Some people say they’ll wait until after surgery to change their name, but in private, they’ve already started secretly practicing their signature.

The rain had passed completely, and the weather was excellent for the next several days.

When it wasn’t so hot in the afternoon, Ming Weiting would carry Luo Chi to the beach to sunbathe. Every time he came back after washing his paintbrushes, he would see a particularly neat “Ming Chi” written on the sand under the easel.

Words on the sand don’t last. Before they could be clearly seen, they were hastily filled in by other sand. Mr. Shadow also cooperated by pretending not to have seen anything, squatting down to carefully place the paintbrushes one by one next to the easel.

Luo Chi’s ears were still hot. He carefully buried the evidence with sand, and after confirming it was completely hidden, he finally breathed a sigh of relief.

He reached out, touched the clean paintbrushes, and was about to subconsciously say thanks, but he swallowed the words back. “Mr. Shadow.”

Only then did Ming Weiting shift his gaze back, smiling as he mimicked him, “Mr. Little Flame.”

Luo Chi clearly liked being called that. His whole body sat up a little straighter with renewed spirit. His right hand, which had been behind his back, slowly moved out, signaling for him to extend his hand.

Ming Weiting extended his hand, and a sea snail, only the size of a finger joint, was placed in his palm.

It wasn’t just a shell. The soft flesh hidden inside had a pearl-like luster and was still contracting sensitively, bubbling quickly when touched.

“You can keep it,” Luo Chi said. “It can grow.”

Ming Weiting nodded, “Okay.”

Luo Chi had prepared what he wanted to say, but before he could even formally begin, he couldn’t help his curiosity, “Okay what?”

“I’ll take it back and help Little Flame raise it,” Ming Weiting said. “When he has fully recovered from his surgery, I’ll invite him to go out to sea together. To see the snail once, he’ll have to trade a song. When the little snail has grown up, I’ll give it back to him.”

Luo Chi had only wanted to leave a memento before the surgery and hadn’t thought so far ahead at all. His eyes widened, “It takes a long time to grow.”

Ming Weiting nodded, “Then we’ll go out to sea together for a long time.”

He had been painting with Luo Chi for a few days and was already very skilled at assisting. He found a few tubes of paint and refilled the colors on the palette that were running low. “Where do you want to go for the first stop?”

Luo Chi’s mouth fell open in a daze for a long moment, then he lowered his gaze and laughed. “The Caribbean Sea.”

“Okay,” Ming Weiting nodded again, lowering his head to speak to the little sea snail. “We’re going to the Caribbean Sea.”

…Mr. Shadow must have gotten his hands on an incredibly potent groupie manual.

Luo Chi felt warmly ashamed of his own inferiority. He grabbed a paintbrush, dipped it into the palette, and continued to focus on his painting.

In the art of painting, talent and a sense of color were certainly not enough; basic skills were equally important.

Luo Chi had specifically studied for a period of time. Although he gradually got busier with company matters later on, he had always used it as a way to relax, and his skills hadn’t been abandoned. It was just that he became increasingly dissatisfied with what he painted, so he stopped showing his work to others.

Luo Chi’s left hand hadn’t practiced writing, but it could hold a paintbrush. For the past few days, he had been painting with such focus that he forgot to eat or sleep, even bringing the easel out when he came to sunbathe.

The painting progressed quickly, and the canvas was already filled with color, but unfortunately, no one but himself could understand it. Ming Lu had spent half the night studying it with Mr. Ming, but they could still only make out some overlapping blocks of color.

Since no one could understand it anyway, Luo Chi didn’t mind Mr. Shadow watching. He generously displayed the canvas, “Is it pretty?”

Ming Weiting had just asked Uncle Lu to put the little sea snail in seawater to raise it. He was standing behind Luo Chi, watching him paint on the canvas. Hearing Luo Chi’s question, he walked closer.

He bent his shoulders, one hand resting on Luo Chi’s back, and looked at the painting with him. “It’s pretty.”

And this was certainly not a fan trying to make his idol happy.

Even without being able to guess the content of the painting for now, it didn’t affect the direct visual impact of the colors.

Colors themselves don’t contain any emotion. The emotions they evoke come from humanity’s innate understanding of them—which ones are passionate, which are painful, which are more likely to evoke silence and sorrow.

The interplay of colors can create the illusion of movement in a picture. Even the most rational person can be suddenly touched at a certain moment, coming face to face with a world they don’t understand at all.

