Luo Chi made no sound.

He even seemed startled by the liquid that suddenly gushed from his own body. Warm droplets fell on his stiffly curled fingers, and his whole hand trembled.

Ming Weiting held that hand, sat in front of him, and wiped his tears with his sleeve.

“Xiao Huo Miao,” Ming Weiting looked into his eyes. “I’m back. I will always come back.”

Ming Weiting slowly stroked his hair, carefully wiping away the tears. “I will always come back in the future. Can you let me watch you play the guitar? I also want to buy your paintings.”

“I want to buy many of your paintings. I want to watch you paint,” Ming Weiting said. “I’ll pay any price.”

There was not a trace of color on Luo Chi’s face. His cheeks were covered in wet tears, and they felt paler and colder to the touch than when he had first woken up.

He couldn’t understand what this liquid was. As soon as it was wiped away, it would gush out even more fiercely than before. When it rolled down, it burned like magma, but soon after, it became as cold as an endless sea of ice.

Luo Chi leaned against Ming Weiting’s chest. His body was soft and cold, his chest heaving, his body trembling uncontrollably.

Ming Weiting used all his strength to be gentle. He found that Luo Chi’s condition was still not good, and his breathing was becoming more and more rapid and intermittent. He frowned and looked up. “Uncle Lu.”

Ming Lu nodded and hurried to call a doctor.

Ming Weiting took the oxygen mask from the head of the bed, adjusted the flow rate, and sat on the side of the bed.

He had been taking care of Luo Chi these past few days, so he was particularly skilled at it. He held Luo Chi against his chest with one arm and supported the mask with the other, allowing Luo Chi to breathe in the supplementary oxygen.

Luo Chi choked and coughed under the oxygen mask.

Too much liquid was gushing from his eyes, too quickly. No matter how he tried to find a point of focus, his vision was still just a large patch of hazy, blurry colors.

The gears were stuck in the nerves of his brain, their edges spreading with large patches of red rust, chaotic and broken images all twisted together. They were just gears that had long since rusted solid. He didn’t know where he was.

Luo Chi refused to faint. He was not resigned.

He felt someone holding his hand, someone helping him lie down, someone sticking cold electrode pads on his body.

He didn’t want to be in the hospital. He didn’t want to be sick. He had important things to do.

Luo Chi struggled unconsciously. He furrowed his brows, widening his eyes to find the silhouette of the shadow.

There was only a pale red fog before his eyes.

He closed his eyes, wanting to find the touch that his body was familiar with and had adapted to, but there were too many hands holding him down, making it impossible to distinguish.

…There was another way.

There was another way. He remembered. He could have done it.

A ringing in his ears pierced through his mind without warning, like the large static on a TV screen before it completely breaks, a distorted and broken speaker with the sound of electric currents… occasionally, headless and tailless single words and phrases would jump out, but they couldn’t form a meaning. He only remembered that it seemed to be because of that sentence that he could no longer hear the sounds from outside.

But there couldn’t be only this one sentence in the world.

There couldn’t be only this one sentence. He must have missed many important sounds because of this.

How could he hear again? Did he have to turn those rusted gears again?

He pushed at those rusted-solid gears, and a dull pain instantly engulfed his entire consciousness. This wasn’t a problem. He was already used to this kind of pain. He must have chosen the wrong gear. There must be another…

A sharp needle pierced his skin, and a cold medicinal liquid flowed into his blood vessels, bringing an involuntary, extreme fatigue from the depths of his body.

He knew it was a sedative.

He was very familiar with this feeling. Ren Chenbai had had people inject him with this thing more than once.

What was Ren Chenbai?

He didn’t know. It wasn’t important.

He had finally done what he wanted to do. The most inconspicuous gear in the corner was suddenly pushed, moving forward with a “click” by a small increment.

A window, extremely inconspicuous, was opened in a world of silence.

That ear’s hearing was already weaker than a normal person’s. No matter what he listened to, it was as if it were through a distant, dense fog, but at least some sound had come in.

