Wanghai Villa.

Xun Zhen finished looking at the drawings one by one. As he collected his thoughts, he noticed Ming Chi was watching a video.

The video’s background music seemed to be a particularly pleasant guitar piece. Just listening to it was enough to lift one’s spirits, making the very air feel alive.

Xun Zhen hadn’t heard it before and was a bit curious. “Is this something you wrote in the past?”

Ming Chi smiled and nodded lightly.

He downloaded and saved the stick figure video into a separate folder, then set his phone aside and placed his hands back on his knees, sitting up straight.

“Alright, you don’t have to be so formal,” Xun Zhen said, amused. “This is just a simple follow-up visit.”

Xun Zhen had not officially met with Ming Chi many times since the surgery.

Doctors and nurses handled the treatment and recovery, and of course, the patient’s family was there to accompany him during recuperation. The team had hardly needed to exert any effort in psychological counseling; the patient’s condition was stable, and there was no need for the director to personally intervene.

Ming Chi didn’t remember the past, so naturally, he would be more distant with him than before. Xun Zhen was prepared for this. He briefly explained the purpose of his visit and placed the new check-up results on the table.

“The range is a bit smaller now. You can run around freely; it won’t hurt your leg,” Xun Zhen advised. “If you’re going far, it’s best to bring a cane.”

Ming Chi’s eyes lit up. He said his thanks, reached for the papers, and flipped through them carefully, page by page.

Xun Zhen sat down on the sofa, took a sip of coffee, and looked at the young man before him.

Even from a completely objective perspective as the hospital director, he had to admit that the family had taken exceptionally good care of him.

Ming Chi’s body had been severely damaged, so it was impossible for him to recover to the level of a normal person in just one short month.

But sitting here in this bright, sunlit room, with Ming Chi sitting across from him, dressed in a simple shirt and trousers, his complexion and demeanor no longer resembled that of a patient at all.

Xun Zhen waited for him to finish reading the results and asked speculatively, “You’ve started reading the letters you left for yourself before the surgery, haven’t you?”

Ming Chi put down the papers, his eyes curving slightly as he nodded. “Yes.”

“There’s some debate about this on the team. Some think it’s unnecessary for you to read them, while others believe it’s better if you do.”

Xun Zhen said, “I lean towards the latter. You absolutely don’t need to return to your past life, but you do need to live.”

After leaving Sea-view Villa, Ming Chi would sooner or later encounter people who recognized him.

Rather than being caught unprepared and dragged into the events of the past, it was better to be prepared and see for himself what the pre-surgery him had left behind to be remembered.

“An ordinary patient wouldn’t require this much concern.”

Xun Zhen sighed. “Who asked this patient to be so handsome that he’d be recognized wherever he goes.”

Ming Chi apparently didn’t remember that Director Xun could also make jokes. He looked apologetic upon hearing the first half of the sentence. Just as he was about to speak, he heard the second half and looked up in surprise.

He wasn’t quite used to such direct compliments. His ears turned slightly red, and he thanked him in a warm voice.

Xun Zhen didn’t press the matter, just smiled and waved his hand. “Alright, let’s reintroduce ourselves.”

“My name is Xun Zhen. I’m the director of the hospital where you had your surgery, and I was also on your medical team.”

Xun Zhen said, “I came this time to—”

He suddenly paused, studying Ming Chi’s expression. “Are you guessing on your own?”

Ming Chi nodded lightly.

Xun Zhen became intrigued. “Tell me what you think.”

From what he knew of the patient before him, even if he had left letters before the surgery, he wouldn’t have been so thorough and detailed as to explain everyone’s identity and relationship. Besides, there simply wasn’t enough time for that.

Rest and sleep before the surgery were crucial, and the frequent headaches and dizziness would have drained a lot of energy. Coupled with the side effects of medication and a battery of physical examinations, the time available for writing letters was actually quite limited.

“What am I here for?” Xun Zhen asked. “And what is our relationship?”

“To check on my psychological state,” Ming Chi said. “That’s why you looked at those drawings. The use of color, the composition of the images. To some extent, they can reflect my state of mind.”

