The two chatted lightly on the road, where Lin Zixi learned about Ye Can’s recent situation. Upon hearing that Ye Can had returned to help the pregnant Ye Shen, Lin Zixi was a bit surprised. “Director Ye is pregnant?”
Ye Can nodded. “Yes, she said she wanted a child, so she went to the hospital herself and had the procedure to get one.”
Lin Zixi recalled how Ye Can had once held her and asked if they should have a child. She lowered her gaze and said softly, “Director Ye… she really loves you.”
Ye Can couldn’t figure out what that had to do with Ye Shen loving her, so she asked in confusion, “Huh?”
Lin Zixi shook her head. “Nothing.”
Ye Can soon dropped Lin Zixi off at home. Before getting out of the car, Lin Zixi asked, “Would it be okay to exchange contact info?”
Ye Can froze. Seeing this, Lin Zixi hurriedly explained, “I don’t mean to pester you or anything, I just…”
Ye Can understood and pulled out her phone, unlocking the screen as she said, “Sure, if seeing this face of mine doesn’t annoy you, then no problem at all.”
Lin Zixi smiled. “It won’t.” They exchanged WeChat contacts, and Lin Zixi pushed open the car door and stepped out.
Ye Can sat in the car, watching as Lin Zixi picked up her bag and walked through the gates of the residential complex. After a moment’s thought, she rolled down the window, leaned out, and called, “Miss Lin!”
“Hm?” Lin Zixi turned, looking at her quizzically.
Ye Can bit her lip, saying awkwardly, “Take good care of yourself. You’re… too thin.”
It was Ye Can’s way of showing concern—awkward, just like before, but somehow different too. Lin Zixi nodded with a smile. “Okay.”
Lin Zixi turned and walked into the complex.
Ye Can sat in the car, gazing at her retreating figure from afar. A gentle breeze lifted the hem of her skirt, revealing her fair, delicate calves and exquisite ankles. It all felt so beautifully dreamlike.
Perhaps it was this scene that etched itself deeply into Ye Can’s memory, because that night, she had a dream.
Everything in the dream was wonderful. She held Lin Zixi’s hand as they ran freely across vast, cloudless plains—so carefree and unbound.
When she woke, Ye Can picked up her phone and glanced at the new WeChat contact. Lin Zixi hadn’t messaged her.
Ye Can started feeling irritable. From the moment she got up until she arrived at the company, her mind was restless. At work, she couldn’t draw, couldn’t space out.
Ye Can knew her mood was terrible. She stared at her computer, hesitating for over half an hour, before finally typing “Xiao Can” into the browser’s search bar, dragging her feet the whole way.
Ever since waking up, Ye Can had deliberately avoided news about Ye Can No.1. But after seeing Lin Zixi, for some reason, she suddenly wanted to know what that past had really been like—what Lin Zixi had been like with the person who’d once inhabited this body.
With that thought, Ye Can started watching Calamity Nation.
Even after steeling herself mentally, Ye Can couldn’t hold it together. She cried from the opening scene straight through to the end. Clutching a box of tissues, she wiped her tears while sobbing, “Damn it, why write such an over-the-top plot? Couldn’t they just give them a happy ending?”
“Wahhh, Lin Zixi is so tragic. Big King, you have no heart!”
Ye Can cursed the screenwriter, then checked the credits and saw it was Lin Zixi. Okay, instant backtrack—no more cursing. She just sniffled and whined about how moving the script was, how talented Lin Zixi was.
Only then did Ye Can realize that, beyond her overactive tear ducts, she was also incredibly biased.
This biased Ye Can spent several days binge-watching all the movies related to “Ye Can No.1,” along with interviews and every video clip where No. 1 appeared with Lin Zixi.
She watched the way No. 1 and Lin Zixi drew close then pulled back on camera—the intimate smiles, the sparkles in their eyes when they looked at each other. It all seemed performative, yet so genuine in its love, and it hurt her heart terribly.
Ye Can replayed these on-screen details over and over, diving into CP fans’ analyses of the subtle clues that No. 1 and Lin Zixi were in love. Like how, for those three years, a brilliant screenwriter had willingly dropped everything to become an unknown little actress’s manager, always by her side.
Or how in every airport candid shot, No. 1 always held Lin Zixi’s hand, head down, ignoring the world around them.
Or when No. 1 blew up in fame and reporters hounded her about dating international film queen Meng Zhiqiu, she shot back, “If you’re asking about same-sex rumors, why not ask if I’m dating Lin Zixi?” When they actually did, she declared openly, “Yes.”
