Who isn’t capable of acting?

Time would not slow down for anyone. Li Dagan, now visibly thinner, had already been in the world of “Hidden War” for two and a half months, with only half a month left before he would return to his own world.

During these past two months, aside from his daily bus rides in search of a chance encounter, Li Daniu had not given up on other methods. He tried everything, even befriending bus drivers and inventing excuses to ask them for help in finding someone who matched the description of the girl he sought.

It seemed that whatever luck he had gained from traveling through worlds and receiving the system had long since been exhausted. To this day, Li Daniu still had not met the lucky stranger he was searching for.

Worse still, the ten thousand dollars he’d brought with him was almost gone. He had never expected the cost of living in Hong Kong to be so high. Under the peculiar gaze of a certain receptionist, Li Daniu checked out of his hotel and found a cheaper inn instead.

To this day, Li Daniu insisted that the peculiar look from that receptionist was one of reluctance to see him leave, and absolutely not suspicion about his physical condition.

Wandering alone through the crowded, unfamiliar streets of Hong Kong, Li Daniu began to doubt his own abilities.

In every story, those who traveled between worlds or gained a system would experience earth-shattering changes in a short time. But what about him? Twice traversing worlds and with a system in hand, he was now on the verge of becoming homeless.

He had considered making some money by writing songs or novels—after all, in Hong Kong in 1999, there was still potential for someone who plagiarized from another world. But first, he had no real musical talent, nor could he recall the great works of literature from his previous life. Second, this was Hong Kong, where Cantonese ruled; who would care about songs in Mandarin?

As for playing the stock market, Li Daniu feared he’d only lose his money faster. If he went to the mainland, he had some confidence that he could multiply his ten thousand dollars several times over in three months. But that was still only several times—when a necklace worth at least twenty million was just waiting for him, why bother with a mere few hundred thousand? That would be like picking up sesame seeds and dropping a watermelon—utterly senseless.

But time slipped by in the blink of an eye, and as the moment to return drew near, Li Daniu realized that the watermelon he thought was his had never truly belonged to him.

When the time came as marked on his schedule, Li Daniu boarded a bus. He’d already taken this bus three times before, though never at this hour.

From the terminus, he sat by the window, gazing at the Hong Kong scenery he’d already seen enough of. Though he would have preferred to buy a couple of novels to read rather than watch the people outside, for the sake of that necklace, he forced himself to look at every person who boarded—more precisely, every woman.

Why was he resorting to such typical lecherous behavior?

Perhaps it was because heaven rewards the persistent, or because the clouds finally parted and the moon shone through. In the midst of his final, desperate struggle, Li Daniu finally saw that face—the one that had haunted his dreams, leaving him restless night after night.

Long hair flowing over her shoulders, dressed all in black, headphones on, standing alone at the roadside, waiting for the bus.

At last, I’ve found you—my goddess.

Li Daniu would never admit that he recognized her only because of the necklace around her neck.

As he watched his long-awaited goddess board the very minibus he was on, Li Daniu quickly moved from his window seat to an aisle seat, tossed his worthless props onto the few remaining empty seats nearby, and took out a bottle of eye drops, squeezing it fiercely into his eyes.

After all this, Li Daniu closed his eyes and waited.

“Excuse me, sir, may I sit inside?”

Of course, you can. In fact, that’s exactly why I took up several seats by myself—so that you’d have to sit beside me. If you didn’t, all my effort would be wasted! And she spoke English—how perfect! No need to worry about language barriers.

“Sure.” Li Daniu opened his now watery eyes, and there she was—the face he’d once overlooked, yet had appeared in his dreams every single night for the past two months.

Liang Wanting was startled by the tears streaming from Li Daniu’s eyes. Still, seeing there were no other seats, she politely thanked him and sat down.

Seeing the fish had entered the net, Li Daniu began recalling all the tragedies of his life, especially his past two lonely and friendless months in search of his goddess. The sorrow welled up, and when the eye drops ran dry, real tears began to flow.

Yet it was all for nothing. The goddess seemed completely unmoved, simply putting her headphones back on and turning to gaze out the window.

His acting skills were clearly lacking—using this trick to win her sympathy was not going to work.

“Excuse me, could I borrow a tissue?” Seeing the goddess was not taking the initiative, Li Daniu continued with his plan.

“Um…” Liang Wanting, seeing his tearful face, quickly took a packet of tissues from her handbag and handed it to him.

Li Daniu accepted the tissues, wiped his tears, and, seeing she still didn’t speak, covered his face with both hands and let out a subtle sob.

Why cover his face? Because he simply couldn’t keep up the act, and he was afraid the joy of finally finding his goddess would show and ruin the performance.