Ming Chi paused, then added, “The music in the video just now, you said it was something I ‘wrote in the past,’ which means my current state is different from a few years ago, and the difference is not hard to tell.”

Xun Zhen put down his coffee cup. He sat up straighter, leaning forward slightly. “What else?”

Ming Chi thought for a moment. “So it’s easy to infer that you were also responsible for my psychological counseling before. Before the surgery, we probably talked a lot, and you helped me a great deal.”

“There’s one inaccuracy,” Xun Zhen corrected with a smile. “I was completely useless.”

Ming Chi also smiled. He shook his head gently, showing that gentle stubbornness again. “You helped me a great deal.”

Xun Zhen looked at the young man, his expression softening. He stopped beating around the bush and directly took out the psychological assessment scale. “Take a look and fill it out. You have to put down your real answers.”

“I heard you wanted to read your old letters, and with Mr. Ming away, my team was a little worried, so I came to see for myself.”

Xun Zhen handed him the papers. “Now it seems that such worries were undoubtedly quite unnecessary.”

Ming Chi took the assessment, his expression unchanged. He shook his head and thanked him earnestly.

Ming Chi had been practicing his pen control these past few days. His right hand was already quite fluid, and as long as he didn’t use too much force or for too long, there wouldn’t be a problem.

Xun Zhen watched him fill out the form for a while, and his mind drifted back to the few episodes of the documentary he had casually watched on his way here.

Because of his good personal relationship with Director Gong, and because the film crew had sought his help quite a bit during this period, Xun Zhen had also been following the weekly updates. It felt like getting to know this young man all over again, starting from many years ago.

The protagonist’s identity was now clear. Although the crew still adhered to the principles of a documentary and didn’t give an explicit confirmation, the audience knew in their hearts.

The story’s timeline began on the day the “Xiao Huo Miao,” as Mrs. Ren called him, was turned into Luo Zhi by those people.

With his professional instincts as a director, Xun Zhen had subconsciously wanted to intervene and offer help just halfway through the last episode.

After Mrs. Ren passed away, Luo Zhi’s condition should not have been left unattended.

How could a thirteen-year-old child who had just lost his only relative possibly be okay, no matter how calm and composed he appeared?

But the Luo family remained the same. Even the Ren family had grown dissatisfied with him due to the argument over the burial plot. Although they still had contact after the funeral, they gradually grew distant.

After that, Luo Zhi lived intermittently at Sea-view Villa for another two years. Whenever the Ren family came for a vacation, he would go to the small cabin or his car. If many people came, he would consciously and quietly slip out to find a hotel.

He actually still remembered Auntie Ren’s words very clearly. He diligently practiced his guitar every day, locked himself in his room to hone his drawing skills, and made snacks when he was tired. Auntie Ren would never eat his snacks again, so he kept the bad ones for himself…

Xun Zhen skipped over a part here.

He really didn’t want to connect additional people to the situation here, so he temporarily paused his reminiscence and looked at the assessment Ming Chi was filling out. “Still waking up at night?”

“Sometimes, but not often,” Ming Chi stopped writing and thought for a moment. “I have dreams.”

Xun Zhen asked, “A lot of dreams?”

Ming Chi nodded, then smiled lightly. “Mostly good dreams.”

This was also a normal symptom after brain surgery. Plus, Ming Chi had lost so many memories that he couldn’t help but use his brain to think when encountering blank spots, which often triggered those repeatedly traced memories from before the surgery.

…

But this feeling was actually not bad at all.

Because when he woke up from a dream, reality was even better than the dream.

He would be lying in bed, and Mr. Shadow would be lying beside him, close enough to touch with a reach of his hand.

“That good?” Xun Zhen looked at his expression and could already guess the unspoken words. “You’d be willing to wake up three times a night?”

“Yes.” Ming Chi’s ears grew hotter than before, but he still didn’t evade the question, nodding even more seriously. “Very willing.”

Xun Zhen laughed. “But you can’t be waking up all the time. I’ll have them adjust your medication again… alright, this is a doctor’s duty.”

He stopped Ming Chi from thanking him again, simply motioning for him to continue filling out the form, and took out his phone to send a few messages without disturbing him.

