Luo Chi rested his head on his shoulder.

He pressed firmly against his shoulder, his thin, slender back trembling from the choked coughs, yet he still disregarded everything to squeeze out his strength and grip his arm.

That force was far more than just an answer to the question.

In the dim, thin fog, the soaked fallen leaves were swept away by the sea breeze.

A few flickering sparks burst from between the branches of the zhi wood. Then, in an instant, a fire, heedless of the cost, even if it meant burning itself out, struggled to flare up.

The fire flared, using a force that would rather burn itself to ashes, and lunged out to touch the falling shadow.

Ming Weiting pulled Luo Chi back into a firm embrace.

Luo Chi was silent, his whole body trembling in pain, curled up tightly under the jacket.

His head didn’t hurt now, not at all. The pain came from his body. Perhaps from a place in his chest that had long been numb, or perhaps a section of his spinal marrow.

An intense pain, as if it could burn him to ashes, engulfed him in an instant. Perhaps in that moment, his flesh and blood were stripped away, even his bones scraped clean, one cut at a time. He felt as if he were standing next to his own body, watching that fire burn him completely.

It turned out it didn’t have to be cold, gray ashes.

It turned out it didn’t have to be cold ashes.

Ming Weiting held Luo Chi, raising a hand to protect his head and neck, cradling him in the crook of his arm.

He responded with a force even more definite than the one Luo Chi had squeezed out, until the body in his arms finally began to relax, the almost instantaneous burst of trembling slowly subsiding.

…

Outside the bedroom door, Ming Lu, who had come to deliver the oxygen machine, didn’t enter. He met Ming Weiting’s gaze, smiled reassuringly, and gently placed the machine by the door.

Ming Weiting wasn’t in a hurry to get up and get it.

He waited until Luo Chi’s breathing had mostly calmed down, then lifted a corner of the jacket and ducked his own shoulders inside.

A single jacket wasn’t quite big enough for two people. Light seeped in from all sides.

Luo Chi’s gaze was lowered, focused on regulating his breathing. He was startled by the light.

He was a bit curious, his eyes curving into a smile as he looked at Mr. Shadow, who had suddenly appeared before him.

Ming Weiting touched Luo Chi’s completely sweat-drenched back, raised his hand to let Luo Chi lean on him, and used his sleeve to wipe away the tear stains from his face, bit by bit.

Ming Weiting’s movements were careful. He was under the jacket with Luo Chi, his voice also soft, “Do you want to go to the beach tomorrow?”

…

This question was certainly important, but it felt a bit abrupt at this moment.

Luo Chi’s eyes widened slightly, but he still abided by the rules of truth and nodded.

Ming Weiting asked again, “Do you want to eat a peach candy tomorrow?”

Luo Chi’s throat moved slightly. He had been so overwhelmed by bitter medicine these days that the aroma of peaches almost seemed to appear in his mouth. He nodded lightly.

Ming Weiting asked, “Do you want to go home tomorrow?”

Luo Chi had already started nodding subconsciously, only realizing halfway through what the question was this time.

He didn’t know where Mr. Shadow had learned this trick. He blinked, not fully back to his senses, but the corners of his mouth were already lifting uncontrollably.

He really didn’t have any extra strength. The breath from his chest gave out halfway up, and he coughed twice against Ming Weiting’s arm.

But he still curled his fingers and gave a little tug on the cuff Ming Weiting had placed in his hand, then lifted his eyes.

Ming Weiting was massaging his stiff, cold body. Sensing the tug, he immediately looked up at him. Seeing Luo Chi’s serious gaze, his own expression became solemn.

“I,” Luo Chi regulated his breathing and slowly began to speak, “I will be…”

He was still concentrating on choosing his words, but Ming Weiting had already taken over, “You will be super cool.”

Ming Weiting remembered and recited, “Be cool for me to see.”

…The lucky fan indeed had a very good memory.

Luo Chi couldn’t help but laugh. He decided not to waste energy repeating it and just blinked lightly.

A smile also appeared in Ming Weiting’s eyes. He raised his hand to touch Luo Chi’s sweaty eyelashes and gently brushed his bangs aside.

He understood why Luo Chi had said, “We are separated by the sea,” and “The star has to be bright enough.”