I’m no actor—how could I be good at crying scenes?

“Sir?” Liang Wanting had never imagined she’d encounter such a scene—a foreigner crying on a bus? She asked awkwardly, “Are you… all right?”

“I’m fine, it’s just that my best friend is missing. I can’t reach him, so I came to Hong Kong to look for him, only to learn from his doctor that he has cancer—with only four weeks left to live. I’ve been searching for him for two months now, and still haven’t found him…”

Li Daniu dared not look up, unable to conjure an appropriate expression.

“I know he’s chosen to die alone. I just wanted to see him one last time. Why is such a simple wish so hard to fulfill?”

Liang Wanting was at a loss for how to respond to this sudden, sorrowful story. Surely, this wasn’t just a pick-up attempt?

“Sir, maybe your friend went abroad for treatment. Perhaps one day he’ll show up, healthy, in front of you again.”

“No, that’s impossible. I met his doctor—there’s no cure for his illness in this world.” Li Daniu finally managed to control his expression, so he lowered his head, wiped away the eye drops and tears, then raised his face, blank, to look out the window.

“The doctor said he coughed up blood. With his condition, once he starts coughing blood, death is near.”

“Coughed blood?” Liang Wanting suddenly remembered the fleeting figure in her life. Wasn’t it because he coughed blood during dinner that they never got to know each other properly?

“Yes,” said Li Daniu, forcing himself not to look at the necklace around her neck. “The saddest part is, during our last conversation, he told me he’d met a girl he really liked, but hadn’t pursued her. I laughed at him for being timid, but I didn’t know it was because he realized he was dying…”

“Did he ever tell you how he met that girl?” Liang Wanting’s heart began to race inexplicably. Could it be him?

“He didn’t say much. I only know they met on a bus—the girl helped him once, and then they ran into each other again.” Li Daniu’s heart was pounding. After dragging it out for so long, he’d finally guided the conversation here.

“Ah Wah—was his name Ah Wah?” Liang Wanting felt her emotions slipping out of control, desperately hoping the foreigner before her would confirm it, yet terrified of hearing the answer.

“Yes. How did you know?”

Strictly speaking, the character played by Andy Lau in the film didn’t have a name, but given Andy Lau’s habit, his characters were usually named Wah.

Liang Wanting finally understood why this tall, sturdy man was crying his heart out on the bus—for she, too, could no longer hold back her tears. Or perhaps there was no need to hold back at all.

So, he didn’t dislike me. He wanted to pursue me. It was because of his illness—he appeared in my world for just a moment, only to vanish forever.

“Are you… all right?” Seeing his goddess burst into tears, Li Daniu hurried to comfort her. Though this was the effect he wanted, making up a story that moved her to tears brought a pang of guilt.

“I think I’m the girl your friend spoke of…” Liang Wanting choked out. “Can you tell me more about him?”

“Could it really be such a coincidence?” Li Daniu, worried about getting caught in his lie, decided to test her. “My friend’s grandmother once left him a gift—not worth much, but very meaningful to him. He said if he had the chance, he’d give it to that girl. I’ve never seen the gift myself, but I know what it is. Do you know?”

Liang Wanting lifted the necklace at her throat. “You must mean this necklace.”

“It is a necklace—what a beautiful one. If only it were real gemstones, so large—perhaps he could have lived a bit longer.” Li Daniu finally allowed himself to take a good look at the priceless necklace. Still, he made sure to lay a little groundwork for what was to come.

“I’m truly lucky, to have met the girl he loved at the end of his life. Could you tell me your story with him?”

“Our story…” Liang Wanting gripped the necklace, her voice low. “We only met three times. There’s not much to tell.”

Not much to tell? If we don’t find somewhere to sit and talk, how will I ever get the chance to swap the real necklace for a fake?

“But could you tell me more about him? I’d really like to know!”

“Of course, but… here?” Li Daniu’s heart leapt in excitement. Was this his chance at last?

“Um…” Only now did Liang Wanting remember they were still on the bus—after both had cried, many passengers were staring at them. She quickly said, “Let’s get off and find somewhere to sit. My treat.”

“No, allow me. I should be the one to thank you—for giving my friend a bit of warmth at the end of his life.” Though his acting left much to be desired, Li Daniu was determined to play the part to the end.

The two of them disembarked under the curious stares of half the bus. As they stepped off, Li Daniu heard someone behind him say in Mandarin, “Coming to Hong Kong really opens your eyes. Cry a little, and you can pick up a beauty? This foreigner is impressive—I’ll have to try this trick when I get back.”

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