Chapter Twenty-Two

Golden sunlight poured over the inky asphalt road, reflecting with the luster of obsidian. The deep rumble of an engine drifted from afar, growing louder with each passing second. A dazzling streak of gold, swift as a desert whirlwind, raced forward—once it appeared, nothing else could draw the eye. It was as though gracing the red carpet of the Oscars: elegant and swift, a meteor blazing across the sky. The audience sat in stunned silence, as if hypnotized, robbed of all reaction. Only after the golden flash had vanished did the following cars begin to roll in, and the crowd burst back to life, shouting with all their might, waving flags that boldly read, “Arthur Rivers, the undefeated legend!” Simple, common words, yet brimming with a passion all their own.

There was no suspense. At the finish line, the golden sports car’s door opened. From within emerged long, powerful legs clad in golden racing gear, stepping out with composure. He raised the arm that had worked miracles, unfastened his golden helmet with casual flair, and tossed his head with untamed energy. That familiar, metallic sheen of hair drew a beautiful arc through the air, flinging off sparkling droplets that caught the sunlight and refracted into a dazzling brilliance.

The corner of his mouth curled into that wickedly enchanting smile that drove countless women—and no small number of men—into a frenzy. It was a smile that belonged to him alone.

Once more, the stands erupted in wild applause and cheers; even the referees and judges joined in, their voices unable to fully express their excitement. They could only shout louder. Then, as the legendary arms rose slowly, a slender, calloused index finger gently pressed to his lips. Instantly, the stadium fell silent, everyone frozen in their previous poses, mouths still open, but not a single sound escaping.

The smile returned to his lips, but its warmth had faded. In the shadow cast by his hair, an indifference as vast as the world seeped into his eyes, sending a chill through every heart, a faint, cold ache.

He entered a room long unvisited, where sky blue and gold dominated the view—familiar, yet strangely distant. His slender fingers traced each lonely piece of furniture, the sensation surreal, as if from another lifetime, while in his ears, a heart-stirring, far-off laughter seemed to echo.

“Arthur, now that you’re here,” the words danced across a cherubic face, radiant with joy, “everything is wonderful!”

“Arthur, you broke your promise. You said we’d go to Holland today—how could you trick me?”

“Arthur, today…”

“Arthur…”

There was a pause, his expression solemn. “Arthur, when I look into your eyes, it’s as if I see the whole sky—a sky that belongs only to me… sky…”

Arthur… Arthur… sky…

That adorable child would never again call him Arthur in that soft, spoiled voice—never again.

Sky-blue eyes slowly closed, veiling the myriad lights within. His face remained calm, but those slender fingers had turned so pale they were nearly translucent.

His lips pressed together, the corners of his mouth lifting into a bitter smile. All of that—could it ever return?

“Yu, did you send the package?” His tone was flat, both hands propping up his chin, eyes never leaving the monitor.

Xiahou Yu lifted his arm to check the time. “It should have been sent an hour ago, unless there was some mishap.”

A confident smile curved his lips as he turned the monitor to the other side. A faint gasp escaped from Xiahou Zixia’s mouth. “The project’s turning around—the stock is rising!” He looked in disbelief at Yinyue, who nodded with a calm smile.

“That’s wonderful. I’ll get back to work, then.” Xiahou turned and strode out.

“No, this is only the beginning,” Yinyue’s voice drifted from behind. Xiahou’s figure tensed, then moved forward with renewed resolve.

No matter what, I will stay by your side.

But—who is he?

And what is your connection to him?

Behind him, Yinyue’s gaze grew distant. At last, will you finally see me?