He seemed to really hear a sound coming in. He heard someone calling him “Xiao Huo Miao.”

Luo Chi lay flat on the bed, following the sound, painstakingly moving his head and neck.

His body began to relax under the effect of the sedative, and drowsiness washed over him like a tide, so he guessed this process must have taken a long time.

But it was okay. That voice had never stopped, so he always had enough reference to identify the direction.

Luo Chi felt he probably hadn’t made a mistake. He had found the direction of the voice and tried to outline the silhouette of Mr. Shadow in that red fog.

One last time, even if it was just a self-deceiving illusion, let him say that sentence.

“Stay, a little longer,” Luo Chi said slowly. “Five minutes.”

Luo Chi’s voice was very soft. He kept his eyes open, looking at the Mr. Shadow he had drawn. “Okay?”

…

Ming Weiting settled the sleeping Luo Chi.

He looked at all the monitoring data from the instruments, asked about everything he didn’t fully understand, and then returned to the bedside to stay with Luo Chi.

Luo Chi’s right hand was loosely fixed to the side of the bed with a bandage, receiving an IV drip, and wearing an oxygen mask for assisted breathing. His face seemed a little better than the state of having no trace of blood color just now.

“It was caused by high intracranial pressure… Mr. Luo should have been having a headache since he woke up, he just couldn’t say it.”

The doctor said in a low voice, “Dehydration medicine has been used. It’s okay now.”

The doctor hesitated for a moment, then added, “It’s best to stay in the hospital for observation today.”

High intracranial pressure was the most common complication, and it probably wasn’t the first time Luo Chi had experienced it. It was just that his body was too weak, and his blood pressure had always been on the low side, so there had never been any very obvious signs.

For it to suddenly flare up so severely today, it should be due to a drastic fluctuation in the patient’s own emotions. Decompression and dehydration medicine had been administered in time. As long as he could maintain a stable mood, there would be no danger.

Ming Weiting sat by the bed. He carefully adjusted the mask for Luo Chi and said his thanks.

The doctor quickly waved his hand, then turned to find Ming Lu, briefly explained Luo Chi’s current physical condition, and gave some instructions on how to care for the patient.

Ming Lu noted down what he said, saw the doctor out, and returned to the bedside. “Sir.”

Ming Weiting was brushing away the hair on Luo Chi’s forehead, which was soaked with cold sweat. Hearing the words, he withdrew his hand and raised his gaze.

“I didn’t notice at all.” Ming Lu remembered Ming Weiting’s previous worries and felt a little guilty. “The situation at that time seemed…”

“It seemed very normal,” Ming Weiting shook his head. “I didn’t notice either.”

Once Luo Chi remembered how to smile, he would no longer expose his discomfort so easily. This was his mistake. He had taught him wrong, so he would be responsible from now on and would check Luo Chi’s condition more carefully.

Ming Weiting touched Luo Chi’s forehead with the back of his hand. He gently stroked the sweat-soaked short hair, brushing it behind Luo Chi’s ear.

There was a very hideous scar behind Luo Chi’s left ear.

The doctor had said that the hearing affected by Luo Chi’s illness was on the right side. If it were only due to the illness, a very weak part of the hearing in the left ear should still be preserved.

The hearing problem on this side was psychogenic. The function of the organ was still there. But to restore it would probably be much more difficult to solve than a disease that could be cured with sufficiently exquisite surgical skills.

…

The result of the consultation was that even if his hearing returned to normal after the surgery, it would probably take the patient several years to slowly walk out of it and hear the sounds of the outside world again.

“Uncle Lu,” Ming Weiting said, “He seems to be able to hear a little bit of sound now.”

Ming Lu was slightly taken aback. “When?”

“During the resuscitation. I was talking to him the whole time. He suddenly looked over at me. I don’t think he could see clearly at that time.”

Ming Weiting said in a low voice, “He asked me to stay for another five minutes.”

