildings reflected the setting sun, creating an otherworldly, surreal feeling.

A little boy on a hoverboard came straight toward him and, afraid of crashing, waved his arms and shouted, “Excuse me, mister!”

Wen Zhongyi stepped aside slightly. The boy zoomed past and flashed him a smile. “Thank you!”

The breeze stirred by the boy’s passing carried the dry scent of late autumn—faintly fragrant, but clearly laundry detergent, not pheromones.

A beta.

Soon after, the boy’s parents came running after him. They gave Wen Zhongyi an apologetic smile and hurried on.

Also betas.

Wen Zhongyi wandered forward aimlessly and soon discovered something incredibly absurd.

—Everyone here was a beta.

Even the few women in stylish clothing who gave off light floral scents were clearly wearing perfume.

Wen Zhongyi took a deep breath. An uncontrollable chill rose from the pit of his stomach, spreading across his body.

What kind of place was this?

Was it a hallucination before death? Or had he crossed into another world?

In the mirrored glass wall of a building, Wen Zhongyi caught sight of himself.

Pale face, slightly disheveled black hair, dust on his coat—his whole figure lean and forlorn.

But he looked relatively calm.

Wen Zhongyi clenched the hand hanging at his side. The sting of his nails digging into his palm convinced him this wasn’t a dream.

After accepting that Meng Chuan was an alien, it somehow didn’t seem too far-fetched to accept that he himself had ended up in another world.

He walked into a convenience store.

The cashier, bored and picking at his nails, stood up quickly when he saw someone enter, smiling politely. “Hello, welcome.”

Wen Zhongyi nodded slightly and asked politely, “Excuse me, may I watch the television here for a bit?”

“Uh?” The cashier had clearly never gotten such a request. He blinked, glanced at the TV playing the news, and nodded, a bit dazed. “Sure.”

“Thank you,” Wen Zhongyi said.

There were no other customers. The cashier watched as he walked to the dine-in area and sat on an empty sofa.

Wen Zhongyi’s back straightened instinctively. He folded his hands in his lap and focused on the TV mounted on the wall.

After the national news came international headlines. He couldn’t grasp the full picture, but he was able to get a basic understanding of the world he was now in.

He watched for over an hour. During that time, the cashier brought him a cup of hot water and a moist towelette.

“Here.” The cashier pointed to the side of his own face, indicating to Wen Zhongyi, “You’ve got a bit of dirt here.”

Wen Zhongyi wiped his face and suddenly asked, “Have you heard the Happy Birthday song?”

“Of course I have,” the cashier replied, puzzled.

Wen Zhongyi hummed a few bars softly, then confirmed, “Is this the melody?”

The cashier, full of question marks, nodded.

Wen Zhongyi seemed relieved and smiled. “Okay. Thank you.”

“…You’re welcome.”

The news was just wrapping up and switched to a cellphone commercial.

Wen Zhongyi watched for a few seconds, then pulled a wad of paper bills from his coat pocket and asked gently, “Excuse me, can this money be used here?”

The cashier adjusted his glasses, sounding confused. “Which country is this from?”

“The Independent Nation of Sanka,” Wen Zhongyi replied.

“Is that even a real country?” the cashier said blankly. “Never learned about it in geography class.”

The cashier looked to be in his early twenties. He gave Wen Zhongyi an apologetic look. “Sorry, I wasn’t good at geography. We don’t take foreign currency here, but you can try exchanging it at a bank.”

Wen Zhongyi smiled faintly and put the money away.

This world had no Sanka—so the money was just paper now.

“Are you a foreigner?” the cashier asked. “From… Sanka or whatever?”

Wen Zhongyi nodded.

“Your Chinese is really good,” the cashier said.

Wen Zhongyi smiled softly.

The cashier turned out to be quite the chatterbox. Once he started talking, he didn’t stop.

He chatted with Wen Zhongyi for a while, introducing his name and the school he attended.

Wen Zhongyi picked up a lot of information that the TV hadn’t provided.

