Chapter 7 First Encounter

Chapter 7: First Meeting

The night before departure, Shen Qingci stowed everything into a black suitcase.

Lin Wei was as efficient as ever.

Expedited visa processing, flight and hotel bookings, local arrangements… tasks that would take an ordinary person a month to organize, she handled them all in a single day.

Shen Qingci knew her capabilities—after all, he was the one who had trained her.

Early the next morning, just as dawn was breaking.

Shen Qingci was already up and dressed.

A dark gray wool coat, a neatly pressed white shirt underneath, a cane in his right hand, and a suitcase in his left.

Before leaving, he glanced at the apartment he had lived in for less than half a month.

Clean, tidy, without leaving a trace of himself.

As if he had never been there at all.

Heading downstairs, he called Lin Wei.

“It’s still quite early,” Shen Qingci’s voice was particularly clear in the quiet of the morning. “I’m going to make a stop at the cemetery to bid a final farewell to the Shen Qingci of ten years ago.”

There was a brief silence on the other end of the line.

Lin Wei’s voice came through: “I’ll be waiting for you at the airport.”

After hanging up, Shen Qingci hailed a taxi at the entrance of the apartment complex.

“West Mountain Cemetery.”

The driver, a middle-aged man, glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “Visiting the cemetery this early?”

“Yes.”

As the taxi drove off, the city outside the window hadn’t fully woken up.

The streets were empty, with only a few early-morning joggers and street sweepers clearing fallen leaves.

Shen Qingci looked out the window, his right hand tapping rhythmically on the cane, like a heartbeat.

He asked the driver to stop at a flower shop.

The shop had just opened, and the owner was putting out flower stands by the entrance.

Seeing Shen Qingci, she was startled for a moment—few customers came at this time of day, let alone one with such a strikingly handsome yet expressionless face.

“I’d like irises,” Shen Qingci said.

The owner collected herself. “Irises… yes, yes, we have them. Just arrived, very fresh.”

She retrieved a bouquet of purple irises from the cooler, their petals still dotted with dew, shimmering like silk in the morning light.

Shen Qingci took the flowers, paid, and turned to leave.

The shopkeeper’s eyes followed his retreating figure—holding the bouquet and leaning on his cane.

The taxi continued on toward the city outskirts.

The cemetery appeared especially quiet in the morning mist.

The elderly caretaker had just opened the gate and greeted Shen Qingci when he saw him.

Shen Qingci gave a slight nod, then, holding the flowers and leaning on his cane, walked along the stone path inside.

The morning dew dampened his trouser legs, and the old injury in his right leg throbbed dully in the damp, cold air.

He arrived at Section South, Plot A-07.

There was already a bouquet of flowers in front of the tombstone.

Shen Qingci looked at the withered irises and paused for a three-second beat.

Then he bent down and placed the irises he had brought beside them.

Two bouquets stood side by side—one fresh, one withered.

He straightened up, his gaze fixed on the tombstone.

The three characters “Shen Qingci” were deeply engraved, gleaming with a cold, hard sheen in the morning light.

Shen Qingci looked at it for a while, then turned away without a backward glance, leaning on his cane as he left.

His footsteps were as measured as on his way in, his back straight, his coat fluttering slightly in the morning breeze.

He reflected that he probably wouldn’t return here again.

Shen Qingci had died ten years ago and was buried here.

And he was Shen Qing, twenty-seven years old, flying to Helsinki today to start a brand-new life.

Two paths, two identities, never to intersect again.

By the time Shen Qingci walked out of the cemetery gates, daylight had fully broken.

The morning mist had dissipated, and sunlight filtered through the pine and cypress branches, casting dappled shadows on the ground.

He was about to hail a taxi by the roadside.

But two men in black suits blocked his way.

Shen Qingci stopped.

He looked up at the two men—well-built, well-trained, with sharp eyes, clearly professional bodyguards.

Shen Qingci’s gaze was calm, almost cold.

He didn’t speak, just shifted slightly to the side, intending to walk around them.

“Sir,” one of the bodyguards spoke, his voice low. “Please cooperate. Our boss wants to see you.”

Shen Qingci didn’t stop walking.

The other bodyguard stepped forward, blocking his path. “It won’t take long.”

Shen Qingci came to a halt.