Ming Weiting wasn’t sure how many “okays” he had said, how many “more than five minutes.” He also didn’t know if Luo Chi had heard and believed these answers.

But when he gave his answers, he had indeed seen, in the depths of those eyes, a faint shadow of a smile slowly emerge.

Luo Chi held that small, satisfied smile and sank into a new dream.

…This made him unable to understand why he should let those people wake up with a clear conscience.

“Yes,” Ming Lu instantly understood his meaning. “Sir, I’ll go take care of it.”

Ming Weiting’s eyes were downcast. Luo Chi’s lips were pale and dry. He followed the doctor’s instructions, dipped a cotton swab in water, and moistened them bit by bit.

After he had done this, he raised his hand and gently touched the corner of Luo Chi’s lips. Confirming that they had become moist and soft, he put the cotton swab and water aside.

Ming Lu left quietly, gently closing the door, and hurried to the pier.

…

Luo Chi had a very long dream.

In the dream, he had no idea who he was, nor did he know what he was supposed to do.

But these things didn’t seem very important either.

He was just walking slowly on a road. Because he had been walking for too long, a part of his body seemed to have disappeared.

Actually, it would be fine to just disappear like this, but he always felt that he had forgotten something.

He looked at the needle marks on his arm.

He really disliked sedatives. It was a feeling that made him resist to the point of almost instinctive nausea. His strength drained away bit by bit. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t control his body, only being forced to sink into a boundless chaos.

He was tired of walking, so he sat down. From a detached perspective, he watched a person being carried out of a car by another person with a blurry face.

The person being carried out had been briefly conscious, struggling with all his might to protect his car, but that strength was quickly eaten away by the cold medicinal liquid. The person holding him looked very satisfied and wanted to touch his head, but that body suddenly convulsed from a severe headache, and he vomited all over that person.

He casually filled the gaps of the gears with these images, letting the slowly turning gears grind them into powder, to be blown away by the wind.

He sat by the roadside, watching a six or seven-year-old boy rush into a small alley, panting.

He subconsciously reached out to stop him, but the boy’s shadow passed through his hand. He rushed over and hugged his wailing younger sister.

The boy tried to drag his sister and run, but found he couldn’t. He squatted down again, wanting to carry his sister on his back. At this moment, several long, dark figures, stretched by the streetlights, slowly walked out from the corner.

The boy hid his phone and his sister behind his back, constantly making calls. Until someone came over and held him down, hastily gave him a shot of sedative, carried him up, and casually threw him into a car, then went to grab the little girl.

The phone fell into the grass, its screen lighting up for a while before going dark.

…

He didn’t know what all this was. Perhaps he would be able to figure it out when his mind was clearer, but he was already too tired to think, just wanting to sleep.

So he decided to find himself a better bedtime story.

He wanted to find Auntie Ren, but he didn’t dare to. He didn’t remember why he didn’t dare. It seemed to be because the car was gone, it seemed to be because he had broken his promise, or had failed to protect himself again.

Something had happened to him that would definitely sadden Auntie Ren.

So he couldn’t go to see Auntie Ren. Either he got better, or he would never go. He could stay submerged in the icy water forever.

So he turned back and went to find Mr. Shadow.

He found that his courage was growing, and his imagination was becoming more and more unrestrained. He had even made up a complete story for himself, that Mr. Shadow had come back.

He was on the bed in the hotel. The frequent headaches, although he had mostly gotten used to them, were still not so easy to endure each time they occurred. He lay in his own cold sweat, counting his heartbeats, and then was surprised to see the suddenly returned Mr. Shadow.

He was suddenly fine.

His head didn’t hurt at all, there was no discomfort anywhere in his body. He could run ten kilometers with his guitar on his back.

He jumped up energetically. He was so happy, he couldn’t help but feel smug, the curve of his lips always unable to be hidden. He kept asking the other if his script was super valuable.

Mr. Shadow smiled and nodded, stroked his hair, and then took out a boat ticket and handed it to him.

