The video footage finally froze on the edge of the stage.

Luo Chi was sitting there. He had placed his guitar to the side, his hands propped on the stage floor, his head tilted back quietly.

He was wearing a simple T-shirt. The light was too bright, casting a silhouette around him. His sweat-dampened short hair was a little messy, and due to the camera angle, its edges had a soft halo that seemed almost tangible.

This strong light would make one’s vision turn completely white when looking directly at it. Ming Weiting looked at that white expanse, then averted his gaze, turning to Luo Chi on the sofa, wanting to speak.

“At this point.”

Luo Chi’s eyes curved into a smile before he could, and he suddenly said in a deadpan tone, “The fan should say, ‘I don’t believe it, unless you give me an autograph.'”

This was clearly approaching the realm of a dare. Almost the second Luo Chi finished speaking, Ming Weiting repeated the line verbatim without hesitation.

He didn’t know the appropriate tone, so it still sounded a bit stiff, but the content of his words still made Ming Lu, who was nearby, look over in surprise.

Meeting Ming Weiting’s gaze, Ming Lu coughed lightly, got up, and walked quickly to make tea for them.

In front of the sofa by the fireplace, Ming Weiting then refuted his own words, explaining rigorously, “I don’t disbelieve you.”

Ming Weiting raised his hand and touched Luo Chi’s short hair, which had been warmed by the fireplace.

Luo Chi hadn’t had his hair styled recently, so it was a little longer than before. His bangs hung down, and as he leaned back on the sofa wrapped in a thin blanket, he looked almost younger than he did in the video.

“You’re cool right now,” Ming Weiting said. “You’ve always been cool.”

Luo Chi’s earlobes turned red from the praise, and he even pressed his lips together, attempting to move his right hand, which had been hanging limply by his side.

Ming Weiting noticed and was about to ask, when he suddenly remembered the earlier words. “An autograph?”

Luo Chi nodded.

Ming Weiting immediately stood up. “Wait for me.”

There were actually things on the cruise ship prepared for Luo Chi to sign, but they hadn’t been brought down yet. Ming Weiting went to get a large piece of paper and a pen from Ming Lu, then carefully spread the paper out on the coffee table for him.

Luo Chi supported his right hand with his left and took the pen Ming Weiting handed him.

…

When Ming Lu returned to the sofa with the freshly brewed tea, Luo Chi was still writing the autograph.

Luo Chi seemed to have extraordinary patience for everything he did and never seemed to get frustrated. Supported by Ming Weiting, he leaned over the coffee table and wrote slowly, stroke by stroke. A few times it looked like he was about to lose his grip on the pen, but he always managed to curl his fingers in time.

Fortunately, the two characters for “Huo Miao” weren’t too difficult to write. Luo Chi got more and more into the groove as he wrote. After finishing the last stroke, he still felt it wasn’t enough and added a freebie stick-figure drawing of a flame next to it.

Luo Chi looked at the paper, extremely satisfied from every angle, and solemnly handed it to his lucky fan. “Keep it safe.”

“I’ll keep it safe.” Ming Weiting nodded. “I’ll hang it in my office and look at it ten times a day.”

It hadn’t quite reached that level. Luo Chi couldn’t help but laugh out loud. He had been leaning over the coffee table for too long and felt a bit dizzy when he sat up. His consciousness went blank for a moment, and when he slowly came to, he found that he was already in Ming Weiting’s arms.

Luo Chi was carried back to the sofa. The moment he opened his eyes, he saw Mr. Shadow, and his mood improved even more. “Next round?”

Ming Weiting touched his forehead and didn’t say much, just placed a few more soft pillows by his side. “Okay.”

The conch shell was still lying on the tray. Ming Weiting held his fingers, pressed them against the shell, and gave it a gentle push. The conch began to spin in the tray.

Luo Chi had no strength in his hand at all. The force he used was just right. The conch spun a few times in the tray and slowly stopped, its tip pointing in his direction.

“My turn,” Ming Weiting asked him. “Is Huo Miao tired?”

Luo Chi hadn’t gotten a chance to ask a question and was still regretting that the conch had spun a little too far. Hearing the question, he looked up, snapping out of his thoughts.

Perhaps because he was unfamiliar with this kind of game, the question Ming Weiting asked was very simple. So simple that in a game like this, it felt like a wasted opportunity.

Luo Chi took a light breath. Just as he was about to answer, the soft warmth of fingertips suddenly covered his brow.

