Translator: Nyoi-Bo Studio Editor: Nyoi-Bo Studio
However, considering her family’s lack of influence, how on earth would Qin Zhi’ai be capable of tampering with her file?
The only explanation is that someone must have edited the file on her behalf…
But why? Was that person trying to cover up information about her that no one else should know?
What secret does Qin Zhi’ai possibly have that would need to be covered up?
Gu Yusheng asked himself seemingly endless questions to figure out this mystery.
Seeing how Gu Yusheng had returned to silence after kick-starting the conversation, Lu Bancheng couldn’t help but ask curiously, “What’s wrong? Why are you suddenly so concerned about a gambling debt that Xiao’ai’s father owed?”
Ignoring Lu Bancheng, Gu Yusheng’s brows knitted into a frown.
Something must be wrong… But what exactly?
“Is there a problem?” Lu Bancheng asked again.
Just as the words came out of his mouth, the silent Gu Yusheng, who had been sitting motionlessly on the bed, abruptly threw the covers off and sprang up. Hurriedly putting on his shoes, he grabbed his phone by his bed and bolted out of the room without answering any of Lu Bancheng’s queries.
Upon reaching the entrance of the hospital, he hailed a cab and headed straight back to his villa.
After paying, Gu Yusheng got out of the cab and, in an edgy state, he wrongly keyed the PIN thrice before he eventually managed to unlock the door.
Shoving the door open, he flicked the light switch on the wall and, without bothering to change into a pair of slippers, he dashed up the stairs to the study room. Flinging open the bottom right cabinet door of his desk, he retrieved a box and lifted its lid. Inside was a neat stack of letters.
Placing the box on the desk, Gu Yusheng dragged out the office chair and, before he even completely sat down, he had already pulled out a letter and started to read it.
He started reading from the first letter of reply that she had written to him eight years ago.
Initially, she had been writing to him with the intention of having a pen pal, so there wasn’t much to read about in most of the content that she had written.
The first time she had mentioned the boy whom she loved was during her junior year in high school: “S, today is the birthday of the boy whom I love and yet I couldn’t even wish him a happy birthday in person.”
In his reply, he assumed he had asked her “why,” because in her next letter she had written, “Because I don’t know where he is. But it’s okay, S; I’ll wait for him.”
“S, I saw a boy on the streets today, and he resembled the boy whom I love. I chased after him and even tripped and fell. And my knee started to bleed, but unfortunately it wasn’t him.”
“S, today is my birthday. My wish is to be able to see him again in my lifetime.”
“S, today marks the 1,314th day since he left me.”*
“S…”
Only after his desk was overflowing with letters did Gu Yusheng manage to find some clues.
“S, he’s back. I finally saw him. Unfortunately, I didn’t manage to talk to him. I stood outside his house and stared at him from afar for three days and three nights. S, is this considered a form of companionship if I merely look at him from afar and write out news about him? I suppose it is. I’m oddly content even though he is completely unaware.”
At the end of the letter was a date—a date that was close to the anniversary of his parents’ death.
* In Chinese, the number 1,314 has a pronunciation similar to that of “for my whole life.”