They boarded the ship together. The cruise ship was indeed as fun as he had imagined. They met many interesting people on the ship. He drew their portraits, attended their parties. He and Mr. Shadow enjoyed the sunrise together. The sun in the clouds looked like a particularly delicious salted duck egg yolk.

When the fireworks went off at night, the sea was also filled with brilliant light. He leaned excitedly over the side of the ship, watching. He wanted to touch those lights to see if they were hot, so he chased the light and jumped down.

He jumped down and found that the light was warm, and the seawater gently embraced him.

He kept sinking downwards. The warm darkness enveloped him. He comfortably stretched his body, letting himself melt into the water bit by bit. He had a lot of fun. Thank you, Mr. Shadow, for the five minutes. He wanted to stay here. He wasn’t going back.

A certain place in his chest suddenly twitched violently, and tears all gushed out. He didn’t know what else he had to be sad about. He looked at the absolute darkness and silence around him.

This place was very suitable for him. It was fine for him to stay here.

He thought back to the people he had met, the roads he had walked. He wanted to find out why he was still sad, wanted to know what was not good enough about this ending.

There was fog everywhere, a sky-covering fog.

He had been in this fog for a long time and had always felt relaxed.

He felt very relaxed. This kind of relaxation was something he had never had before. The cold, salty water stretched endlessly, and his extreme fatigue finally had a place to land.

He thought this place wasn’t fun, he shouldn’t come here again in the future. But it also seemed that a certain part of him was still struggling in the extreme cold, unwilling to give up.

He had had such a good dream. He had dreamed of living freely, dreamed of walking in the gentle morning breeze, dreamed of the countless cold stars as he jumped into the sea at midnight. He watched the sea from the small house sealed by time. He wanted to fulfill his promise, wanted to find that shadow on the sea.

He had met Auntie Ren, had met Mr. Shadow. He had met such good people.

His head ached so much his vision was filled with blood. This kind of pain had lasted for quite a long time. Each time, it would swallow his memories and logic, leaving him with large blank spaces. He had met such good people.

At what point does a person look back on their life?

Luo Chi looked at the no-longer-chaotic images. Countless memories seemed to shatter into countless sharp ice shards. They pierced his skin and drilled into his ears.

He heard countless voices counting his sins, sins he didn’t even know he had. He hadn’t done these things, so he wouldn’t admit to them. He loudly refuted them one by one, until only cold, salty seawater overflowed from his throat.

He hadn’t lost his sister. He hadn’t caused Auntie Ren’s death.

He hadn’t been an arrogant and domineering second-generation rich kid. He had reasons for fighting. He hadn’t used his power to bully people, hadn’t done anything dishonorable. His songs were just good. He had gotten to where he was by his own ability.

Luo Chi sank in the icy sea. He guessed he had probably already drowned in the sea, but it didn’t matter. He could argue with these voices until he won them all over.

His body was getting heavier and heavier. The familiar pains seemed to have all returned, making even speaking difficult… This affected his performance a little.

But it didn’t matter. He could use a little more strength.

“I didn’t,” Luo Chi coughed out a series of words as soon as he spoke, but he still gritted his teeth and finished the rest. “I didn’t do anything bad.”

Then he heard a voice in his ear.

He confirmed that he could hear a little bit of sound again, very small, very blurry, as if through seawater, but it was also very clear.

That ear had lost its hearing amidst the malicious accusations and curses. He had actually, in a moment of boredom, wondered what he would want to hear first if he could hear again.

He wouldn’t be awake for long. When he fainted and woke up again, it would probably be another blank slate… But he still held onto this bit of time, trying hard to distinguish that voice, to distinguish what the other person was saying.

He painstakingly lifted his eyelids a little. In the pale red, blurry field of vision, he saw Mr. Shadow.

Mr. Shadow held his hand and answered him, “Mm.”

“The one hundred and thirty-fifth ‘mm’,” Mr. Shadow said. “Xiao Huo Miao, you still owe me one hundred and thirty-four paintings.”