Luo Chi treasured kindness more than anyone. But Luo Chi was completely unlike the Luo family; he never felt that others’ kindness towards him was something he was entitled to, something that must be given.

If you want to hold a hand, you proactively extend your own. If you want to be waved at and applauded, you jump onto the stage with a guitar.

Luo Chi didn’t think he came late, nor did he feel that he was late. In that rain, Luo Chi wanted to find someone to believe him, so he kept him and sold him that painting.

…

The more clearly he understood this, the more incomprehensible the people who had personally pushed Luo Chi into the dense fog and icy sea became.

Ming Weiting would handle these matters; they no longer had anything to do with Luo Chi. He collected his thoughts, raised his hand to support Luo Chi’s head and neck, which were starting to go limp, and stroked Luo Chi’s hair. “You’re cool right now.”

He had indeed tried his best to learn how to be a fan from the internet, but he still couldn’t master those flowery compliments and praises. So he had always just said what he truly thought. But because of this, every time he spoke, his tone was serious, making it seem exceptionally solemn.

Of course, Luo Chi could tell the difference. His ears quickly heated up, and he pressed his lips together.

His strength was depleted. He felt quite dizzy, so he closed his eyes and rested quietly for a while. The weariness that had been repeatedly suppressed finally crept up on him.

“If you had a ship,” Ming Weiting touched his eyes, “you would be the most popular captain.”

Luo Chi’s eyes were slightly closed. He hovered on the edge of sleep for a while, then told him a secret in a small voice, “Auntie also wanted me to be a captain.”

Ming Weiting nodded. “Auntie has a discerning eye.”

Luo Chi was amused by his deadpan tone and laughed out loud.

Ming Weiting liked to see him laugh. He held his slightly curled fingers, and his own heart relaxed. He placed that hand in his own palm.

The Ming family came from the sea, so the things he could think of were naturally related to ships. On the other hand, Luo Chi had just woken up from a long period of chaos and confusion, left with only a relaxed, blank emptiness.

…

In the excruciating pain of having his flesh cut and bones scraped just now, all past ties were burned away, and only then did he realize he had reached the end of that road.

Luo Chi stood at the end of the road.

He stood here, clean and alone, and slowly remembered some things.

Some were worth being happy about, some were sad, and there were a great many that didn’t need to be examined closely at all, just casually tossed in a corner and ignored.

He remembered Auntie Ren’s grave.

Luo Chi had stubbornly faced that grave for ten years.

The cold stone tablet blocked him, not allowing him to go down to find Auntie Ren, but it silently permitted him to lean against it and speak in a low voice, to sleep against it, to play his guitar against it.

Sometimes when Luo Chi came out of the cemetery, he would walk and walk until he couldn’t walk anymore.

Luo Chi actually still had strength; he just couldn’t cross that intersection.

At that intersection was a public hospital. Across the street from the hospital, there’s a bench. He would sit on the bench for a long time, so long that he started getting too sleepy to keep his eyes open. When his consciousness started to drift, he would see Luo Zhi standing at the hospital entrance.

…

Ten-year-old Luo Zhi stood at the hospital entrance.

The sun was so harsh that day, it seemed like heat waves were rolling in the air. Under that bright glare, everything looked blindingly white. The tree leaves were wilting, the cicadas chirped weakly.

Luo Zhi raised his hand, covered one ear, and tried to distinguish whether it was the chirping of cicadas or tinnitus.

He had snuck out of the house to see someone at the hospital.

He had found out that Sister Zhao Lan was here and wanted to see if her injuries had healed, if she still had nightmares, if she still dreamed every day of someone beating her to death.

He had made a boat out of seashells, but he didn’t give it to her.

Before they escaped from that den of demons, their secret messaging to the outside was discovered. They were locked up in separate places, and many things happened during those days.

Luo Zhi leaned against the window of the psychiatry department and saw the figures inside.

A couple, looking much older than their age, came out to see him. They squatted down guiltily and blocked him from entering.

A girl, who seemed to be constantly busy, had just brought a pot of nourishing soup. Seeing him, she also squatted down, took his hand, and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“Brother, I’m sorry.” The high-school-aged girl’s eyes were red as she apologized to him in a small voice. “I’m sorry, sister is sick. It’s an illness where she has many nightmares…”

Of course, Luo Zhi could understand. He shook his head vigorously, hid the gift box behind his back, and made a promise with the Zhao family to go play with his sister as soon as she got better.