Ming Weiting bent down and reminded him in a warm voice, “Truth.”

Luo Chi’s “not tired” stopped in his mouth.

He was reluctant, but he was constrained by the rules of the game. After a long pause, he finally spoke in a small voice, “Tired.”

He didn’t know that his head and neck were weak and that he was only sitting up straight because Ming Weiting was supporting him. He just felt dejected for having admitted it, and he lowered his eyelashes, looking at the thin blanket covering his legs.

Ming Weiting asked softly, “Why don’t you sleep?”

This time, he waited for a long time without getting an answer. Ming Weiting looked up just in time to see the firm line of Luo Chi’s lips.

Only one question per turn. Luo Chi righteously refused to answer. He looked at him with smiling eyes, a hint of triumphant sparkle in them, and the earlier dejection was instantly washed away.

Ming Weiting was a bit helpless. He moved his fingers and pressed his forehead. “Five years old.”

The big Huo Miao never minded admitting he was childish. Encouraged by scoring a point back, he proactively reached out and spun the conch shell.

Luo Chi’s strength was truly insufficient. The tip of the conch just moved a short distance before stopping in front of Ming Lu.

Ming Lu was a bit surprised and looked at the two of them.

He had wanted to ask Luo Chi if he liked the villa and if there was anything he wanted to change. This villa was Luo Chi’s, after all, and the facilities and arrangements should be based on his preferences to make his stay as comfortable as possible.

Ming Lu thought for a moment, and just as he was about to speak, he met Ming Weiting’s gaze and finally caught up with the previous conversation.

Ming Lu had no choice but to cough. “…Why don’t you sleep?”

Luo Chi was incredulous, his eyes wide with accusation as he looked at him.

This time, even Ming Lu couldn’t hold back a smile. He picked up his teacup, pretending to drink, and shifted back a little.

Logically, this question wasn’t difficult either. Ming Weiting had actually noticed long ago that Luo Chi was extremely sleepy tonight but refused to close his eyes. He was willing to be pulled into the game by Luo Chi, but he couldn’t help but be concerned about Luo Chi’s physical condition.

Ming Weiting remained squatting in front of the sofa, looking up at Luo Chi, waiting for his answer.

This time, Luo Chi took even longer to think about his answer.

Luo Chi leaned back on the sofa, his body almost sinking into the pile of soft pillows. His head and neck rested against Ming Weiting’s hand, his gaze falling on a corner of the villa that was not illuminated by the lights.

Ming Weiting slowly furrowed his brow.

He sensed a change in Luo Chi’s state. He held Luo Chi’s hand and softened his voice. “I won’t ask anymore.”

“Let’s change the question,” Ming Weiting said. “Do you want to go to the beach tomorrow?”

Luo Chi was indeed drawn in by this question. His eyelashes blinked slowly, and his eyes lit up. “Can I?”

Of course, he could. Ming Weiting had originally planned to take him, but the beach needed to be tidied up and rearranged, which was why it had been delayed until now. “There are beach chairs and iced drinks.”

Luo Chi immediately grew expectant. He subconsciously invited Mr. Shadow, “Come with us, I’ll drive—”

The words slipped out without thinking. Only then did his chest belatedly tighten. It was as if he had suddenly missed a step, his entire person falling without warning, while his heart remained behind.

Luo Chi sat on the sofa in front of the fireplace with his eyes open, watching the flickering flames inside.

He saw Mr. Shadow reach out and hug him, then spin the conch shell again, making its tip point towards him, giving him the chance to ask a question.

…

Luo Chi’s chest rose and fell gently.

He opened his mouth to speak but couldn’t find his voice for a moment. He just felt very cold.

How could it be so cold? The villa was clearly warm; this was his favorite villa.

Of course, Luo Chi had long noticed that the villa had changed. He was too familiar with this place; he would immediately notice even the slightest difference. Now that so many things were different, it was impossible not to find it strange.

Because of this subtle, inexplicable strangeness, a long-forgotten, faint unease quietly grew.

“…Tomorrow,” Luo Chi said softly.

Ming Weiting’s arm around him didn’t move, letting him rest securely among the sofa and soft pillows.

Luo Chi slowly moved his fingers and grasped Mr. Shadow’s arm.

His speech was slow. He tried hard to lift his eyes and answer the earlier “truth” question. “I don’t want to… go to the beach.”