The main colors on the canvas in front of Luo Chi were not intense. Ming Lu had had people collect his paintings. At some point, Luo Chi could no longer use those passionate colors well. His paintings became quiet, as if seen through a layer of mist.

But those paintings were actually very well-received. The founder far abroad didn’t think the artist’s standard had declined because of it. He was still waiting for new works, and the people around him, respecting Luo Zhi’s wishes in his inheritance arrangements, did not tell him the truth.

The painting before them was not passionate, nor was it lively at all.

The colors overlapped and merged with an unusually soft quietness, like the calm surface of the water under a clear sky after the most violent sea storm.

Ming Weiting turned his gaze to look at Luo Chi, who was focused on mixing colors.

When Luo Chi did this, he was extremely serious, with a kind of almost pure, extremely still concentration that was different from when he played the guitar. But if you really looked carefully through the surface, you would find that his state at these two times was actually no different.

Compared to the things he liked, Luo Chi didn’t actually like to talk that much—discovering this actually gave the not-so-talkative Mr. Ming an unreasonable sense of comfort. But at the same time, it also gave him a rare sense of urgency. After all, between the two people in the house in the future, one of them would have to be responsible for opening his mouth.

But Luo Chi just didn’t like to talk much; he was by no means unexpressive.

Whatever he was thinking, you could know just by listening to the music he played or looking at the paintings he created.

Luo Chi was mixing blues in a small area in the upper left corner of the painting, applying them in layers of deep and light shades, until that patch of blue seemed to extend completely, merging with the sky outside the canvas.

Ming Weiting was so drawn in by it that he even reached out and touched it, only then confirming that the piece of canvas had not bizarrely dissolved and disappeared.

“It’s actually not that hard, just a color mixing technique.”

Luo Chi explained, but his eyes were still shining as he stared at him. “Am I amazing or what?”

Ming Weiting just looked at him, a smile showing in his eyes. “Amazing.”

He found that the more he was with Luo Chi, the more these sudden, completely relaxed smiles appeared. Ming Weiting raised his hand to touch his ear and asked softly, “How can you be so amazing?”

Luo Chi’s ears turned red from the praise. He took a deep breath to compose himself, rolled up his sleeves determined to show him something even more amazing, and went to the bottom right corner to mix colors for a golden beach.

Ming Weiting helped him adjust the height of his cuffs, took the palette, and poured clean water as instructed by Luo Chi.

Luo Chi had been recuperating these past few days and mostly wore loose, comfortable loungewear. But in the last few days, he suddenly wanted to wear dress shirts himself and even took the initiative to pull Mr. Shadow and Uncle Lu in for a couple of photos.

Luo Chi poured some water and was blending the paint bit by bit with his brush. His eyelashes were lowered, and the tips of them scooped up a bit of sunlight, looking just like the golden tip of his brush.

Ming Weiting had ordered shirts in his size. They fit him well, with proper tailoring, so he didn’t look frail or thin.

Luo Chi left the collar of his shirt slightly open, the cuffs rolled up to his elbows. He had good color and hardly looked sick at all.

The sun these past few days hadn’t managed to tan him in the slightest. Only occasionally, when the sun was too strong, his skin would turn red. Not long after returning to his room, it would return to its original cool white tone.

Luo Chi finally noticed his gaze, looked at his own arm, immediately put down his brush, and held it out for Mr. Shadow’s inspection. “I’ve applied the lotion. The doctor said I won’t get sunburned this time.”

That wasn’t what Ming Weiting was thinking about, but he decided to award him for this excellent performance anyway, placing a candy in Luo Chi’s palm.

Luo Chi confirmed it was peach-flavored, and his eyes immediately curved into crescents.

He didn’t need help eating candy. He held the candy firmly in one hand, skillfully bit the wrapper, and with a nimble tear, successfully popped the translucent pink candy into his mouth.

Ming Weiting took the wrapper and stroked his hair. “Won’t you get bored eating only one flavor?”

“No,” Luo Chi said, his voice a little muffled with the candy in his mouth. “I’ll eat other flavors if there are any. But if I can choose, I still like peach the most.”

There were actually only a few flavors and things he particularly liked. Most of his other hobbies and interests were answers he had cobbled together back when he debuted, for the sake of answering questions.

When Auntie Ren wrote to Director Gong before, while telling that story, she had also joked that it was incredibly easy to raise a little flame.

