Forgotten Photo Studio

Chapter 118 A "Stolen" Reunion

Chen Zhiwei didn't finish her sentence.

She stood at the top of the stairs, her white shirt loosely draped over her shoulders, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, her face still showing signs of sleepiness.

Without any warning, Xu Yan stepped forward, stretched out his arms, and hugged her tightly and forcefully.

His movements carried an undeniable decisiveness, as if if he loosened his grip even slightly, the person in front of him would vanish like a bubble.

Chen Zhiwei froze completely, her body tensing instinctively at first, then softening under his unyielding embrace.

She could feel the violent rise and fall of his chest, and smell the chill and dust of the midnight streets emanating from him.

“…Xu Yan?” She blinked blankly, her voice muffled on his shoulder, carrying a soft, helpless tone.

Xu Yan closed his eyes, his chin pressed tightly against her thin shoulder.

The girl's warm body temperature, the clean scent of soap in her hair—all of this felt so real, piercing his memories of destruction and white light.

His Adam's apple bobbed with difficulty, and when he spoke again, his voice was incredibly hoarse, each word seeming to be squeezed out from his cracked chest:
“Zhiwei,” he repeated, tightening his arms around her as if trying to meld her into his very bones, “I promised you, I’m back.”

The moment those words left his lips, an overwhelming bitterness surged through his heart.

He's back, yes.

But after the sacrifice of countless comrades and the erasure of his own existence, he "stole" this reunion in a way that even he himself could not understand.

He broke his promise; in another timeline, he may have missed his chance forever.

Chen Zhiwei was stunned by the deep, almost overflowing emotion in his words.

She keenly sensed that this was not the return of someone who had completed an ordinary mission.

There was no teasing, no habitual banter; his embrace carried a sense of preciousness at having something lost and found, and... a heavy sadness she couldn't understand.

But she didn't push him away.

On the contrary, a very complex expression slowly spread across those eyes that had been slightly widened in surprise—first blankness, then a hint of unbelievable joy, and finally settling into a softness that was almost overflowing.

How long has she been waiting?

When he is no longer that cold stone, when he finally reveals even a little bit of concern, even if it is this strange and heavy concern.

Hesitantly, she tentatively raised her hand and gently hugged his tense back. Her fingertips could clearly feel the stiffness and slight trembling of the muscles under his shirt.

"You..." she began softly, her voice trembling with a sob she herself didn't even realize, "Are you alright?"

Xu Yan did not answer, but buried his head deeper into her neck and shook his head.

The silence at this moment was no longer cold, but filled with a kind of silent, surging undercurrent.

A blush belatedly crept onto Chen Zhiwei's cheeks, like the sunset dyeing the clouds.

The strength of Xu Yan's embrace and the undeniable bitterness in his words made her heart pound, yet she was also seized by a strange shyness.

She struggled slightly, the force as light as a breeze, yet it jolted Xu Yan awake. The air flowed between them again, and he heard his own heartbeat booming in his ears, like an echo from a distant place.

Chen Zhiwei avoided his gaze and pretended to straighten the cuffs of her shirt, which were actually wrinkle-free.

Her voice trembled slightly, still suppressed: "Senior brother, that... the commissioned task, is it complete?"

"Ah."

Xu Yan responded, his gaze still fixed on her, as if he couldn't get enough of looking at her.

Chen Zhiwei steadied her breathing, raised her head, and reached out her hand to him, palm up, with a natural expectation.

Xu Yan stared at the fair hand, slightly taken aback.

"What are you staring at?" Chen Zhiwei felt a little uncomfortable under his gaze, and gave him a reproachful glare. Her tone returned to its usual sharpness. "It's a photo! Let me see what kind of troublesome guy this time."

Xu Yan paused for a moment before speaking, his voice much calmer: "There are no photos."

"What?" Chen Zhiwei's outstretched hand froze in mid-air, her eyes blinking in confusion. "No photos? You didn't use a camera?" Her tone unconsciously rose, filled with disbelief. "You didn't use 'that' to clear away 'lingering spirits'?"

She pointed to the camera still hanging on Xu Yan's chest, as if to confirm whether it was still there.

"The task was clearly written," Xu Yan said in a flat tone, as if stating a simple fact, "'Clear the belongings in the house.' I cleared them out, and the task was completed. It didn't say that we needed to catch the ghost."

Chen Zhiwei opened her mouth, but was momentarily speechless at this logic.

Her beautiful eyebrows furrowed: "It...it wasn't explicitly written. But this is a 'lonely building ghost'! A deeply entrenched obsession, the kind that's most likely to become an anchor point to harm people! You...you just...cleared it away?"

She imagined that scene and found it unbelievable.

According to my grandfather's teachings, to deal with this kind of ghost, you must use a camera to capture its "image" on photographic paper, thus severing its attachment, in order to be completely safe.

"Why must we use a camera?" Xu Yan countered, his gaze sweeping lightly over the old elm filing cabinet in the corner. "Don't give it a response, don't give it any 'anchor' to cling to, just calmly and thoroughly clean up the remnants that connect it to the real world, and finally put it in a specially made suitcase to block its spiritual energy. It will then naturally lose its foundation for existence."

He paused, a faint, almost imperceptible mockery in his tone, whether directed at himself or at the established rules, it was unclear.

Chen Zhiwei stared at him as if she were seeing him for the first time.

She suddenly burst out laughing, a hint of mockery in her voice, and looked him up and down: "This is really unlike you, senior brother. I don't know who it was before, but as soon as they sensed a bit of yin energy or the slightest disturbance, they would act as if they were facing a formidable enemy, snapping photos like crazy, 'click, click,' as if they wanted to archive all the wandering souls within a ten-mile radius."

She took a step forward, tilted her head, and her eyes were as sharp as a little fox's. She deliberately lowered her voice, with a hint of mischief: "It's as if... you're almost forgetting things yourself. What's this time? Have you learned 'laissez-faire'?"

Xu Yan's fingertips curled up almost imperceptibly.

Chen Zhiwei's unintentional words, like a fine needle, precisely pierced the most hidden wound in the depths of his soul—the price he paid for frequently using the camera, the memories of A Zhe, of battle, and of repeated despair.

He didn't answer the question, but instead looked away, gazing at the gradually brightening morning light outside the window. His profile appeared somewhat hard and lonely in the halo of light.

"As long as the method works," he said simply in the end.

(End of this chapter)