After saying this, Luo Chi felt it wasn’t accurate. His throat moved, wanting to correct himself, but the more anxious he became, the harder it was to articulate his thoughts.

“You don’t want to go to the beach alone,” Ming Weiting held his hand. “You want to go with Auntie.”

Ming Weiting had his back to the fireplace. The backlight made his expression hard to see, and his shadow fell on Luo Chi’s legs.

He followed Luo Chi in calling her Auntie, his tone very gentle. Combined with the naturally deep and cool quality of his voice, it made the sentence sound particularly warm and solemn.

“And you also want to invite Mr. Shadow, to take Mr. Shadow to have fun too,” Ming Weiting asked softly. “Is that right?”

Luo Chi’s lips were pressed so tightly they turned white. He nodded vigorously.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go to the beach.

He wanted to go to the beach with Mr. Shadow and Auntie Ren.

He had brought his lucky fan home, and it wasn’t until dark that he remembered he had forgotten to invite him in.

When he finally remembered, he hadn’t even made it through the door before he accidentally fell asleep again.

On the way back to the villa, while being carried, Luo Chi had a very short dream.

He dreamed that he brought Mr. Shadow back and introduced him to Auntie Ren.

…

In the dream, Auntie Ren was a little wary of Mr. Shadow.

Of course, you couldn’t blame Auntie Ren for this at all. This matter traced back to a long time ago, probably when Luo Chi was twelve or thirteen… not long after that bonfire party.

Not long after that, a very strange person had suddenly knocked on their door, wanting to invite the twelve-year-old Luo Chi to wander the world playing his guitar from then on.

Auntie Ren was, of course, furious and unceremoniously threw the person out. From then on, she became very vigilant and wary of anyone intending to lure her little Huo Miao away.

But it wasn’t ten years ago anymore.

Luo Chi was long an adult. It wouldn’t matter even if he really wanted to wander the world, as long as he came back often.

Auntie Ren’s health hadn’t been good in recent years. She had to recuperate and recover in a very stable place and couldn’t run around and have fun with him everywhere anymore. But he could travel around and bring back all the scenery he saw for Auntie Ren.

He could also bring back the person he liked.

In the dream, Luo Chi cooked a huge table of food, giving the tenderest vegetable hearts and peeled shrimp to Auntie Ren, but he quickly snatched away the wine Auntie Ren had sneakily taken out.

Luo Chi didn’t know why he was so nervous. He sat at the table, only daring to bury his head and eat his rice and the shredded potatoes in front of him, secretly glancing at Auntie Ren and then at Mr. Shadow, his ears hot and red.

He was so nervous, it seemed he didn’t clearly hear what Auntie Ren and Mr. Shadow were talking about. He just kept his head down and ate the shredded potatoes with his rice.

He felt like he hadn’t eaten a big meal in a long time. He wanted to get better quickly. He ate and chewed with effort, and Auntie Ren poked his cheek, calling him a little squirrel.

The little squirrel swallowed his food, hugged the conch shell with his ears burning red, and eagerly found a big piece of paper to write his own name, then Mr. Shadow’s name, and even drew a small flame in the middle.

He held this paper up behind Mr. Shadow, holding it very high, afraid Auntie Ren wouldn’t see it.

…

Up to this point, the dream was unbelievably logical.

Luo Chi let Auntie Ren and Mr. Shadow sit on the sofa and chat while he went to clear the dishes, finding a chance to take the bottle of wine back and hide it.

He also wanted to check if there was any wine in Auntie Ren’s safe—the doctor said Auntie Ren absolutely could not drink, but she always craved it and would sometimes secretly drink when he wasn’t looking.

Luo Chi had long developed this habit. He absentmindedly entered the safe’s password but found it was wrong.

He tried various combinations of Auntie Ren’s birthday over and over, then tried his own birthday, trying from dawn till dusk without being able to open it.

He wanted to go ask Auntie Ren, but he fell as soon as he stood up.

The commotion was probably too loud. Auntie Ren knocked on the door, asking him what happened, her voice frantic.

He was curled up on the floor, his head hurting so much he had no strength to stand up, his whole body trembling uncontrollably.

The dizziness and tinnitus had actually been there for a long time. He could hardly pinpoint when it first appeared… it seemed he had indeed had headaches a few times, but these weren’t things that didn’t happen normally.

When he was first brought back and sent to the hospital for an examination, the doctor had already said that the old injury would have after-effects.