This was a coastal city with a thriving economy. They were currently in the city center, near a large university district.

The cost of living here was high, rent even higher, and many people from other regions came here to rent.

He even shared some gossip.

The heir of the local Huanyu Corporation had disappeared for years, then suddenly returned without a scratch, causing a media frenzy.

Yang Jiaran talked at length, and Wen Zhongyi listened patiently, never interrupting.

This sophomore student, only twenty years old, was pure-hearted and enthusiastic. When he heard that Wen Zhongyi had no family, no money, and no place to stay, his face instinctively showed sympathy.

Without an ID, you couldn’t rent a place or stay at a hotel.

Yang Jiaran helped him find an illegal inn online.

The place was tucked into the most remote corner of the city, filthy and chaotic.

Wen Zhongyi walked past the rolling shutter door, frowning as he looked around.

The interior was dark and damp, filled with an indescribable stench that made one want to flee.

But Wen Zhongyi stayed—he had no other option.

He asked Yang Jiaran to take him to a nearby pawn shop, where he temporarily pawned his pocket watch.

It was a birthday gift from his father, and Wen Zhongyi had always kept it with him. Thankfully, it hadn’t broken in the crash.

The money from pawning it was enough to pay for two weeks of rent, but not enough for other expenses.

He still needed to buy some basic necessities.

When Yang Jiaran lent him money, he hesitated a little and asked, “You’re not scamming me, right?”

Wen Zhongyi answered seriously, “No.”

But words alone weren’t proof. After a moment’s thought, Wen Zhongyi removed the silver ring from his left ring finger.

It was the wedding ring he shared with Meng Chuan—the only other thing he had of real value.

“I…”

“No, no, no, that’s not necessary,” Yang Jiaran quickly cut him off. “It’s just two hundred yuan. That ring is too valuable—I’d be scared of losing it. I believe you’re not a scammer.”

Wen Zhongyi pressed his lips together and looked at him with deep gratitude. “Thank you. I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.”

“Come on, everyone hits a rough patch now and then,” Yang Jiaran said with a sheepish smile, scratching his head. “No rush. Just pay me back when you find a job.”

After Yang Jiaran left, Wen Zhongyi ate a bowl of instant noodles, took a shower, and lay down in bed wearing a set of cheap new pajamas.

Pale moonlight slipped through a gap in the curtains. Wen Zhongyi stared into space, lost in thought.

He wondered how his father and dad were doing. They were probably devastated by the car accident.

Wen Zhongyi didn’t want to cause them pain, but there was nothing he could do.

If all trace of his existence had vanished too, would that lessen their grief?

He let out a quiet sigh and raised his left hand, the silver ring on his finger glinting faintly.

Though he couldn’t be certain the Happy Birthday song was unique to this world, some unexplainable instinct told him—Meng Chuan was here.

He had to find him.

—

One week later.

Inside a lavish hotel, the top-floor restaurant was filled with prominent figures from the industry. A piano melody flowed softly through the air.

Ji Shu checked the time and sighed heavily. He stepped aside into a quiet corner and made a call. “You’ve got two minutes left. You better walk through that door in the next second, or judging by your dad’s face, you’re dead meat.”

On the other end, a voice scoffed nonchalantly, “I’m supposed to be scared of him?”

A silver sports car sped up to the hotel entrance and screeched to a sharp stop.

Meng Chuan held a phone in his left hand and a cigarette in his right. With a bang, he slammed the car door and strode up the steps, tossing the keys to the valet.

“Other than back in school when I had to bow to his tyranny, when have I ever listened to him since graduation?” Meng Chuan flicked his cigarette into a bin and stepped into the elevator. “If my mom hadn’t cried, screamed, and threatened to hang herself unless I quit the army, I wouldn’t have touched this rotten mess.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say,” Ji Shu replied without the slightest sincerity. As someone who’d grown up with Meng Chuan, he knew his personality all too well. “Cut the crap. Your dad’s pulling out his phone. I’m hanging up. Good luck.”

He ended the call cleanly.