During the post-operative recovery period, patients need to take nerve-nourishing drugs. If needed, sleeping aids can also be added to ensure both mind and body get adequate rest.

Xun Zhen confirmed the medication adjustment with the team, crossing out a few names from the list of drugs they sent over and briefly explaining the reasons.

The patient’s insomnia was not a recent issue. He had long been going to the hospital and getting prescriptions on his own. Some drugs had lost their effectiveness on him and could no longer be used indiscriminately.

Luo Zhi started having trouble sleeping after he completely left Sea-view Villa.

He was not yet an adult, so he couldn’t drive around. He followed Auntie Ren’s instructions and went to school.

The school was worried he might hurt people, a concern he himself shared, so it wasn’t convenient for him to attend school normally in the early years. But Auntie Ren had always hired private tutors for him, and the study at home was always open to him.

Luo Zhi had a solid foundation in art. Later, he chose a local art academy that wasn’t too famous but had lenient management, as well as beautiful scenery and a great artistic atmosphere.

For those three years, apart from Luo Cheng, almost no one saw him.

It was only after seeing this that Xun Zhen realized that Luo Cheng’s frantic rebuttals back then were not lies at all.

Luo Zhi had truly been trying to take good care of Luo Cheng.

The day Xun Zhen went to “treat” Mother Luo, Luo Chengxiu had forced the butler to repeat what Luo Zhi had said. Later, he had the butler come to the hospital to clarify every single sentence.

Later, Luo Chengxiu also fell ill. He aged rapidly, losing all the vigor of the former head of the Luo family.

The sign of aging seemed to be an easy descent into the past. No one knew whether he felt remorse or some other emotion during those times… only that he began to repeat stories of the past with increasing frequency, so much so that several caregivers could almost recite them by heart.

After falling ill, it was difficult for Luo Chengxiu to manage his daily life. Coupled with one blow after another, he quickly fell into a slump. Although his cognitive abilities were still normal, there was nothing left in the Luo family that required his mind.

Jian Huaiyi was in prison, and Luo Jun no longer visited him. Mother Luo suspected people were cursing her whenever she went out and could only depend on her husband, weeping and repenting by his bedside every day. He no longer even had the strength to get angry.

Luo Chengxiu didn’t have the strength to get angry. He was helped up by a caregiver, slumped dejectedly in his wheelchair, and would repeat himself in a low mutter to anyone he could find.

Luo Chengxiu hadn’t even listened at the time. He couldn’t even recall Luo Zhi’s tone of voice and could only remember the words the butler had relayed.

Luo Zhi had said that Luo Cheng had the same temper as her mother and they shouldn’t be put together.

Luo Zhi had said that Jian Huaiyi would say things to his mother and Luo Cheng, and they would actually believe him.

Luo Zhi said Jian Huaiyi would be a bad influence on Luo Cheng.

Luo Cheng liked to hear nice things and was easily swayed. In her eyes, anyone who gained her favor could do no wrong.

Even if Jian Huaiyi were to plot against her or do something terrible to her, as long as he said a few sweet things to coax his little sister and bought her some gifts, everything that happened before could be forgotten.

…

By that time, Luo Zhi had stopped trying to explain the past. He no longer wanted to be drawn into those endless arguments, nor did he want the person he called “Mother” to shout and curse at everything when she had an episode, even cursing Auntie Ren.

During those years, Luo Zhi still returned to the Luo family, but only to manage Luo Cheng. After all, Luo Cheng had been lost as a child and was overly pampered after her return. He was the one who corrected her mistakes, cleaned up her messes, and then led her to apologize.

“He could have taught Luo Cheng well,” Luo Chengxiu said, grabbing Xun Zhen when he came to check on him, still asking incessantly, “Why couldn’t even he teach Luo Cheng well?”

Xun Zhen really didn’t know what to say. He waved his hand and had someone push the head of the Luo family back to rest.

…If Luo Cheng had been given to Luo Zhi to raise from the beginning, if Luo Zhi had always been leading Luo Cheng, perhaps things would have been different, but that was just a hypothesis.

That hypothesis never came to pass.