He suddenly realized he couldn’t stand up on his right leg at all, and his hand had no strength. More troublesome than this was that his head hurt so much. The pain was so bad his consciousness was starting to blur, and the strength was drained from his body. All he could do was try his best to bite back his groans and swallow them.

He closed his eyes, praying over and over in his heart for it to pass quickly, to quickly regain his strength and stand up, and then he would immediately go apologize to Auntie Ren and explain clearly that he had just accidentally fallen.

…Later, the pain did indeed pass.

He opened his eyes, only to find that he was still in the living room, warming himself by the fire on the sofa with Mr. Shadow.

Because it was so close to the sea, the temperature was very low even on a summer night, and the wind was cool, so the warmth from the fireplace became very comfortable.

Feeling warm and comfortable, he gradually relaxed from that dream and started playing Truth or Dare with Mr. Shadow to pass the time.

As he played, he fought to stay awake, secretly glancing at the doorway, wondering when Auntie Ren would be back.

…

Ming Weiting held Luo Chi, gently stroking his hair.

He kept talking to Luo Chi in a soft voice until Luo Chi’s breathing became steady, then he held Luo Chi and laid him down on the sofa.

Mr. Shadow stood guard by the sofa, tucked the thin blanket around Luo Chi, and promised to wake him up as soon as Auntie Ren came back.

Luo Chi slowly relaxed with the promise and closed his eyes.

Ming Weiting still held Luo Chi’s hand.

He touched Luo Chi’s closed eyelashes, arranged the thin blanket, and looked up to meet Ming Lu’s gaze.

…Two days ago, Ming Lu had made a trip to the set of the movie “Huo Miao.”

After learning Ming Lu’s identity and purpose, Gong Hanrou personally came with Zhao Lan, invited him into the reception room, and talked with him for a long time.

After connecting the identities of “Huo Miao” and the child Ren Shuangmei had spoken of, Gong Hanrou finally put many things together.

In their letters and phone calls, Ren Shuangmei often couldn’t help but talk to her about an overly sensible child, either boastfully or worriedly.

Gong Hanrou had originally always mistaken this child Ren Shuangmei spoke of to be Ren Chenbai.

“She mentioned him so many times… I just never thought about it carefully before.”

Gong Hanrou pressed her temples, a bitter, wry smile on her face. “If she hadn’t wanted to stop me from connecting it to that story, she probably would have mentioned him in every letter.”

These past few days, Gong Hanrou had been organizing the content of their conversations.

She and Ren Shuangmei had become pen pals because they felt a connection. They didn’t deliberately meet, and even phone calls were only occasional. Most of the time, they wrote letters.

In the letters from Ren Shuangmei, she couldn’t help but mention a child.

So smart and capable, learned everything as soon as he was taught, and everyone liked him. His only flaw was being too sensible.

Too sensible. If he got into a fight outside, got hurt or wronged, or was bullied, he never knew to say anything when he came home.

But he always managed to get his revenge back on his own. This point was like her, especially worthy of encouragement, and should be carried forward.

But he wouldn’t tell her anything. His legs would hurt so much at night that he couldn’t sleep for nights on end, and it was only on the third day when she noticed the light in his room was on that she caught him.

He wouldn’t say anything, no matter how much it hurt or how uncomfortable he was, he wouldn’t tell her, for fear of making her worry.

…

After her diagnosis was confirmed, Ren Shuangmei had actually talked with Gong Hanrou a few times.

At that time, it was no longer convenient for Ren Shuangmei to write letters, so they talked on the phone. Ren Shuangmei actually didn’t care at all how long she had to live, she just had some regrets about not having had enough fun in her life, and she couldn’t let go of her family.

Couldn’t let go of her family, couldn’t let go of some things at the company, but the most important thing was that she couldn’t let go of that child.

“He takes good care of himself just so I won’t worry.”

Ren Shuangmei sighed with a headache over the phone. “What am I going to do when I can’t worry about him anymore?”

Ren Shuangmei asked if she should just make a bucket list, listing mountain climbing, diving, surfing, paragliding, bungee jumping, and skydiving, and have that child do them all for her.

…

This idea was rejected by her before it even took shape. Ren Shuangmei felt that the child would definitely love diving, surfing, and paragliding in the future. She didn’t want him to feel sad thinking of her while doing those things.

Ren Shuangmei then prepared to record some affectionate words for the child, but she really wasn’t that type. After trying to work herself up for a long time, she ended up making herself blush and became too embarrassed to even say the words she could normally say so openly.