You just have to put him in a house that can shelter him from wind and rain, provide him with food and water to fill his stomach—as long as it’s edible, it doesn’t really matter what it is—and then give him a guitar.

The rest is a piece of peach-flavored candy every day, a stack of white paper, and enough paint. When it’s almost time to sleep at night, go talk to him and let him hold onto something to fall asleep.

If you raise him like this, the little flame can grow into a big flame, and finally become a particularly free fire, going wherever it wants to go.

…

Of course, Auntie Ren couldn’t bear to raise the little flame just like that, so during Luo Chi’s three years at the Ren family’s home, he was actually very busy every day.

Extremely busy. Not only was he dragged out of his room by Auntie to sunbathe, but he was also dragged along to experiment with egg-free pastries and to read psychology books together.

Luo Chi was often inadvertently dragged out of his room. Sometimes it was to roll around in a ball pit at an amusement park, sometimes it was to various banquets and salons, and more often it was to art exhibitions he particularly wanted to see, science exhibitions he was particularly curious about, and grass-field music festivals he looked forward to so much he couldn’t sleep.

Over the past few days, Luo Chi had been telling Mr. Shadow all the details of these experiences.

He told Ming Weiting about a grass-field music festival. The morning dew had washed the grass a vibrant green, and as soon as the sun came out, the damp water vapor disappeared. No one asked who the other was, nor did they ask about anything that had happened in the past. The world seemed to briefly consist of only sunlight, wind, grass, and music.

When the festival ended, he and Auntie Ren were separated by the crowd. By then, he was already a particularly steady and calm big flame. Even when he was nervous, he just clenched all the sweat into his fists and tried to find a way to get onto the stage that hadn’t been dismantled yet.

Sure enough, Auntie Ren saw him at a glance, ran over, and hugged him tightly, her heart beating even faster than his.

“You did a great job,” Auntie Ren praised him forcefully. “In the future, if Little Flame can’t find Auntie, just go to a higher place.”

“Go to a higher place, keep going up, until everyone can see you.”

Later, on her sickbed, Auntie Ren held him, her forehead gently touching his. “Auntie will definitely be bragging to everyone about how amazing our Little Flame is, how so many people like him.”

…

“Little Flame,” Ming Weiting had been looking for the right moment. He watched as Luo Chi focused on painting the fine grains of sand, pondered for a long time, then raised his hand again and gently ruffled his hair.

Ming Weiting said in a low voice, “A lot of people like you.”

Luo Chi’s movements paused. He still slowly finished the last few strokes before lifting his gaze from the canvas.

He had successfully made the bottom right corner of the canvas disappear into the beach. He set the paintbrush aside, then looked up at the serious-faced Mr. Shadow.

Ming Weiting knew that the last time he told him this, Luo Chi had just believed it without question but hadn’t taken it to heart.

Luo Chi was fully cooperating with the treatment and psychological counseling, sprinting forward with all his effort without stopping, not thinking about anything extra, not giving himself any time to breathe as he got better.

Luo Chi knew that his time was not abundant.

Even Xun Zhen had subconsciously omitted the part about risks during the pre-operative briefing—for them, that part had no meaning to discuss anyway.

The risks were fixed. All they could do was their best. Since everything that could be done had been done, that last ethereal part of “probability” could only be left to fate to decide.

Luo Chi’s physical and mental state had been adjusted to the best possible condition. The most authoritative and experienced clinicians would be in charge of the surgery. The surgical plan had been discussed countless times, and the position of every single cut had been simulated…

But it was, after all, a craniotomy. The potential dangers and accidents still lurked at every step, and no amount of preparation could completely eliminate them.

So Ming Weiting also knew what Luo Chi had been doing these past few days.

Luo Chi had absolute faith in Mr. Shadow, absolute faith in every one of them. Luo Chi was excitedly making all the eager preparations for his new life after the surgery.

But just like the Luo Zhi who had sat in his office recording his will, the gentlest and most considerate thoughtfulness in his nature still made Luo Chi strive to do another thing at the same time.

Luo Chi knew his surgery had risks. If an accident really happened, Luo Chi absolutely did not want to leave them with any regrets.

If an accident really happened, Luo Chi hoped that when Mr. Shadow thought of him, he would remember the happiest and most joyful Little Flame.

So even if Luo Chi didn’t take his words to heart, he would definitely not ask him about it on his own initiative.

“There’s no need to rush like this.” Ming Weiting cupped the back of his head and neck and said softly, “I promise, if an accident really happens.”

