Chapter 50: Walking Toward the Sea

Chapter 50: Into the Sea

"Young man, are you okay? Should I call a friend to come pick you up?"

The tavern owner had long noticed the young man drinking alone in the corner. He had been slumped over the table for two hours, like he'd passed out drunk.

Zhao Yu squinted, not responding to the owner, just clutching the bottle, staring off into space.

"What's your friend's number? I'll help you contact him. Young man... young man?" Seeing no response, the owner pulled the phone from his pocket, scrolled through the contacts, and spotted a number saved under the name "Bro."

He dialed the number, and it was answered immediately. A cold, annoyed voice came through: "Where are you?"

The owner said, "Hello, your brother's here at my bar, wasted. Please come pick him up—White Sand Beach Lighthouse Tavern."

"Brother?"

"...Isn't that right? He's got you saved as 'Bro' in his phone."

There was a few seconds of silence on the other end. "Watch him. I'm coming now."

The owner hung up and said to Zhao Yu, "I called your brother. Wait a bit—he'll be here soon."

With that, the owner turned to take orders from other customers.

Zhao Yu came to a little, catching bits of what the owner was saying about calling his brother and him coming over. He thought to himself: I don't have an older brother—I only have a younger one, Meng Qi.

Then it dawned on him that there was actually one person he had called "Bro." But he didn't want to see that person.

The sheer unwillingness to see that person forced him to his feet. He stumbled out of the tavern, weaving unsteadily across the sand. He escaped the bright lights of the shore, heading toward the darkening coastline in the distance.

By the time Gu Hansheng drove up, Zhao Yu was nowhere to be found—only half a bottle and a phone left on the table.

"Where is he?"

"Huh? He was right here a moment ago." The tavern owner asked a customer nearby, "Did you see which way the young man sitting here went?"

"I think he went that way." The customer pointed toward the dark, distant beach.

Before the owner could say anything more, Gu Hansheng followed the footprints that way.

It got darker and darker around him, with only the faint silver glint of moonlight on the water. Sand filled Gu Hansheng's Italian leather dress shoes, and a sudden gust of sea wind whipped sand into him.

He tugged at his collar, pushing on with all the patience he could scrape together in this ridiculous, almost laughable situation.

If Zhao Yu really had the guts to never come back, fine—he'd wait and see. But after that call, he couldn't stop himself from coming anyway. Even he didn't get why he was doing something so stupid.

The beach was empty, vast. Looking around, there didn't seem to be anyone. But Gu Hansheng's sharp eyes still caught a dark figure standing on the sand in the distance, waves lapping at his feet, wind whipping his clothes around.

He could be certain that silhouette was Zhao Yu. The moment he saw him, his first instinct was to chew him out for going missing—but then the figure stood at the water's edge, paused, and suddenly stepped forward into the sea.

Gu Hansheng's heart stopped.

What was he doing?

Before his brain could even catch up, Gu Hansheng was already sprinting forward.

Zhao Yu had drunk way too much. His head was heavy, spinning, a mess of chaotic thoughts flooding in.

The sea at night was so black, like it had no bottom. Why did Aunt Guo pick a sea burial? The water was so cold, and there was no one to keep her company. He missed her and didn't even know where to go to find her.

Was it that she didn't really care about him, so she hid her decision to stop treatment?

What else did he have to do? What more did he have to give to save her?

If only someone could tell him what to do—no matter what it took, he'd do it.

The vast ocean seemed to shrink into a narrow, pitch-black box, pressing in from all sides, suffocating him with a claustrophobic terror. But he couldn't wait anymore for the lighthouse light to shine on his world.

The restless longing pushed him into endless madness. The shimmering sea seemed to call him forward—bring Guo Lin back, don't let her slip away in silence.

Waves churned up white foam, piling at Zhao Yu's feet like hands gently pushing him back.

But he kept walking, possessed, staggering forward, legs splashing until the icy water soaked his pants and climbed past his waist. Then his feet slipped out from under him, and he pitched forward into the sea, mouth and nose flooded with saltwater.

The current pulled him deeper. He had no strength to fight it. If he could drift with the current to the other side of the ocean, maybe he'd find what he'd lost.

A hand grabbed his arm and yanked him back above the water.

"You trying to kill yourself?!"

Gu Hansheng was furious, his heart slamming in his chest. If he hadn't caught him in time, Zhao Yu would've drowned out there and no one would've ever known.

Zhao Yu coughed violently as Gu Hansheng hauled him by the waist toward the shallows, then suddenly shoved Gu Hansheng away and stumbled, collapsing into the shallows himself.

The tide rose and fell, rocking his body, making the world in front of him even more unstable.

He squinted at the blurry figure in front of him, suddenly scooped up a fistful of wet sand and hurled it at Gu Hansheng. One of him was bad enough—now there were two. He didn't want to see him—not drunk, not even in a dream.

The sand smacked Gu Hansheng's clothes. He ignored it and reached out to pull Zhao Yu up.

"Don't touch me!"

Zhao Yu yelled hoarsely, swatting his hand away, then scooped up another fistful of sand and hurled it.

"Get up first." Gu Hansheng's voice softened, unexpectedly.

He was still rattled.

"I told you, don't touch me!" Zhao Yu shoved him away again, thrashing and splashing water all over both of them.

Zhao Yu stared at him coldly. Despite all the alcohol, he was more clear-headed than ever.

