2017.4.7
Ning Zhiran let out a soft "oh"—he remembered now. That day was a Friday. He'd asked Gu Chengrui to meet him by Furong Lake after dinner. The black swans had flapped their wings, skimming across the water from one end to the other. Ning Zhiran had watched those ripples spread out quickly, then opened his mouth and accepted Gu Chengrui's confession.
It really did feel like a lifetime ago, Ning Zhiran thought.
The balcony curtains weren't drawn. Sunlight dappled the walls in patches. He sat at the turn of the stairs, wiping the photographs one by one, flipping each over again and again to check the dates on the back. Once all the old pictures were cleaned, he had nothing left but to relive, scene by scene, emotions that didn't exist in his memory.
Just as Ning Zhiran was nearly being brainwashed by that unfamiliar happiness, his wiping suddenly stopped. His gaze fixed on the left ring finger of the person in the photo—his own hand. There was a ring on it.
Perhaps the shot was close-range, the resolution high. He could see the ring's design and style quite clearly.
That wasn't his ring.
To be precise, it wasn't his ring yet—it was one of the five rings Gu Chengrui had chosen yesterday. Right now it should still be in the customization process. For it to actually be on his finger, it would be at least another week. So why had it already appeared in this photograph?
SA had clearly stated just yesterday that it was this season's new style, not yet available on the official website or in stores. So that ruled out the possibility of it being the same design.
Ning Zhiran flipped the photo over again to check the small printed date on the back. This time he froze completely—
2024.6.13
But it was only May now. This day hadn't come at all yet!
Ning Zhiran stood stunned for a long moment, then leaped to his feet, completely abandoning that "nostalgia for a familiar homeland" mindset he'd held toward these unfamiliar group photos. He quickly went through them one by one, flipping each over to check the date on its back.
The more he flipped, the more violently his heart pounded, his blood凝固ing, his body covered in cold sweat.
Only a small portion of these photos—less than a third—had been taken between the time they had their rushed remarriage and before Ning Zhiran had traveled back. That is, between July 2020 and April 5, 2024.
The overwhelming majority, however, were concentrated between April 5, 2024 and before July 1, 2024.
He saw many photographs taken in the "future." Many photos that shouldn't exist in this world at all.
In fact, several of them were marked with the same date, yet the photo locations were clearly thousands of miles apart. There's no way they could have been in Istanbul in the morning and back in Guangxi by afternoon.
From the moment Ning Zhiran had first seen this wall, he'd felt secretly puzzled. He worked in such demanding shifts that requesting leave from his boss was like tiptoeing around his grandfather. When did he have so much time to go traveling with Gu Chengrui, enough to fill an entire wall densely with photographs?
But if these dates were to be believed, most of their journeys were concentrated within those three months—and those three months had their own rather unusual rules of time and space.
Ning Zhiran checked his phone and passport. Everything was normal. There were no booking or consumption records in his phone for any of those places, and his passport had no visas or entry/exit stamps matching those dates.
He had wanted to ask Gu Chengrui for his passport as further proof, but the moment he took a step, he realized there was no longer any need for that.
Ning Zhiran believed he wouldn't do things without reason. Some version of himself—whether from the future, the past, or another timeline—had left these contradictory, conflicting little date markings. It definitely wasn't just for the sake of recording, but to serve as a warning, to pass along information to himself.
So where was the problem? At which step had things gone wrong? In which dimension had time and space twisted and folded? Was it this island? This house? This wall? Or was it only these photographs?
These photographs, special and significant, that bore witness to his and Gu Chengrui's "love."
The photo wall was tall, warm, spreading with cozy light and shadow, standing thick and solid before Ning Zhiran. But he was already shivering with fear.
Ning Zhiran spun around abruptly and rushed upstairs, pushing open the half-closed study door. Gu Chengrui watched him burst in and collide into his arms, completely confused, his face full of astonishment—but still, instinctively, he drew his arms in and held him tight.
In that moment, Ning Zhiran's heart plummeted.