Ten-year-old Luo Zhi was beaten until he was motionless, thrown into a woodpile, and remained unconscious for three days. He was carried back by the same female university student who was also a victim, fed water drop by drop, and barely managed to survive.

And years later, when Luo Cheng learned of these events, her first reaction was to blame Luo Zhi, believing that he had almost caused her to end up in the situation depicted in the documentary.

No matter what happened, Luo Cheng’s reaction was always to blame Luo Zhi.

Xun Zhen had always wondered where Luo Cheng’s hostility towards Luo Zhi came from, why she was so resistant and resentful towards him despite knowing that her second brother would definitely protect and care for her, and followed her family’s lead—it wasn’t until he watched the documentary that he understood. With Luo Zhi’s method of teaching, how could Luo Cheng not be resistant?

Luo Zhi’s entire impression of elders came from Mrs. Ren, so he taught his sister in the same way.

He never unconditionally indulged Luo Cheng and would not agree to things he thought were wrong. He would crouch down and reason with Luo Cheng bit by bit, not allowing her to hurt others.

Luo Cheng had merely made a mistake, and he actually wanted to take his sister to apologize to others.

…

This thought made Xun Zhen let out a soft snort. He shook his head and sighed lightly.

Before he came, he had heard that Luo Cheng was having a standoff with Luo Jun at the villa that was about to be repossessed from the Luo family.

The trembling butler went to the hospital to find Luo Chengxiu, his face full of worry, saying that Luo Cheng was hiding by her second brother’s bed and refused to leave, nearly crying herself unconscious. But she was still forcibly taken away from the home that was no longer theirs by Luo Jun, and the villa was mortgaged to the bank.

Luo Cheng had appeared at the Luo family home because the film crew had finished shooting. She had played the corresponding role as the B-character, but none of her scenes appeared in the final cut.

Her performance of the role was simply not up to par. Director Gong, a perfectionist, would not include such a level of acting in his work.

…

It seemed that even now, Luo Cheng had not realized that she had always had a chance.

Even during the final reckoning, she had always had a chance.

Gong Hanrou did not kick her out of the crew. Fang Hang and the others intercepted Jian Huaiyi’s plans and didn’t ruin her. When Xun Zhen went that day, his only intention was to make her clear-headed and stop causing trouble for the crew.

At any point, as long as she had thought clearly about what she was doing and what she had done, as long as she had truly realized how terrible her actions had been, as long as she was no longer complaining that her second brother didn’t come to save her this time, but instead felt any genuine remorse and repentance towards her second brother—even a little would have been enough.

The people at Huaisheng Entertainment were not trying to drive her to a dead end.

They didn’t make her read the comments about her second brother, to make her see clearly what kind of person her second brother was, just for the sake of punishment and revenge.

The original plan for eighteen-year-old Luo Zhi was to travel by car, to go out and gather inspiration, to be a singer and artist who wandered and supported himself.

The Ren family held onto Mrs. Ren’s grave, so he was tied to that place.

He was still worried about his sister. He wanted to try again, to find a way to pull this sister back a little from the hands of that family.

Just like how Mrs. Ren, though extremely angry and furious, still went to knock on the Luo family’s door, wanting to finally clarify things with the friend she grew up with, wanting to wake her up from the lies and illusions she had woven for herself.

Why Mrs. Ren couldn’t persuade Mother Luo was the same reason why Luo Zhi couldn’t teach Luo Cheng well.

Faced with the torn-up photos, Mrs. Ren’s bewilderment and helplessness were the same as the mess of a smashed cake in front of the young CEO Luo.

…

Xun Zhen walked back around the table and sat down, picking up his coffee cup.

Ming Chi looked up.

He had just finished filling out the assessment. Hearing Xun Zhen’s sudden sigh, he thought he had answered something incorrectly. “Director Xun?”

“It’s nothing,” Xun Zhen took two sips of coffee. “I was thinking about something else.”

Ming Chi blinked.

He just looked at Xun Zhen for a moment before asking again, “Something related to me?”

“That sharp?”

Xun Zhen was a little surprised. “How did you figure that out?”