The next second, the heavy doors opened slowly, and everyone in the hall turned to look.

There was a brief silence.

Meng Chuan walked in dressed in a sleek suit, a coat draped over his shoulders. As he walked, he shrugged off the coat and slung it over his arm. His sleeves were half-rolled, revealing firm, lean muscle.

His brows lifted slightly, sharp features exuding a natural, defiant charisma.

Facing all the curious glances, Meng Chuan smiled with ease, glanced at his watch, and said, “Perfect timing. Not late.”

Missing for four years and now back without a scratch, no one could quite pin down the temperament of this heir to Huanyu Group.

Everyone gave him a few polite but awkward laughs.

Across the crowd, Meng Chuan met his father’s eyes, cocked his head, and smiled cheekily with that usual devil-may-care attitude.

His father’s eye twitched, clearly wanting to scold him. But remembering how lucky it was his son had come back alive, he swallowed it down.

The banquet officially began.

Meng Chuan was dragged by his father to toast one uncle, then chat up another business partner. He went around the room, remembering almost no one, but drank way too much.

Someone asked, “Where have you been these past four years? Your parents were nearly driven mad looking for you.”

Many had asked him this, and Meng Chuan had tried to recall.

But the only thing he remembered was crashing his car during a street race with Ji Shu and the others. After that…

Meng Chuan said, “I don’t remember.”

It was as if the last four years of his memory had been wiped clean—no trace left behind.

Where he’d been, what had happened, who he’d met—everything was gone from his mind.

Just over half a month ago, he woke up on a park bench, dressed in soft loungewear. A passing sanitation worker shook him awake, thinking he was drunk.

Meng Chuan had been stunned. His last memory was of the crash—and then, suddenly, he was lying safely on a bench?

He stumbled home like a sleepwalker, triggering a huge uproar.

His mother clung to him, sobbing uncontrollably. Even his always-stern father shed tears.

After confirming he’d lost his memory, his parents said nothing more, only patted his shoulder and whispered, “It’s okay. You’re home now. That’s all that matters.”

Later, Meng Chuan went to the hospital.

Doctors said the lost memories were probably gone for good, as he showed no response to any treatment.

He also got a full checkup.

To everyone’s surprise, his body was covered in scars, large and small. The most prominent was a circular one on his chest.

The doctor said it was likely caused by a steel rod piercing him in the crash, and Meng Chuan accepted that explanation.

But there was one scar that couldn’t be explained.

—A raised bump on the back of his neck.

The doctor said it didn’t affect his daily life and didn’t need to be worried about.

At one point, Meng Chuan suspected he’d been abducted by some secret organization for human experiments. Otherwise, why did pressing that bump leave him dry-mouthed and thirsty?

…

“Wanna dip?” Ji Shu sidled up to him and gave a look.

Meng Chuan glanced at his father still deep in conversation, then nodded without hesitation. “Let’s go.”

Two minutes later, seven or eight rich young men slipped out of the banquet unnoticed.

Meng Chuan led the group, pressing the elevator button and waving his friends inside.

“Where to?” he asked.

“KTV,” Ji Shu replied.

The group spilled out of the elevator and made their way toward the exit.

The sky outside was overcast. The forecast had mentioned rain today, and it looked like it was about to fall.

Meng Chuan loosened his shirt collar, feeling a strange tightness in his chest, like something was weighing on his mind.

“The driver’s here,” Ji Shu said.

“Mm,” Meng Chuan replied. He quickly shook off the strange feeling and stepped down toward the car.

But after just two steps, a voice called out from not far away.

“Meng Chuan.”

Someone was calling his name—softly, with the faintest tremble.

Meng Chuan turned toward the sound and saw a young man in a thin dress shirt.

He had strikingly dark, handsome features, but his face was pale. He stared straight at Meng Chuan, the corners of his eyes tinged red.

Meng Chuan froze.

Ji Shu followed his gaze and asked curiously, “You know him?”

Meng Chuan looked the man over for a moment, then slowly shook his head.

“No.”