He was still holding his suitcase in his left hand and his cane in his right. His gaze swept over the faces of the two bodyguards before landing on the black Rolls-Royce parked behind them.

The car windows were heavily tinted, obscuring the interior.

"I don't know your boss," Shen Qingci said, his voice as cold as his eyes. "Step aside, please."

The two bodyguards exchanged a glance, appearing somewhat troubled.

"Sir," the first bodyguard who spoke softened his tone, "we're just following orders. Did you... just place flowers at Mr. Shen's grave?"

Shen Qingci's eyes darkened almost imperceptibly.

"What does that have to do with you?"

"Our boss..." the bodyguard said, "thinks you remind him of someone from his past, and would like to meet you."

Shen Qingci's fingers tightened around his cane.

An old acquaintance.

He had no need for old acquaintances.

"I don't have time," Shen Qingci said flatly. "I'm going to the airport."

With that, he made to move past them.

This time, the two bodyguards made no move to stop him. Instead, one of them quickly walked toward the Rolls-Royce to give a low-voiced report.

Shen Qingci had already made it to the curb and raised his hand to hail a taxi.

Then, he heard the thunk of a car door opening behind him.

Followed by footsteps—the click of leather soles on stone, measured, firm, step by step, closing the distance.

Shen Qingci didn't turn around.

He kept his eyes on the approaching taxi and raised his hand.

The footsteps stopped behind him.

Very close, perhaps only two or three meters away.

Shen Qingci could feel that gaze lodged between his shoulder blades—heavy, intense.

As if trying to pierce through his coat and shirt, straight into his bones.

The air suddenly grew very quiet.

Even the wind had stopped.

The taxi slowly cruised to a stop by the roadside.

The driver rolled down the window. "Where to, sir?"

Shen Qingci reached for the door handle.

"Wait."

A voice came from behind him.

Very low, very hoarse, carrying a texture Shen Qingci had never heard before—like sandpaper grinding.

Shen Qingci's hand froze on the door handle.

He slowly turned around.

The morning light shone from the side, gilding the person's silhouette with a golden edge.

Very tall.

Much taller than he remembered, with broader shoulders, his posture as straight as a spear.

He wore a long black trench coat over a dark gray suit, no tie, the collar of his shirt open at the collar.

His face...

Shen Qingci saw Lu Lin at twenty-six for the first time.

His features had settled into their adult angles, shedding the softness of his youth, leaving only sharp lines—high brow bones, a straight nose, thin lips pressed into a cold, straight line.

His skin was very pale, unnaturally so, with faint dark circles under his eyes, as if from long-term sleep deprivation.

But those eyes...

Shen Qingci remembered Lu Lin's eyes as a child—bright, like two small flames.

Now, there was no emotion in those eyes, like two deep, bottomless pools of icy water, calm on the surface but hiding whirlpools capable of swallowing people whole.

Lu Lin was also looking at him.

From Shen Qingci's hair, to his brows and eyes, to his nose, to his lips, then to the hand holding the cane, the hand carrying the suitcase, finally settling on his slightly limping right leg.

That gaze... was too complex.

There was scrutiny, doubt, shock, disbelief, and a trace of something suppressed to the extreme, almost bursting forth—a hint of madness.

Time seemed to freeze.

The two stood facing each other, three meters apart, neither speaking.

The morning sun stretched their shadows long, intertwining on the stone pavement.

Shen Qingci was the first to look away.

He opened the trunk, placed his suitcase inside, and then got into the back seat.

The entire process was steady, devoid of any extra emotion, without even a glance at Lu Lin.

"To the airport, please," he said, his voice calm and even.

The driver acknowledged and started the car.

The car slowly began to move.

Shen Qingci looked into the rearview mirror. In the reflection, Lu Lin remained standing in place, motionless.

The morning breeze lifted the hem of his trench coat. He stood like a statue, his eyes fixed intently on the departing car.

Then, right as the car was about to turn, Shen Qingci saw Lu Lin move.

He hurried over to the Rolls-Royce, pulled open the door, and got in.

The Phantom gave a low growl and followed.

The two cars, one after the other, pulled out of the cemetery and merged into the morning traffic.

Shen Qingci leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes.

His right hand tapped lightly on the cane.

The pattern was still there, but the rhythm was slightly faster than usual.