Guan Ruyan felt like he was alive again, starting the second spring of his life.

But later, the story’s details were unclear, and the ending was that the woman tricked Guan Ruyan into losing everything, becoming penniless, and managed to escape any legal punishment.

Guan Ruyan reported to the police, and after their investigation, they finally told him: "You’ve been scammed. This woman is a highly intelligent con artist, specifically targeting Chinese men who have recently arrived in the United States with substantial savings. Every step she took was carefully designed to comply with U.S. laws, so there’s no way to recover your money."

Standing at the police station’s entrance, Guan Ruyan looked at the gray sky above New York and laughed out loud.

As he laughed, tears streamed down.

He remembered back in China when he too stepped on women to climb upwards.

Ding Xinyu was just another step for him. Marrying her granted him Principal Ding’s protection, access to the school’s resources, and capital to climb higher. Did he love her? No, he loved the things she brought to him.

Karma goes around.

When Guan Ruyan returned to his apartment, the landlord had already changed the locks. He had missed several months’ rent, and the landlord had long wanted to evict him, finally having a reason now. He stood at the door, looking at his few belongings thrown in the hallway, unable to utter a single word.

He had no money, no job, no friends; his credit card was overdue, his credit decimated; he couldn’t find a job or rent a place, quickly falling into a vicious cycle, step by step being strangled.

All those he knew in the United States kept their distance upon hearing his story, fearing he would borrow money. He wandered around New York for a few days, somehow ending up in Los Angeles.

Chen Jiaming’s photo circulated in the group for quite a while.

Some sighed, some lamented, some gloated, some felt relieved. Many who envied Guan Ruyan in the past secretly enjoyed seeing him fall from grace.

But there were some who genuinely wanted to help him.

"Where is he? I’ll go have a look. I used to work in his laboratory."

"Does anyone know a rescue center? We could send him there."

"No matter what he did before, seeing him like this now is really unsettling. We’re all Chinese here; if we can help, let’s lend a hand. I’m willing to donate."

Chen Jiaming sent another message: "I’ll go again tomorrow and see if I can get him to a rescue center. If anyone is willing to help, please message me."

The next day, Chen Jiaming went to Chinatown again.

Guan Ruyan was still at that street corner, in the same state. He was crouched on the ground, head down, lost in thought, with a tattered suitcase beside him, containing all his possessions: a few worn clothes, a half-filled water bottle, and some picked-up cans.

Chen Jiaming walked over and crouched down beside him.

"Professor Guan," he called softly.

No response.

"Professor Guan, do you remember me? I’m Chen Jiaming from Nandu Medical University. You taught me once."

No response.

Chen Jiaming sighed, pulled a paper bag from his backpack containing a few burgers and a bottle of water, and placed it in front of Guan Ruyan.

"Have some food."

Guan Ruyan lifted his head and looked at him.

There was nothing in those eyes. It wasn’t sadness, anger, gratitude, or rejection. Just emptiness. Like two dry wells, devoid of even an echo.

Chen Jiaming felt a twinge of sorrow.

He remembered seeing Guan Ruyan back at school. Then, Guan Ruyan was full of vigor, well-known on campus. When he lectured, the room was full, and those young female students stared at him with stars in their eyes.

Now this person was crouched on a Los Angeles street corner, rummaging through trash cans.

"Come on," Chen Jiaming said, "I’ll take you to a rescue center. There’s food there, a place to stay. Better than here."

Guan Ruyan didn’t move.

Chen Jiaming reached out to help him, but he shrank back, mumbling something.

Chen Jiaming didn’t hear and moved closer.

"What?"

Guan Ruyan mumbled again, this time, Chen Jiaming heard it clearly.

He said, "I wrote them."

Chen Jiaming was momentarily stunned.

Guan Ruyan raised his head, looked at him, and suddenly there was a spark in his eyes. It was peculiar, hard to say if it was clarity or confusion, sincerity or madness.

He said, "Those papers... were all written by me."

Chen Jiaming didn’t know what to say.

Guan Ruyan continued, babbling incoherently: "They said Lu Xiaolu wrote them, but no, I wrote them. I wrote them, every single word. I wrote them for so many years, so many years... they said they were someone else’s, but no, they’re mine, mine... actually it was... Lu Xiaolu who wrote... why did he lie to me..."

Chen Jiaming listened for a while and finally understood.

He was talking about those papers, the ones that made him famous in China, yet ruined him. In the delusional mind of Guan Ruyan, those papers were still his, written word by word, not Lu Xiaolu’s.

He lived in his own world. In that world, he hadn’t plagiarized, falsified, exploited others, committed fraudulent marriages, or used resources deceitfully. In that world, he was a genuine scholar, a true genius who earned his keep based on his own talents.

Chen Jiaming looked at him, suddenly unsure of what to say.

He wanted to tell him the truth, that those papers weren’t really his. But as he opened his mouth, he closed it again.

Why bother?

He was already mad, the delusional Guan Ruyan, living in his world, perhaps a happier place than when he was sane.

Chen Jiaming stood up, pushed the paper bag closer to him.

"Eat," he said, "I’m leaving."

He turned and left, walked a few steps, then looked back.

Guan Ruyan was still crouched there, head lowered, still mumbling something. The sunlight shone on him, on his ragged clothes, on his dirty face.

Chen Jiaming suddenly remembered a phrase:

Watching him rise to high towers, watching him feast with guests, watching his towers fall.

He sighed and turned to leave.

The photo and the subsequent story soon made their way back to China.

In Nandu Medical University’s alumni group, Guan Ruyan became a topic again. But this time, no one hated him, and no one cursed him. They merely sighed.

"Too tragic."

"He was so glorious back then, and now..."

"His father-in-law is also deceased."

"I know about Principal Ding’s situation, liver cancer..."

Lu Xiaolu later heard about Guan Ruyan’s situation.

He sat in his spacious office, staring at the photo on his phone for a long time.

He had heard rumors several times before about Guan Ruyan wandering in the United States, but with the photo as proof, he had to believe it.

The person in the photo was unrecognizable, that former senior on the streets of Los Angeles rummaging through trash, staggering as he walked.

He thought, I should be happy, right?

Finally seeing karma, finally seeing him fall to this fate.

But he couldn’t smile, that was his senior; they studied together in Germany, rented together, like brothers.

Sigh...

He remembered Principal Ding, who always supported his education and whom he viewed as a father.

If not for Guan Ruyan’s betrayal of Principal Ding, Lu Xiaolu would never have testified against Guan Ruyan.

Lu Xiaolu recalled Principal Ding’s final days, by then he was in late-stage liver cancer, painfully thin and almost unrecognizable, lying in bed, eyes on the ceiling, lost in thought.

Lu Xiaolu stood by the bed, not knowing what to say.

After a long while, Principal Ding spoke: "Xiao Lu, I’m sorry!"

Lu Xiaolu’s tears streamed down.

He had hated Guan Ruyan, but never Principal Ding. Principal Ding helped him in his toughest times.

But now, Principal Ding was gone.

Lu Xiaolu looked at that photo, felt an empty hollowness in his heart and a needle-like pain.

"Could you give some money to Guan Ruyan for me?" Lu Xiaolu added Chen Jiaming from the alumni group on private message.

"Buy some food for him too..." Lu Xiaolu added.