“Zhao Yunlan,” says an urgent male voice.
“Hm?” He tastes blood. That can’t be good. Zhao Yunlan forces his eyes fully open, blinks his vision into focus. Takes in the scene around him. He’s lying on the grass in a park, and incongruously, it’s night-time. There’s Zhu Hong, smiling down at him, and next to her –
The stranger’s smile takes his breath away, full of relief, turning radiant a face that must be beautiful under any circumstances: dark eyes framed with long lashes and round glasses, high cheekbones thrown into sharp relief by deep shadows, and perfectly curved lips.
“Hey,” Zhao Yunlan breathes, returning the smile without quite knowing why, his chest warming at the sight.
Delicious canon-divergence in which Zhao Yunlan doesn’t lose his sight but his memory.