He wasn't going to fall for Gu Hansheng's sudden concern again. It was all fake—this man had no heart. He'd thrown himself into it like an idiot, pouring out real feelings, carefully protecting his fragile place in Gu Hansheng's heart.

But no matter what he did, the second Gu Hansheng was in a bad mood, everything he'd built could be wiped out in an instant.

Like a dog on a leash—shake when the master says shake, spin when the master says spin, all for a scrap of approval in the end.

He'd willingly been that dog, pathetic as it was. But now, he didn't want to be anymore.

He dragged himself out of the water, soaked and wrecked, and turned to leave. Gu Hansheng's low voice came from behind him: "What do you want? Haven't you caused enough drama?"

Zhao Yu didn't look back. His wet clothes stuck to his skin, and the wind cut straight through him, cold to the bone.

A fake had no right to be angry or throw a tantrum. But he wasn't a fake—he was himself.

He staggered across the sand, swaying, stumbling a few steps, then collapsing onto the ground. He crawled back up on his hands and knees, took a few more steps, tripped again, and fought his way back to his feet.

Until he reached the brick path at the edge of the beach, where he caught his foot on the curb and went down hard, knee slamming into the ground, skin scraping off, pain shooting straight to the bone.

This time he didn't get up. Instead, still drunk, he just slid down and sat against the railing.

He'd stumbled and fallen plenty of times before, but this one hurt too damn much. He didn't have the strength to get back up.

If every time he got up, he was just going to fall again, what was the point of even trying? "Giving up" seemed easier. No effort. No pain.

He closed his eyes, leaning against the railing, wishing the quiet of the night would just go on forever—that morning would never come.

A few minutes later, Gu Hansheng—who'd been trailing behind the whole time—walked up to him. Seeing him passed out against the railing, he couldn't help crouching down to wipe the sand off his face.

Asleep, Zhao Yu wasn't angry anymore—just quiet and docile, the way he'd always been.

Had Zhao Yu really fallen apart that easily, just because he got kicked out of the hospital that day?

Gu Hansheng thought about that string of missed calls and instinctively felt something was wrong, his brow slowly furrowing.

He scooped Zhao Yu up and was immediately shocked by how impossibly light he was in his arms. It had been less than two weeks since he'd left for Austria on business, and yet Zhao Yu had gotten so thin his bones stuck out.

Gu Hansheng carried him to the car, and by the time they got home, Dr. Han was already there.

"He's running a slight fever. Since he's been drinking, no shots or meds. We'll just have to watch him through the night," Dr. Han said. "He looks a little malnourished. Best to take him in for a check-up tomorrow. If you can, get him in a hot bath later—and make sure he stays warm."

Then he looked at Gu Hansheng. "You should change into something dry too."

Gu Hansheng had already changed Zhao Yu's clothes the second they got home, but he'd forgotten he was soaked too—too worked up to care.

After Dr. Han left, Gu Hansheng ran a hot bath, tested the water, and carried Zhao Yu in.

With his clothes off, he could see just how thin he really was. His skin was flushed from the alcohol—God only knows how much he'd had to drink.

Why was Zhao Yu like this? Was it really just because he'd gotten chewed out in Chen Xitong's hospital room that day?

Gu Hansheng didn't think he'd been wrong to say what he said, and Zhao Yu wasn't the type to fall apart over one harsh word.

There had to be something else going on.

He suddenly remembered those missed calls on the old phone, so he grabbed Zhao Yu's phone, unlocked it, and pulled up the call log.

In the call log, Zhao Yu had called him several times over a stretch of time, but unfortunately his phone had been lost, so he'd missed them.

But even if he hadn't lost his phone, honestly, he probably wouldn't have picked up right away anyway.

Gu Hansheng then opened Zhao Yu's social media. At the top were messages from Zhou Lan and Chen Li, and right below that, the account named Meng.

He'd looked into Zhao Yu before, so he knew this person was Meng Qi, someone connected to Zhao Yu. In the chat with Meng Qi, he was startled to see a message saying Guo Lin was critically ill.

Gu Hansheng frowned slightly, remembering that Zhao Yu had once used Guo Lin's photo as his wallpaper—clearly, this woman mattered to him.

A clue surfaced. Gu Hansheng checked Zhao Yu's flight records and sure enough, there were two round-trip flights to Los Angeles.

He'd gone to see Guo Lin, and come back shattered.

What had happened to that woman named Guo Lin?

Gu Hansheng then opened Meng Qi's personal page and saw a post the young man had written mourning his deceased mother.

Connecting all the pieces, everything that had happened made sense. The many calls Zhao Yu had made to him, and his disappearance, drinking, and breakdown—all because Guo Lin had passed away.

Perhaps when Guo Lin died, Zhao Yu had wanted to confide in him. During that time shown in the call log, Zhao Yu had called only him, seeking comfort only from him, yet he'd missed it by sheer misfortune.

Gu Hansheng sat on the edge of the tub, and when Zhao Yu started to slip under, he caught him and pulled him up. Watching the pain on his face even in sleep, he couldn't put his feelings into words.

Many years ago, after Gu Hansheng's mother committed suicide, he had experienced that piercing pain firsthand. Zhao Yu was going through the same, or even deeper, suffering now.

At his most desperate moment, he had reached out to him. What had he wanted to say on that call? Would he have cried? Gu Hansheng couldn't imagine any of it, just staring at the "Brother" in the contact name, unable to snap out of it for a long time.