…

He said these few words slowly and found that Luo Chi’s reaction was even calmer than his.

Luo Chi placed his hand on his arm, looking at him quietly, more focused than ever before. A particularly gentle concern finally began to show in his eyes.

It was just like the painting Luo Chi was working on.

Only colors, no shapes. For now, no one could guess what he was going to paint.

But just looking at those softly blended colors, it was as if one could also hear the melodies Luo Chi played for him on his guitar while sitting on the terrace at night these past few days.

“If an accident happens,” Ming Weiting said, “I’ll never be a groupie again, never go ashore again. There will be nothing else.”

Luo Chi couldn’t help but smile, “You still have to go ashore.”

“There are many fun things on shore,” Luo Chi held his arm, trying to tempt him. “There are grass-field music festivals.”

Ming Weiting shook his head gently, “No one plays the guitar better than you.”

Although the context and atmosphere weren’t quite right, Luo Chi couldn’t help but feel a little floaty and secretly happy. “Well, that’s not entirely true.”

“There are still many people better than me,” Luo Chi felt that Mr. Shadow probably hadn’t heard many other people play the guitar and explained honestly, then added specifically, “But I’m also amazing. I still have a lucky fan.”

Ming Weiting smiled and ruffled his hair. “You will have many more fans.”

He knew Luo Chi didn’t want to talk about this—a few days ago, he wouldn’t have brought up outside matters with Luo Chi either.

But Luo Chi was braver than him. Luo Chi had jumped onto his ship, held his hand tightly, and for all the time they would experience in the future, Luo Chi would be his captain.

Because there would always be a ship waiting, no matter what happened, it would be okay.

“I’ve considered whether to tell you about this now or after the surgery.”

Ming Weiting said, “After the surgery is safer. But the one who needs this answer is the you right now.”

Luo Chi was slightly taken aback by his words.

Ming Weiting curled his finger and gently touched his eyelashes.

It was the current Luo Chi who wanted to meet more people, who wanted to play with more people.

The Luo Chi surrounded by people at the bonfire party, the Luo Chi under the spotlight on stage. Luo Chi worked so hard to get to a higher place, so expectantly waiting for Auntie Ren to say to others, “Look how amazing our Little Flame is.”

The Luo Chi who could finally say out loud, “Thank you, Mr. Shadow, for liking me,” his arms trembling as he held him so tightly.

Of course, they would go out to sea, and they would see all the sights. But he stubbornly held onto his initial view: that fire should not be confined to a ship, nor should it be bound by any borders.

This was the young master of the Ming family. If he liked playing with people, he should be able to greet everyone without any burden. If he wanted to go to the highest place, he should jump up there with his guitar.

Auntie Ren would definitely praise him. She would praise him to the wind, to the sun, to every single wave, “Look how amazing our Little Flame is.”

“The matter you asked Uncle Lu to handle, your subordinates handled it very well, but they themselves are not doing so well.”

Ming Weiting said, “There was a fight within your company.”

Hearing this, Luo Chi immediately showed concern as expected, his brow furrowing silently.

“It’s alright, no one was really hurt.”

Ming Weiting stroked his hair and said in a warm voice, “It’s just that those artists whose Weibo accounts were being controlled… were very angry.”

The situation was dire before, and a few of them were almost being watched by their teams 24/7. It was only because everyone believed that Young Master Luo had a plan, believed that President Luo was just recuperating at the Ren family’s hospital and couldn’t spare a hand for the time being, that they were barely pacified.

The later news stunned everyone. The intense bewilderment actually kept the situation from spiraling out of control for a while. It wasn’t until Ming Lu hinted for them to pull themselves together and handle the aftermath, bringing Luo Chi’s words to them.

Now was not the right time to tell the truth.

If an accident really happened during the surgery—of course, everyone would do their utmost to avoid it; Xun Zhen’s team was still constantly refining and fine-tuning the details of the surgical plan even now.

But if fate was really that cold-blooded, this sudden rise and fall would only push those who truly cared about Luo Chi into the abyss of guilt and regret.

Uncle Lu spoke cryptically, but the company’s internal PR was already quite professional and reliable. Fang Hang and the others also immediately realized this. The matter was handled very steadily, and the subsequent public opinion storm did not affect any innocent people.

It was just that there was a fight in the company.

Completely chaotic.

A completely undignified, completely immature fight.

