Back at school, after parking the car, Edith Parker took his ID card and campus card out of his pocket, planning to put them in the side compartment of his backpack. As he turned his head, he happened to run into William Harris—his newly dyed white hair was truly eye-catching.

William Harris was sitting on the edge of a flower bed, as if he had been waiting for a long time. As soon as their eyes met, he jumped up and jogged over, his hair bouncing wildly, the little braid at the back swinging like a tail.

He knew Edith Parker had gone to see Henry Clark, and had skipped class to rush over. After all, time was running out; it was almost down to the wire.

Seeing Edith Parker silent, he anxiously pressed, “Did it work? What did he say? Does he still remember you?”

Faced with three questions at once, Edith Parker didn’t know which to answer, and felt that, in fact, they were all pretty much the same.

“No.”

It didn’t work, nothing much was said.

And, why would he remember him?

He had never intended for Henry Clark to remember.

There was no time to be disappointed. William Harris noticed him stuffing his ID card into his backpack and frowned: “Hey, where’s your card holder?” He always carried it with him.

Edith Parker slung on his backpack and replied flatly, “Lost it.”

“Lost it??” That was the one his grandma made by hand!

As his childhood friend, he was even more anxious than Edith Parker, and hurriedly asked, “What are you going to do? Do you remember where you lost it? Can you still find it?”

“Yeah.” Edith Parker’s tone was always so certain.

“It’ll be returned.”

Chapter 2: Good Things Never Come Easy

8:00 p.m.

Twelve hours left until the placement exam.

Five days left until the Crazy Band audition deadline.

William Harris kept refreshing the registration page and his own recruitment post, until his eyes grew sore. Only then did he look up at Edith Parker not far away—he was leaning against a tree, staring outside the gate, his hat covering most of his face, looking just like a secret agent hired for a mission.

He couldn’t figure it out—why was Edith Parker waiting here, why not go to the main entrance, and why insist on hiding behind this security booth? There were so many gates; who knew where Henry Clark would show up?

Was waiting for a rabbit by the stump really reliable?

Switching between apps on his phone, he accidentally opened Weibo. William Harris caught a glimpse of an entertainment news push from a marketing account—what a coincidence, it was a video of the heir of Chenghong Enterprises, Laura Brooks, caught kissing a popular actress in a parking garage.

Seeing that face, that name, made him feel sick. He cursed under his breath, blocked the account without hesitation, and prayed that Edith Parker wouldn’t come across such bad luck.

For no reason, scenes from the past flashed before William Harris’s eyes—the dark, narrow dead-end alley behind the north gate of their middle school, seven or eight figures melting into the darkness, blocking any way out. He climbed over the wall and ran desperately, but by the time he arrived, everything was already over.

People were sprawled all over the ground, a black figure half-kneeling, his knee pressing hard on someone’s chest. Amid the sound of heavy breathing, William Harris vaguely heard someone begging for mercy—it was Laura Brooks’s voice.

[Xiao Yi!]

Just as he shouted, the black figure lowered his clenched fist, stood up, paused for a moment, and then walked toward him step by step. His silence was heavier than the night itself. The broken streetlight flickered on and off, illuminating Edith Parker’s face.

An expressionless, blood-splattered face.

William Harris would never forget that scene.

Bzzzz.

A clueless mosquito yanked him out of his memories, finally landing on the back of his left hand.

Slap—

A single blow. The mosquito’s corpse was flattened right in the center of the sun tattoo on his hand.

September mosquitoes were even nastier than those in midsummer.

In his field of vision, Edith Parker suddenly left the big pagoda tree and walked toward the security booth.

Following him with his eyes, William Harris jumped up: “No way, he’s really here?”

But his legs were numb from squatting and he couldn’t keep up. He watched as Edith Parker circled from behind the security booth to the gate, blocking Henry Clark, who was about to leave after returning a lost item.

It had been so long since he’d seen Henry Clark alive and in person that William Harris felt like it was just yesterday.

The last time was four years ago, at an RS livehouse show. Halfway through the set, Henry Clark got into a fight with the drummer and even smashed a limited edition Fender MB. It was a mess.

He never expected that the once rebellious, dazzling prodigy, after being missing for so long, would reappear like this.

Just now, hearing Henry Clark greet the security guard, Edith Parker felt like he was playing a game—restart, reload, over and over again.

Because their conversation was almost exactly as he’d rehearsed in his mind, still with that bit of roguish banter, yet somehow very likable.

This was the side gate Henry Clark used to frequent most at university, and the security guard he was closest with still worked here.

Seeing him again a few days ago, Edith Parker mentally took stock of all his changes, counting them off like treasured items—he’d gotten thinner, his hair was still a bit curly and had grown much longer, he was tanner, the lip ring was gone, had that little hole closed up? He had at least three new tattoos.

The most obvious yet subtle change was in his eyes.

All of this seemed to remind him that this was the real Henry Clark, not just a memory, not the one who’d lived in his mind for years.

But aside from these details, Henry Clark didn’t seem to have changed much. At least Edith Parker could still clearly predict what he would do or say.

Like now, realizing he’d been cornered here.