That family was so good, Sister Zhao Lan would definitely get better.

Luo Zhi knew this kind of illness couldn’t be stimulated. Before a full recovery, it was best not to see anything that might trigger past traumatic memories.

Since some point, he seemed to have become that trigger.

It was like he had a switch on him that made everyone irritable and pained. It wasn’t a good feeling; he didn’t want to be like this.

But Sister Zhao Lan would definitely get better.

That family was so good.

Luo Zhi stood at the hospital entrance, holding the seashell boat, unable to tell if it was cicadas or tinnitus.

For the moment, he couldn’t think of where to go. The room was no longer his, nor was his home. He stood at the intersection, wondering if he should go to the aquarium or the library…

At this thought, Luo Chi couldn’t help but secretly smile.

He felt his memory must have processed this part on its own without him noticing—after all, that scene was a bit too exaggerated. But in ten-year-old Luo Zhi’s memory, the next scene really was Auntie Ren, majestically cloaked in sunlight, speeding over in her car.

Auntie Ren arrived majestically, pulled him into the car without a word, and the first thing she did was stick a popsicle in his mouth.

The popsicle was super cold and super sweet, like a magic wand.

Anyway, in the eyes of ten-year-old Luo Zhi, it must have been a magic wand.

Everything after that suddenly became completely different. Auntie Ren put his seashell boat away safely and asked him where he wanted to play. Finding that he didn’t know either, she took him to an indoor playground.

He had never been to such a place at the Luo’s house. He stood there, not knowing what to do.

Auntie Ren dragged him to the claw machines, pulled him to the trampolines, shoved him onto the track to drive a go-kart, and finally, held him as they flew down a super-high slide and crashed into a large pit of ocean balls.

He was almost drowned in the blue and white ocean balls, then he was held and lifted up by Auntie Ren. He never knew ocean balls could be so much fun.

“Huo Miao,” Auntie Ren asked him in the ball pit, “Are you coming back with Auntie or not?”

He hadn’t been called Huo Miao in a long time and almost didn’t realize she was calling him. He only came to his senses after Auntie Ren tapped him on the head.

Auntie Ren asked him, “Are you coming back with Auntie or not?”

Auntie Ren looked at him super seriously, one hand holding his hand tightly, as if he would be taken home by Auntie Ren the moment he nodded.

…He probably nodded about a hundred times that day.

This part might have also been processed by his memory. He was still very mature back then, always being told he was like a little old man. He probably wouldn’t have done something so out of character.

But he did nod a hundred, a thousand, ten thousand times in his heart. He wished he could sign a written pledge.

Auntie Ren played with him until it was dark, then took him home. In front of the other kids, she bought him lots of toys and another popsicle.

He actually hadn’t played with toys much.

There were toys at home, but he mostly used them to amuse his younger sister. His sister was almost three years younger than him, and he had been learning how to be a big brother since he could remember.

He carried all those toys, one hand held by Auntie Ren, and secretly bit his tongue, wanting to confirm if it was a dream.

Of course it wasn’t a dream, how could it be a dream.

The popsicle was so cold and so sweet.

He fell asleep in the car, holding the seashell boat. Auntie Ren had a driver come to drive, while she held him, gently stroking the hideous scar behind his ear.

It was the cicadas chirping, not tinnitus. He didn’t have any tinnitus at all; he could hear super clearly.

Auntie Ren said, Huo Miao will have a real ship.

Huo Miao will have a real ship, Huo Miao will grow up safe and sound, Huo Miao will be super free.

Auntie Ren said, Huo Miao will be a captain.

…

From the day he began his standoff with that grave, he couldn’t cross that intersection anymore.

He sat on the bench, sat until he saw the ten-year-old Luo Zhi, and then relived this entire memory in detail, the sweetness filling his mouth.

How could it be so sweet? He had experienced such wonderful things.

Auntie Ren asked him if he wanted to go back with her. How could he refuse? How could he not go back.

How could he not go back.

Auntie Ren held his hand so tightly.

…

Luo Chi curled his fingers.

He spent a long time, finally curling his fingers bit by bit until they touched his palm, and said softly, “Auntie.”