Artists and their teams, artists and artist department managers. The first one to rush over, unstoppable by anyone, was a young singer who had just come of age. The situation became even more chaotic afterward.

Huaisheng Entertainment was never a conventional film and television company to begin with. Luo Chi had never constrained anyone with company rules, so this unexpectedly erupted brawl didn’t result in anyone being punished.

…

It was really too outrageous. When Fang Hang came to see Ming Lu, limping, he even begged him not to tell anyone.

Fang Hang was the manager of the artist department and had taken the worst beating, but the suppressed frustration in him was much less than a few days ago.

He took a deep breath, lowered his head to suppress all his emotions, and solemnly straightened his clothes, saying to Ming Lu, “No matter what…”

“…No matter what.”

Ming Weiting said, “They want to tell you one thing.”

Ming Weiting looked into Luo Chi’s eyes. “From now on, the people who like you will never be hurt again for liking you.”

Luo Chi was so easily liked by people.

The fans who spoke up for him were relentlessly ridiculed and satirized. The artists who argued for him were smeared and cursed to no end.

The old official Weibo account was forcibly taken over by people sent by the board of directors. Before the inheritance left by Luo Chi was distributed, even those managers in the company who stubbornly resisted Li Weiming had their fair share of being sidelined and ostracized.

So Luo Chi kept retreating. From the dazzling guitarist to behind the scenes, and then from the general manager of Huaisheng Entertainment behind the scenes, he continued to retreat, retreating into the shadows, not letting anyone get close to him.

This matter should be completely resolved here and should not be brought into the new world.

…

Luo Chi blinked lightly.

The rhythm of his breathing was slightly faster than usual. His fingers unconsciously tightened slowly, then loosened bit by bit.

Understanding this sentence seemed to be quite difficult for him. He lowered his gaze, repeating the sentence over and over in his mind until he finally began to slowly grasp its meaning.

“Lucky fan representative.”

Ming Weiting touched his eyes, “Do you want a hug?”

“…Yes.” Luo Chi took a breath and blinked a couple of times. “Mr. Shadow, I want a hug.”

Luo Chi curved his eyes and reached out to him. “I want a hug, my chest hurts.”

He said this with a smile. Ming Weiting lifted him from the beach chair and embraced him fully. Luo Chi lowered his head against him, his breath coming in short gasps, but no moisture spilled out.

Luo Chi hugged him tightly.

“Mr. Shadow,” Luo Chi buried his face in his shoulder and said in a low voice, “My painting is finished.”

Mr. Shadow nodded, “It’s very beautiful.”

Mr. Shadow considered it seriously for a moment. “What is it a painting of?”

Luo Chi couldn’t help but laugh but just shook his head vaguely. “My letter is also finished.”

Mr. Shadow asked, “Do you want to send it?”

“No, it’s for me… Let’s talk about it after the surgery.”

Luo Chi took a breath and slowly exhaled. “If I even forget to read the letter, you must remind me.”

Mr. Shadow tightened his arms. “Okay.”

Luo Chi sighed, “What should I do?”

He felt Mr. Shadow draw a question mark on his palm, held that finger, and continued himself, “There are too many things I want to do. I want to get better quickly. I’m so reluctant to let go. I really want to live…”

The arm behind his shoulder tightened forcefully.

Ming Weiting cupped Luo Chi’s face, gently lifting his head. There was no moisture on Luo Chi’s eyelashes.

There was no mist or water in those eyes. The light was bright, looking at him without flinching or avoiding.

“Standard pre-operative anxiety. I’m nervous,” Luo Chi puffed out his chest, raised his head, and explained calmly. “Today is the seventh day.”

Ming Weiting looked at him carefully for a long moment, then also sighed.

Luo Chi didn’t understand why. He blinked and drew a question mark on his hand.

“This makes the lucky fan seem not very cool.”

Ming Weiting reached out to embrace him and, for the first time, lowered his head, resting his forehead against the cool, moist skin of Luo Chi’s neck. “I’ve been nervous for seven days.”

Luo Chi’s eyes widened in astonishment.

He was stunned for a few seconds, then burst out laughing without any courtesy. Mimicking Mr. Shadow’s actions, he pressed down on the head on his shoulder and unceremoniously gave it a good揉搓.

Being subjected to his energetic and deliberate revenge, a hint of a smile slowly appeared in Ming Weiting’s eyes too. “Are you still nervous?”

“I am,” Luo Chi nodded, of course. “I’m nervous because I want to live. I’m nervous because I want to live well.”

