Although Duan Cang did not believe in ghosts and gods, the scene from earlier made it impossible for him not to associate it with a single possibility Mohan was already dead.
After death, Mohan had turned into a ghost and followed behind him, saving Bai Ziyan’s life.
How ridiculous, how could such a thing possibly happen?
Putting aside whether ghosts existed in this world, just looking at two months ago, Mohan was perfectly fine, running lively and energetically into the heavy rain to look for a cat. How could he possibly have died so suddenly?
“A-Cang, what’s wrong?”
Seeing Duan Cang standing rigidly in place in a daze, not knowing what he was thinking, Bai Ziyan called out to him somewhat quizzically.
“…It’s nothing.”
Awakened by Bai Ziyan, Duan Cang laughed inwardly at himself for thinking too much, failing to notice that Bai Ziyan’s tone sounded somewhat strange.
He simply thought that the most logical and reasonable possibility was that, because he had taken Bai Ziyan to the flower field discovered by Mohan today, he had thought of him far too many times. As a result, during the thrilling roller coaster ride, catching sight of Bai Ziyan whose face bore a resemblance to Mohan’s in a momentary lapse of focus, he had hallucinated. How on earth had he suddenly linked that to theories of ghosts and gods?
Perhaps Bai Ziyan’s safety harness had truly only completely snapped apart after they got off the ride. Bai Ziyan was blessed with great fortune; what did that have to do with Mohan?
Duan Cang sneered and walked toward where Bai Ziyan was standing.
The ice cream in his hand had melted slightly due to the delay.
To ease the atmosphere, Duan Cang handed over the ice cream while moving closer to Bai Ziyan’s direction, asking, “What were you looking at just now?”
Bai Ziyan leaned slightly to the side, his expression somewhat peculiar.
Duan Cang looked over, and his body instantly stiffened.
Mohan had not expected that the photo of himself and Duan Cang from back then would still be posted right here.
This was a photo booth.
On the outer wall of the booth, quite a few photos used as promotional samples were pasted, and among them, placed in the most prominent position, was the photo of himself and Duan Cang.
In the photo, he was smiling as he leaned close to Duan Cang, his cheeks slightly flushed from happiness and shyness. Duan Cang’s brow was raised, and he was smiling with unbridled flair, carrying an aura of arrogance.
When the photo was taken, Mohan was eighteen years old, not long after he had gotten together with Duan Cang.
Even though seven years had passed, Mohan could still remember the events of that day very clearly.
He had grown up in the mountains during his early childhood, and many things he had only ever seen on television such as Western restaurants and amusement parks.
He could still remember the promotional slogan for A City’s establishment of the nation’s largest amusement park:
A great place to accompany children, the ultimate choice for couples’ dates.
A promotional slogan that seemed rather dated by present standards had stayed in his heart for many years.
Until one day, while he was on a date with Duan Cang, Duan Cang had to deal with a project related to an amusement park. With a slightly impatient tone, he had said to the person on the other end of the phone,
“That’s right, its visitor volume is indeed high, but that was a matter of seven or eight years ago. From today’s perspective, that amusement park has outdated facilities and old-fashioned attractions, and it has already been phased out by the majority of young people. Entertainment facilities undergo rapid updates and iterations nowadays, and relying solely on nostalgia simply won’t work. Instead of watching an amusement park run at a loss, we might as well use this plot of land to do something else.”
When Duan Cang put down his phone, he noticed Mohan looking up and listening attentively. A thought stirred in him, and he asked, “What’s wrong? Do you like this amusement park? Did you go there when you were a kid?”
Mohan shook his head and smiled slightly. “I’ve never been; I’ve only heard its advertising slogan.”
“Want to go?” Duan Cang suddenly asked him.
Mohan was stunned. Before he could even reply, Duan Cang’s phone rang with another call. This call seemed very urgent, and Duan Cang stood up while answering it.
Mohan knew he was about to leave.
This had happened many times during their dates.
Mohan had always known that Duan Cang, as the heir of the Duan family, faced immense pressure and heavy workloads. Even before graduation, he had been forced to shoulder a multitude of responsibilities, which was why he never complained for even half a second when Duan Cang abruptly left during their dates.
He had already grown accustomed to Duan Cang’s sudden, unannounced departures.
Only this time, as Duan Cang passed by him, he suddenly reached out and ruffled his hair.
The following weekend, Duan Cang drove his dark blue sports car to pick him up, whisking him all the way to an amusement park.
This amusement park was not the one Mohan had always wanted to visit, but a newly opened one.
Yet when Mohan saw the tall banner hung high in front of the main gate, reading “Grand Opening,” and looked at the smiling crowds playing freely at the entrance—his eyes widened, and like a bewildered, helpless little animal, he looked toward Duan Cang.
A burst of warmth radiated over his head, plunging his vision into momentary darkness before his hair was given a rough, affectionate ruffle.
Duan Cang held his hand tightly and said, “Come on, I’m taking you to have a blast.”
At that moment, his heart felt as though it had been kneaded by someone, aching with a bittersweet fullness, and a sour-sweet liquid threatened to overflow.
That day, Mohan went to an amusement park for the very first time.
He played the refreshing torrent log flume, rode the endlessly spinning rocking chairs, entered the thrilling and terrifying haunted house, and Duan Cang even bought him tickets for things only children played with, like the merry-go-round and water guns, watching him from below with a bright and joyful smile.
They played from sunrise until sunset. When they passed by the photo booth, Mohan made a request to Duan Cang for the very first time.
Could they take a picture together?
He knew that Duan Cang had never liked taking photos, but today had been so unimaginably happy and blissful that he couldn’t help wanting to preserve the memory.
Perhaps because Duan Cang had been exceptionally gentle and attentive that day, leading him to voice what he desired; or perhaps simply because the sunset back then had been too breathtaking, the rosy clouds burning with such romance that the atmosphere between them gradually heated up, giving birth to a subtle, ambiguous sentiment.
In any case, Duan Cang agreed.
That day, inside a tiny, enclosed square space where two grown men could barely turn around without bumping into each other, they smiled together at the camera.
After the staff member developed the photo, they repeatedly marveled at how wonderfully the picture had turned out truly wonderful, the best-looking couple they had photographed since opening their doors and asked if they would mind having the photo hung outside for display.
Mohan had instinctively wanted to refuse, but Duan Cang agreed a step ahead of him.
And so that photo was hung right here, covered in a beautiful protective plastic laminate, posted outside the photo booth, year after year after year.
Seven years had passed, and the outer casing of the photo had grown somewhat yellowed, but the photo carefully protected inside remained as flawless as ever. The two people in the picture looked as though they were telling everyone how deeply in love they had once been.
Mohan quietly gazed at that photograph, then withdrew his gaze and closed his eyes.
Duan Cang had no idea how many times he had deliberately come to the amusement park just to look at that photo hanging outside, leaving that single photograph to witness seven years of his journey from deep love to utter despair.
He did not want to reminisce excessively about their time together; besides compounding his sorrow, it served no other purpose.
His form had grown slightly more translucent after saving Bai Ziyan, and at this moment, the dim yellow streetlights cast their glow across his body, making him look like a transparent, fragile piece of colored glass.
Looking at the rigidly frozen Duan Cang, Bai Ziyan asked, “I remember that at this time, it seems I never took any photos with you.”
“So, is he Mohan?”