And after No. 1 announced her death, Lin Zixi posted just one photo and never updated her blog again. Every paparazzi shot showed her looking utterly dejected, clearly ravaged by grief.
Their relationship sparked endless speculation.
But their attitudes were so straightforward that sometimes it made people suspect they were hyping a ship on purpose, leading many to think it wasn’t real.
They weren’t in love; they were just close family friends, like sisters.
No. 1 would occasionally call Lin Zixi “Mommy” shamelessly in public, and fans even joked it was a mother-daughter thing.
Ye Can savored these details repeatedly. She stared at that familiar yet unfamiliar face on screen— it wasn’t her, yet it was. Especially the way she looked at Lin Zixi; it felt so familiar it stirred nostalgia.
So this is what it feels like to fall in love with someone. So beautiful to be loved like that.
But why does it all have nothing to do with me?
In these on-screen stories, Ye Can started blurring reality and illusion. As her mind grew hazy, she stumbled on a fan-edit video of No. 1 and Lin Zixi titled The Truth is Real.
In the final segment, the song crooned: “Amid crowds of guests, we voiced our hidden affections to the fullest…”
The clip cut to the premiere of Above the Throne. No. 1 and Lin Zixi sat side by side in the audience, leaning into each other. No. 1 turned sideways and whispered something in Lin Zixi’s ear. Lin Zixi looked up at her, eyes alight with surprised joy.
The video’s subtitle read: Lin Zixi, I love you…
Ye Can froze in an instant. She stared blankly at the video, replaying that segment over and over, the déjà vu growing stronger and stronger.
Her muddled consciousness churned in her mind, struggling to grasp fragmented images. After several attempts, she finally seized a corner of memory that didn’t seem to belong to her.
In that moment, the sealed door of her memories cracked open, letting in a sliver of light. Ye Can’s mind flashed to an image: in a grand hall amid flashing camera lights, she sat beside Lin Zixi, leaning in intently to gaze at her.
She didn’t remember what Lin Zixi wore that day—only the instant the lights dimmed, when she turned and kissed her. When the lights came back on, she heard Lin Zixi ask, “Aren’t you afraid of people finding out?”
Ye Can had replied, “I’m more afraid they won’t know.”
The recollection ended there, and Ye Can’s head exploded with a boom. Her heart seemed to collapse under the shock.
In that instant, Ye Can’s head throbbed as if it might split open. She pressed her forehead to the desk, banging it repeatedly.
Those memories clung like bone-gnawing poison, unshakeable no matter how she tried. In her chaotic mind, Ye Can understood once more: in this world, she might truly be irrelevant.
She didn’t know how much time passed before Ye Can suddenly looked up, a purple bruise blooming on her forehead, and stood. She made a decision—a major one.
Soon, she drove to a private psychiatric hospital.
It had been years since she’d last come here.
In the dark room, a single white incandescent light beamed down on Ye Can. In that sole pool of brightness amid the shadows, Ye Can—forehead bandaged—looked at Dr. Yang nearby and said, “There’s still someone else living in my body. She left once before, but I’m not sure if she’s completely gone. I want you to help me find her.”
Dr. Yang, hidden in the dark with pen in hand, looked up from her sparsely noted notebook. “Are you sure? This is extremely dangerous. You know you’ve finally built a normal life.”
Ye Can clenched her fists and said quietly, “I know. I know how hard-won this normalcy is. I’ve tried so hard these past few years to make life meaningful. But lately, I’ve realized my ‘meaningful’ doesn’t mean much at all.”
“My life feels awful right now. The world doesn’t need me, and Ye Shen has her own child now…”
“I’m not the kind of person people like, so I want to…”
Dr. Yang cut her off. “Why do you feel that way? You know your sister, your friends—they’ve always been there for you. You…”
Ye Can replied, “For three years, I haven’t been able to form intimate bonds with anyone. My only connection in this world is Ye Shen. The person I want to bond with intimately already has that with the one who was in this body. So I can’t. I’ll never be able to form that with her.”
“And like I said, someone will soon replace me at Ye Shen’s side. So I want to try… to make myself happy.”
She’d made Lin Zixi cry—cry so heartbrokenly, so miserably. But Ye Can knew she couldn’t be the one to comfort her. At least, she could try to do something. Maybe she could help bring back the person Lin Zixi wanted.
A person without those memories could never replace the original love—no matter the same body. Without the same recollections, it was always just spectating someone else’s romance.
Just like before—even if those memories flickered in her mind, even if they moved her, they still felt like a dream.
Ye Can looked at the doctor, almost pleading. “So please, help me search again. One more time. I want to know if she’s still there.”
“If she is, welcome her back the way you welcomed me.”