Luo Chi said loudly, “This is called the will to live.”

“If an accident happens during the surgery and all emergency measures have been exhausted, it all comes down to the patient’s will to live.”

He had read a lot of materials while taking care of Auntie Ren and was actually very knowledgeable. “Mr. Shadow must go ashore. He must be a groupie until he’s ninety-three.”

Ming Weiting let out a soft laugh.

He looked up without speaking, but the warmth in his eyes deepened. He let Luo Chi have his fill of ruffling his hair before pulling him back into his arms.

According to the plan given by Xun Zhen, it was best to be hospitalized a few days before the surgery.

This would allow Luo Chi to adapt to the hospital environment as quickly as possible, and also allow for close monitoring of his physical condition at all times, making adjustments for any possible emergencies.

The only thing to consider was Luo Chi’s subconscious, instinctual resistance to hospitals—this resistance was not controlled by his conscious mind. If it caused a decline in Luo Chi’s condition and affected the surgery, the loss would outweigh the gain.

According to the previous plan, they had originally intended to stay at the Sea-view Villa until just before the surgery.

“I’ve handled all my business,” Luo Chi held Mr. Shadow’s hand. “Take me to the hospital.”

Ming Weiting supported Luo Chi’s head and neck and lowered his head.

He looked seriously into those eyes, and after confirming that there was indeed no discomfort or reluctance, he held that hand back.

“My head doesn’t hurt anymore, but my chest still does.”

Luo Chi knew what he was checking for. A playful mood suddenly struck him, and he spoke with a straight face, “Today’s words were too emotionally stimulating.”

Ming Weiting saw the bright, clear smile in his eyes and knew Luo Chi wasn’t being serious, but he still pressed his hand to his chest. “Is it that serious?”

It had actually stopped hurting long ago, and was even warm and full, but of course, Luo Chi nodded, “It’s that serious.”

“What should be done?” Ming Weiting mimicked how he had knocked on him earlier and knocked on Luo Chi’s chest. “Don’t hurt anymore.”

Luo Chi had been reflecting a lot these past few days, feeling that Mr. Shadow’s newfound childishness was definitely ten-tenths his own responsibility. He laughed so hard he couldn’t help but cough. “Okay, okay, I heard it. It said—”

Halfway through his sentence, Luo Chi met Ming Weiting’s gaze and was suddenly, unconsciously taken aback.

…

Mr. Shadow rarely looked at him like this.

Ming Weiting’s gaze rested quietly in his eyes. He was being held up, and his hair was being stroked and gently ruffled… the rest of these actions were very familiar.

Ming Weiting cupped one hand behind his head, gently touched his forehead, and asked in a low voice, “What did it say?”

Luo Chi opened his mouth. For some reason, his voice suddenly became quieter. “…It said, it’s beating a little.”

It was more than just beating a little; his heart might have just about jumped out of his chest.

Fortunately, his blood pressure had always been very low, so excitement didn’t give him a headache. But he must start taking care of his body after the surgery and not let his blood pressure stay so low. He heard from Uncle Lu that low blood pressure makes one prone to seasickness…

All the chaotic thoughts suddenly paused at a certain moment.

Ming Weiting lowered his head and pressed his palm on the left side of his chest. The warmth seeped through the fabric of his shirt, and his heartbeat pounded out from within.

“I’m very grateful to it,” Ming Weiting said. “Last time, it only stopped for a very short time before it started beating again.”

Luo Chi spoke for his heart without hesitation, “This time, it won’t even stop.”

Ming Weiting smiled. He looked up and looked at Luo Chi seriously for a long, long time, so long that Luo Chi almost couldn’t resist reaching out to touch his eyes.

…On a cruise ship, there was a rather traditional standard etiquette. When greeting people, they would kiss their hands.

It originally represented a sincere greeting and thanks, as well as sincere blessings and respect. Later, this etiquette gradually became more widespread and common, so common that it hardly carried any more meaning or specificity.

Ming Weiting took Luo Chi’s hand. He solemnly greeted and thanked Luo Chi’s heart, thanking it for bringing Luo Chi back from the water, and also thanking it for staying with Luo Chi for so long.

From now on, it wouldn’t hurt anymore. There would be many happy things that could fill his entire chest, so it must be especially strong in the future as well. They would raise a little sea snail together.

Then Ming Weiting lowered his head, moved his hand away, and lightly kissed the fervently beating heart beneath his chest.