Ming Weiting slightly shifted his arm.

Luo Chi’s head and neck went limp. His body was completely without strength, and he fell silently into the crook of Ming Weiting’s neck.

Ming Weiting stroked his back, wanting to lift the jacket, but found that Luo Chi’s hand was clutching a corner of it.

Luo Chi was curled up in the jacket, his breathing steady, fallen into a dream.

Ming Weiting slowly stopped his movements.

He had originally wanted to bring in the oxygen machine, wake Luo Chi up, and have him breathe some oxygen before sleeping. This was to prevent him from still feeling dizzy and tired upon waking, which would make it hard to be energetic at the beach.

…

But this matter also didn’t seem too urgent.

If Luo Chi felt he hadn’t slept well and was still tired and weak, he could just sleep again on the beach.

Luo Chi was slowly recovering, getting better, so there was no need to rush anything.

Ming Weiting put one arm back around Luo Chi’s shoulders and back.

He even turned off the ambient light, letting only a sliver of pale moonlight flow in with the night wind, falling by the bed and giving the things in the room an especially soft outline.

Ming Weiting laid Luo Chi down flat, confirmed he was lying securely, and sat at the head of the bed himself.

He gently adjusted Luo Chi’s head and neck to make his breathing smoother, then lifted a corner of the jacket.

After doing all this, the time just passed midnight. The distant sound of a bell drifted over the sea.

The sound came from a clock tower not far from the port, which chimed the hour day after day. The sound of the bell could travel very far with the wind.

That clock tower was famous for its hands. It was said they were specially designed by an artist, with exquisite carvings and openwork. The minute hand looked like the figure of a person always on the move, and it changed every hour due to the different angles of the light.

…

It was said to have some symbolic meaning, always on the move, always moving forward. It made twenty-four rounds a day and always returned to the origin when the clock struck midnight.

“Huo Miao,” Ming Weiting said softly, “It’s not the origin.”

Ming Weiting said, “It’s a new day.”

Luo Chi slept in the new day.

It was unknown what he encountered in his dream, but his sleeping expression was surprisingly serious, as if he had dreamed of something very important.

Ming Weiting didn’t disturb him and picked up the laptop Ming Lu had left by the bed.

“Huo Miao” started updating from midnight of this day. Gong Hanrou had always been strict with her work. The scene reconstruction part required a long time to polish and wouldn’t be aired for now.

What was released now was some real video footage and interviews related to the people involved, and as a teaser, some recordings of the filming process had been added.

Ming Weiting put on his headphones, dragged the progress bar, and found the part about Luo Chi at the Ren’s house.

Ren Shuangmei loved to film Luo Chi.

It wasn’t the cold angle of a surveillance camera. The Luo Chi in the handheld camera was real and vibrant, no different from an ordinary child.

…

In Ren Shuangmei’s eyes, that child, aside from being exceptionally smart, exceptionally sensible, and exceptionally likable, was indeed no different from an ordinary child.

The first time Luo Chi made pastries, he was startled by the exploding oven and jumped up, scrambling to fix it, only to be held and kneaded in the arms of Auntie Ren, who was laughing so hard her stomach hurt.

Luo Chi held his newly bought guitar, fumbling to find the notes, and plucked out a tune of “Two Tigers.”

Luo Chi learned to paint, got paint on the tip of his nose, and stared with wide eyes at the shaky camera, not yet realizing it himself.

Luo Chi was led to the seaside and pushed into the middle of the people playing in the water. He stood there stiffly, not moving, and looked back at Ren Shuangmei, but was soon enthusiastically pulled in by a group of people who were playing wildly.

…

In the footage, Luo Chi dodged the water, his eyes wide. He gradually realized that these people had no ill intentions, and a smile almost suddenly appeared.

He imitated the others’ actions, cupped water and threw it, and got hit in the head and face by a splash of seawater. The group burst into laughter, and he also laughed hard, rubbing his eyes, looking back for Ren Shuangmei while laughing…

Luo Chi’s ability to be happy was unlocked by Ren Shuangmei.

The happier he was, the more he would keep looking back for Auntie Ren. When he saw Auntie Ren, his eyes would become even brighter.

Luo Chi stood wet in the seawater, tiptoeing and waving vigorously, as if he was just one last step away from walking out of the haze that enveloped him.

