The year Xu Zhir ran into Lu Chengyu, he had lost his memory and could no longer walk.
She gave him hot meals and a place to stay, and stayed by his side through a thousand days and nights of rehabilitation.
On the day he proposed, he used the money he had saved for a long time to buy her a pinky ring engraved with “Yuran.”
“I don’t remember who I was before, but I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”
She believed him.
Then he died.
A car accident. An accident. Among his belongings were a shattered watch face and the pinky ring she refused to take off.
That was half a year ago.
On the hundredth day, a new CEO suddenly arrived at the company.
The moment the man walked into the conference room, the pen in Xu Zhir’s hand rolled to the floor.
The shape of his brow, the corners of his eyes, the tiny, barely noticeable mole on his jaw.
Even the way he instinctively touched his cufflink while speaking was exactly the same.
His name was Lu Chengze.
He said he didn’t know her.
But he arranged her transfer, fixed the leak in her rented apartment, and stood beside her with an umbrella at her “late husband’s” memorial, keeping watch before the gravestone for an entire evening.
He handed her the umbrella. A “C” was engraved on its handle.
It was the same letter engraved inside the pinky ring she had hidden in a tin box.
Xu Zhir thought she was finally emerging from the shadows.
Until one rainy night, the door that had gone unknocked for three years suddenly echoed with a knock.
Standing outside was the husband who had been “dead” for 187 days.
He was thinner.
His eyes were bloodshot.
His first words were, “Zhir, I’m not dead.”
Only then did she realize in horror...
The plain band Lu Chengze had given her on her ring finger wouldn’t come off.