Before the surgery, the patient himself had explained to the counseling team that it was okay not to leave too much information; after the surgery and recovery, he could slowly analyze things himself based on clues.

Director Xun hadn’t paid much attention to it at the time—after all, time was tight, and there were always things that couldn’t be done. He thought he was just trying to comfort everyone. Only now did he realize that the man had been telling the truth.

“Not that sharp,” Ming Chi suddenly smiled. “I just felt that Director Xun seemed to have something to say to me.”

He had already guessed that he and the other man were very familiar before the surgery, so he was no longer overly reserved. He playfully took out his personal notepad and pen, placed them on his lap, and assumed a posture ready for a lesson.

He had no plans to go out today and was just wearing a plain white shirt, the collar buttoned up neatly. Combined with his hair still being slightly shorter than before, he looked even younger.

The documentary had no footage of him at this stage, but it was easy to make one wonder if this was what he was like when he was in school.

Xun Zhen looked at him for a while, then rubbed his forehead, amused. “Alright, alright… you’re right.”

“I do have something to say to you.” Xun Zhen took the assessment, looked at the already quite handsome and fluent signature on it, and read it out, “Ming Chi.”

Ming Chi smiled. “Present.”

Xun Zhen was also amused by him and simply changed his address. “Student Ming Chi.”

“There’s something that probably no one would think to tell you… not even your pre-surgery self.”

“Others wouldn’t think of it because they don’t know that this kind of thing needs to be said explicitly,” Xun Zhen said. “You wouldn’t think of it because no one ever taught you this.”

Student Ming Chi held his pen, listening to him seriously.

“Everyone is born an independent individual.”

Xun Zhen looked at him. “No one owes anyone else. There’s no such thing.”

“The past you didn’t owe anyone. You gave far, far more than you received. As for the present and future you.”

Xun Zhen paused, choosing a more suitable wording. “You can think of it as, you owe us, these people, a little bit of a favor.”

He gestured as he spoke, the gap between his thumb and forefinger so small that not even a piece of paper could fit through. Ming Chi’s eyes crinkled, and he put down his pen, opening his arms wide. “This much.”

Xun Zhen laughed. “Whatever you say. It’s up to you.”

Xun Zhen didn’t try to change his mind, just continued, “You owe us a favor because we hope you can live a better life, so we did some things to help you.”

Xun Zhen laid out the logic for him. “Therefore, the way to repay us, to not let us down, is to live a better life.”

Ming Chi blinked slowly.

He looked at Xun Zhen with a serious and solemn expression, as if he were contemplating this question for the first time. After a long while, he nodded cautiously.

He was thinking of his friends at Huaisheng Entertainment and Sister Zhao Lan. He truly hoped that every one of them could live a better life, leave behind all the shadows of the past, and no longer be bound by anything.

Seeing that he had taken it to heart, Xun Zhen said no more. He just stood up and patted his shoulder. “This isn’t a psychologist’s advice, it’s a friend’s.”

Ming Chi’s eyes lit up, and he stood up as well.

He could see that Xun Zhen was preparing to leave. He wanted to thank him, but then remembered that such polite thanks weren’t suitable between friends, and hesitated on the spot.

Xun Zhen put the assessment into his bag. “By the way.”

“You just said,” Xun Zhen asked casually, “how much do you owe us?”

Student Ming Chi answered every question. Hearing him ask, he spread his arms wide again.

He realized he had been helped by many people. To say he “owed” them didn’t seem quite accurate, but this kindness was so precious and worthy of gratitude that no description was too much.

Xun Zhen looked at Ming Chi’s gesture and suddenly raised his eyebrows quickly.

Then, before Ming Chi could react, he casually tossed his briefcase onto the sofa and strode over to give Ming Chi a hug.

Ming Chi was startled by him and reflexively wanted to step back, but he found that he didn’t instinctively resist and accidentally hurt him as he remembered he might.

He had no idea when, but the cold, dense clouds that had spread from the encounter thirteen years ago had silently and completely dissipated.

“We’re all friends, so cut me some slack, Captain Ming.”

Xun Zhen patted his back. “Why are the tickets for your ship so hard to buy?”