…

Ming Weiting took off his headphones and put the laptop aside.

He wanted to check on Luo Chi’s condition. When he looked beside him, he realized Luo Chi had woken up from his dream at some point and was looking at him with open eyes.

Luo Chi must have been awake for a while, but he didn’t move or make a sound, just lay on the pillow and watched the videos with Ming Weiting until the end.

Ming Weiting touched Luo Chi’s forehead, “Are you feeling unwell?”

Luo Chi shook his head.

He was also watching those videos. Because he was used to not being able to hear, he didn’t feel there was any problem even without the sound. He remembered everything in the videos anyway.

He remembered it all. He remembered what to do.

He remembered everything Auntie Ren had entrusted to him.

He heard what Mr. Shadow said to him.

He woke up on a new day.

Ming Weiting sat on the edge of the bed.

He supported Luo Chi’s back with one hand, lowered his head, and met those sparkling eyes.

Ming Weiting suddenly realized.

His movements were swift. He supported himself and lay down next to Luo Chi, pulled him closer, and covered them both with the jacket.

The jacket was really not big enough. Hiding like this, it was inevitable that their foreheads would touch.

Ming Weiting cradled Luo Chi’s head and neck with one hand and asked softly, “What did you dream about?”

“Auntie,” Luo Chi said in a small voice, “I got a scolding.”

Auntie Ren scolded him for being one-track-minded, for not knowing how to be flexible.

She scolded the great Huo Miao for being trapped by a small intersection for so long.

Luo Chi completed a rather long self-criticism in his dream. Because it hadn’t been long since he woke up from that state of his brain not working, it took him a lot of extra time.

Ming Weiting didn’t press further, just suggested, “Next time, call me to plead for you.”

Luo Chi pressed his lips together and nodded, “Plead, plead.”

Although he got a scolding in this sleep, he slept very well. It seemed he hadn’t slept this well in a long time.

He was hidden in the jacket by Mr. Shadow, indulging himself by forcing out a lifetime of pain to endure it all at once. Now the two of them were hiding inside, whispering secrets. If they went out, they might get caught by Auntie.

He needed to do something particularly cool, cool enough to make Auntie completely happy and relieved.

Luo Chi thought carefully and quietly asked his creditor, “How many paintings can I trade for a ship?”

Ming Weiting didn’t answer, just looked at him.

“Five hundred?” Luo Chi only wanted to trade for a simple, small boat. “Is a thousand enough?”

Ming Weiting shook his head.

Luo Chi hardened his heart, “Is ten thousand enough?”

Ming Weiting still shook his head.

Luo Chi lightly bit his tongue.

…Oh no.

The great Huo Miao was about to do something reckless.

Luo Chi pressed his lips together. He took a deep breath and slowly clenched his fist.

Luo Chi remembered another dream from just now.

In the dream, it was as if he was standing on a pier somewhere.

The pier was still some distance from the ship. It seemed he had to jump. In between was dark water of unknown depth, the night fog flowing quietly.

He had just finished a long journey. The road was a bit difficult. He didn’t know if he had enough strength… but he still wanted to try once.

He wanted to try once.

“…Am I,” Luo Chi asked, “Am I enough?”

Ming Weiting cradled his head and neck, looking into his eyes.

They were close, the jacket blocking most of the moonlight. A particularly clear, gentle smile still flowed in Ming Weiting’s eyes.

Luo Chi lowered his head and let out a long breath.

“Mr. Shadow.”

He kept his head down, not knowing how bright his own eyes were, not knowing how much determination he had just made.

“I want to go home with you,” Luo Chi said. “I want to be your captain.”

…

Perhaps because of the high tension brought on by this sentence, Luo Chi’s heart beat a little fast, his breathing also rapid.

In a fleeting moment of darkness, he suddenly realized what the “pier somewhere” he had seen in his dream was.

The dense fog dispersed, and he stood on that pier.

The dark, cold river water flowed slowly, towards a place where there would be no more disturbances, no more feelings.

He seemed to have stood there for a long time, so long that he almost followed.

Luo Chi turned around. He ran against the river, and where there was no road, he threw himself forward.

Ming Weiting gripped his hand tightly.

He was pulled onto Mr. Shadow’s ship.