When he woke up again, his vision wasn't dark.

He subconsciously reached for the water on the nightstand, but his hand met empty air.

The ceiling before him was very familiar.

He froze for a moment, then suddenly remembered this was the apartment he rented.

He practically shot up, rushed to the bathroom, and started vomiting again.

How did he end up here?

In the bathroom was his electric toothbrush, the brush head facing him, as if mocking his helplessness.

Where's Zhang Yijie? He thought in a daze, and where's my phone?

His body moved faster than his brain. He had already pushed open the door and walked into the living room.

No, stop—

Before he could process what he was about to see, a voice spoke: "You're awake? I just made breakfast, want to eat together?"

What voice?

It was too late to look away.

Someone was standing in front of him, wearing a faded shirt and a pair of jeans. Tall and handsome, but too thin, as if he might disappear in the wind.

A very handsome face, pale as a wilting rose, which added a strange sort of beauty to him.

"You?"

He heard his own voice tremble, "You're not dead?"

The person opposite him surprisingly had no reaction to this, not showing the usual taboo against death.

He just glanced at Cheng Shuo faintly, "Did you have a nightmare?"

Cheng Shuo didn't say a word.

He slowly pinched himself. It hurt. Could a hallucination be this real? But was he and Cen Zeng that close?

Close enough to have this kind of hallucination?

"Your phone." The person opposite him handed him something. "You might have dropped it in the living room when you came back yesterday."

Phone.

He took it, wanting to look for the newly saved phone number of Cen Zeng's mother, and also wanting to ask where Zhang Yijie was.

Then the date jumped into his view.

In big letters, March 6th.

But he clearly remembered that on March 13th, someone was lying on the floor, an empty syringe beside them, cold, with their heartbeat, pulse, and breath all gone.

Yet now, he was standing before him, alive, waiting for his reply.

He was about to go insane.

What was going on?

He went to check his chat history with Zhang Yijie. It stopped yesterday afternoon, with Zhang Yijie showing off by sending him a screenshot from the sales, saying the new car would arrive next week. Then he had asked him out for drinks.

Same as in his memory.

And then?

Cen Zeng's mother's number was not in his contacts.

No police call records.

Everything was normal.

So normal that he couldn't even bring himself to look at the person in the living room, simply collapsing against the wall and sliding to the floor.

"Are you okay?" Someone came closer and patted his shoulder.

There was warmth, body heat, it was warm.

He flinched subconsciously, then quickly tried to grab the person's hand.

The other person didn't pull away, letting him hold it.

The knuckles were well-defined, the nails neatly trimmed, and the veins at the wrist rested quietly on the pale skin.

He was about to check for a pulse when the person opposite him frowned: "What are you doing?"

He touched it for a second; it was still warm.

"It's nothing," he heard himself say, "It's nothing, I'm just going to make a call."

"Okay. Breakfast is on the table, I'm heading out for a bit."

He was about to nod, but whipped his head back around: "When will you be back?"

Cen Zeng seemed startled by the tension in his voice, but quickly replied: "I don't have any big classes or lab sessions today, I'll be back in the evening."

"What time will you be back?" he asked urgently.

"Around six-thirty, I guess," the other person said. "Is something wrong?"

"Nothing," he said. "Nothing. Are you free at noon? I'll come to the university to have lunch with you."

This was so out of character for his relationship with Cen Zeng that the person walked back, looked down at him, with undispersed surprise in his eyes: "What's really going on?"

"Nothing," Cheng Shuo replied. "Just consider me suddenly going crazy."

Cen Zeng didn't say anything, just nodded and said, "If you're coming, just send me a message."

Leaving Cheng Shuo alone, to search through everything.

There was no note on the table.

The eggs in the fridge were newly bought, 9 left.

He dialed Zhang Yijie's number.

After three calls, the guy finally picked up: "What's up, what's up? What's the matter so early in the morning?"

"Where were you last night?" he asked.

"Damn, didn't we go to Huan Se together last night? Bro, did you drink so much you fried your brain?"

Same as in his memory.

"Yesterday, did anything... happen?"

"What could have happened?" Zhang Yijie yawned on the other end. "Was the drink bad? Or did that host from yesterday delete you on WeChat as soon as they got home?"

"Oh..." Cheng Shuo couldn't continue the conversation. "No, it's not important."

"Acting all weird and crazy so early in the morning," Zhang Yijie grumbled, then suddenly raised his voice, "Oh, I know!"

Know what?

Does he remember too?

Cheng Shuo gripped his phone, almost unable to breathe.

"You're jealous that your big bro is about to get a new sports car, right? Hahahaha, you definitely can't be the first to drive it. But I'm a good bro, you can sit in my passenger seat, ha."

"Get lost." The breath he'd been holding was released, and he replied listlessly.

He chatted idly with Zhang Yijie for a bit longer but didn't hear anything out of the ordinary.

He checked every group chat; they were all normal.

The guy from the bar he had just added yesterday was already tactfully asking when he'd be coming back.

The opening line was exactly the same as in his memory.

Out of sight, out of mind, he blocked him.

So, what exactly did this mean?

Had he really come back?

He ate the breakfast, but with just one bite, he threw it up.

The breakfast Cen Zeng made tasted exactly the same as in his memory, only this time he had woken up early enough that the toast was fresh out of the toaster, very crispy.

He continued to eat, expressionless.

After throwing up for the third time, his body seemed to finally obey him, and this time he finished the fried egg completely.

The familiar taste of butter filled his entire mouth.

He sat at the table, staring at the egg carton in the open refrigerator, feeling like his head was about to explode.

What in the world did this mean?

The moment he closed his eyes, he saw the note on the table.

When he opened them again, he saw the newly bought eggs in the fridge.

It was too absurd.

But... but...

What if it's real?

What if he really has come back?

He snapped his eyes open, his fingertips still numb from gripping his phone so tightly.

If he had come back, if Cen Zeng was really still alive right now, then—at the very least, at the very least, wasn't there something he could do?

A hallucination is a hallucination, but if it's real, if it's really real...