In the end, Ren Shuangmei still decided to use the surfboard the child gave her to have someone make a guitar.

That surfboard was super cool, the wood was warm, smooth, and sturdy. She loved it so much, she originally wanted to take it with her.

No, she had to give it to that child who made her worry no matter what she thought.

That way, whenever the child played the guitar, she would hear it.

…

Ming Lu was silent for a moment, then looked at the weary-faced director before him. “Yesterday, you went to the hospital.”

“I made a mistake.” Gong Hanrou pressed her temples hard. “I thought that child was from the Ren family…”

She had kept that guitar for Ren Shuangmei, promising to give it to the child when he was at his saddest.

She went to Ren Shuangmei’s funeral and heard from the Ren family that Ren Shuangmei’s son had been hospitalized from the shock and still hadn’t woken up…

“I went to the hospital.” Gong Hanrou collected her thoughts and said in a low voice, “I went to see that person.”

She was unwilling to use Ren Chenbai’s name again and just simply described the situation at the time.

She was taken to a special care ward.

The patients there all had high levels of aggression and violent behavior, posing a serious risk to the safety of others. They were basically sent for compulsory medical treatment, controlled daily by sedatives and restraints.

Gong Hanrou had made a documentary on a related topic and knew that most of these people had little sanity left, just submerged daily in a boundless, muddled rage.

So, when she saw one of the few awake patients, she was even a little surprised.

…In fact, if Xun Zhen hadn’t pointed him out, and if the identity information hadn’t matched, Gong Hanrou wouldn’t even have been sure it was the former heir of the Ren family.

The man was so thin he was unrecognizable, his face bloodless, with dark circles under his hollow eyes, but he was indeed awake. He recognized Gong Hanrou at a glance and practically stumbled over, clutching the bars tightly.

“Let them drive me crazy, I’m begging you, any kind of crazy is fine, dreaming is fine too. Aren’t they good at hypnosis? Let them hypnotize me.”

That person didn’t notice Xun Zhen at his side. He stared fixedly at Gong Hanrou, his eyes slightly bulging, his voice pressed exceptionally low. “Please, Auntie Gong, letting me die is also fine, put me in a bag and throw me into the sea, just let them leave me alone…”

Gong Hanrou ignored his ramblings and just asked him where the guitar was.

“His mind is clear, but his consciousness is already in chaos… He’s created a story for himself, where Shuangmei is living with that child from the Luo family, and those two come to torment him every day.”

Gong Hanrou said in a low voice, “I was heartbroken to hear it.”

Neither Ren Shuangmei nor Luo Chi was like that lady from the Luo family who was also being treated in this ward. Even if they were utterly disappointed and regretful about someone, they would never do such a thing.

“Sometimes he remembers that both of them are no longer alive, sometimes he doesn’t. When I asked him for the guitar, he thought I was asking for it on behalf of Luo Chi.”

Gong Hanrou said, “Not long after… he suddenly started screaming hysterically that he did nothing wrong.”

“He said he was right to hide the guitar and not give it to Luo Chi.”

Gong Hanrou said in a low voice, “He said Luo Chi couldn’t handle the blow, that he would pass out holding the guitar, that Luo Chi’s health is very poor, and this kind of shock would worsen Luo Chi’s condition…”

She was both heartbroken and disgusted, and really didn’t know what to say, just standing silently outside the window.

That person’s expression quickly changed again. He began to apologize in a panic to some point in the air, endlessly apologizing, begging “brother” to look back at him just once.

When leaving the hospital, Xun Zhen told Gong Hanrou that not everyone can go crazy.

Unlike the people from the Luo family, this individual’s condition was very typical. It was a state of extreme paranoia and emotional deficiency to begin with, making it very difficult to go crazy.

This kind of completely lucid despair, trapped in the gap between illusion and reality, would probably accompany the once-promising heir of the Ren family for the rest of his life.

…

“There’s no point in talking about this anymore… I think, there’s probably no need to see him in the future.”

Gong Hanrou gave a bitter smile. “According to him, the guitar should be in the Ren family’s seaside villa.”

“He was disgusted just looking at it, so he had someone throw it in the storeroom and never touched it once… This is probably the only piece of good news I can give you.”

“Take it away, let it go where it’s supposed to be.”

Gong Hanrou pressed her forehead hard.

She was silent for a long time, then said softly, “It was made from the wood of a surfboard, so free. It would probably love the sea.”