Fu Jichen had just called the family doctor, holding the phone in his hand. Without hesitation, he stretched out his arm and handed it to Shen Jianian.
Shen Jianian was shocked by his unguarded gesture. As someone who manages an entire business group, his phone should contain quite a bit of confidential information. Isn’t he afraid she’ll pilfer it?
She remained motionless for a long time. Fu Jichen bent down and placed the phone on the bed: "Don’t you want to see the photos? They’re all in the album."
Shen Jianian hesitated for a few seconds, then reached out to pick up the phone beside the bed. She pressed the unlock key, revealing an interface that required a password. She lifted her gaze to the man standing at the bedside and murmured, "Password..."
Fu Jichen told her, "Your birthday."
Shen Jianian’s breath caught, thinking it was just a casual remark, not to be taken seriously. With a try-it-and-see attitude, she entered the numbers one by one, and the screen indeed unlocked.
Moreover, the desktop screensaver was her photo, wearing a white satin gown playing the cello on stage, with lights focused around her. The crown on her head was dazzlingly brilliant, and under the lights, she exuded a kind of ethereal beauty.
Shen Jianian was familiar with this photo; she had seen it on the variety show "Shining Starlight."
This didn’t prove anything. The show was public, so whether it was Fu Jichen or anyone else, they could easily screenshot such a photo from the video.
Shen Jianian clicked open the album.
Estimating by time, she and Fu Jichen hadn’t met for at least three years. During these three years, if he had been using this phone, there should be quite a few photos. Shen Jianian thought she’d have to flip through many before finding a photo of herself. However, unexpectedly, upon clicking in, all the photos were of her. There were no others, nor were there any scenery shots.
The photos showed timestamps; the first one was taken in May three years ago, and it’s the last photo taken by this phone.
Shen Jianian recognized the background of this photo as the VIP lounge at Beicheng Airport. She was seated by the window, with a bowl of noodles before her.
It was pickled vegetable shredded pork noodles.
She didn’t like pickled vegetable shredded pork noodles, but the person in the photo was indeed her, with her past face, the window glass beside her reflecting a blurry silhouette. The lower part of the photo showed a cup of coffee, indicating someone was seated opposite her. The source of this content ɪs Nov3lFɪre.ɴet
She wasn’t looking at the lens at the time; the photo was taken secretly, and judging from the angle, it wasn’t hard to guess it was taken by the person opposite.
Just an ordinary photo, yet Shen Jianian’s face felt warm, unsure if it was due to a fever.
As she flipped to the next photo, there it was—the one set as the screensaver.
Shen Jianian continued flipping through, this photo taken somewhere indistinguishable, resembling a temple, with ancient-styled architecture. She was sparsely dressed, kneeling on a mat beneath the eaves, holding a brush to write, with two cats curled beside her—a tabby cat and an orange cat. Beyond the eaves lay abundant sunshine, hinting at fine weather.
Shen Jianian’s curiosity grew stronger. Why was the person in the photos her while everything felt unfamiliar? Had she really forgotten all these scenes?
"Where is this?" Unable to restrain herself, she asked the man.
Fu Jichen was right beside her. Hearing this, he glanced at the photo to explain: "Tanfu Temple. I was abroad on business, and you went there to pray, staying for a while. The day I returned from overseas, I went to find you and saw you under the eaves copying Buddhist scripture. I snapped a photo then."
Jianian disliked taking photos, and most in his phone album were spur-of-the-moment shots. She hadn’t realized she’d entered his lens.
During these three years, with dozens of photos, he had looked at them repeatedly, helping him through many a long, unbearable night.
Shen Jianian had visited Tanfu Temple once, taken there by her parents during New Year’s for incense offering while they were still alive. It was packed with devotees, yet she hadn’t visited beyond the main hall, so the photo’s background seemed unfamiliar. She couldn’t fathom herself residing in a temple to pray—it was absurd.
Shen Jianian browsed photo after photo, her questions piling up, too shy to point at each and ask Fu Jichen when they occurred, forcing herself to hold back.
Until she came across one showing her with shoulder exposed, lying amid blankets. Her breath suddenly grew hot. In the photo, her black hair spilled across the pillow, asleep and deeply serene, her cheeks flushed as if drunk. Her neck and collarbone bore several kiss marks. A man’s shoulder was visible beside her, muscular and firm, hinting at the likely state of undress beneath the blankets.