Time rewound to an hour earlier.
At this time, Xia Yu was still busy with the post-festival work at Far Moon Campus, but in a corner of the shopping street, Yan Qi and Chen Yang, old and young, had a remarkably unexpected encounter.
Behind the shopping street in a residential area, Chen Yang walked around a corner with his hands in his pockets, only to come to a sudden halt.
Someone laid a hand on his shoulder, as silently as if by a ghost.
Cold sweat seeped out involuntarily, and Chen Yang found himself unable to move his feet, asking hoarsely, "Who are you?"
"Yangzi..."
An old and familiar nickname caused Chen Yang's pupils to constrict in an instant.
He spun around abruptly.
"Yan, Mr. Yan!"
Excitement, as well as a tinge of fear, flickered in Chen Yang's eyes.
Indeed.
He recognized Yan Qi at a glance, a figure so out of place in Tokyo's bustling cityscape.
