The little mister didn’t take another step, standing his ground steadily.

…

The little mister was steadily cooked through.

The night dew condensed on the reef fell into the sea. Stirred by the moonlight, a seabird awoke from its slumber and skimmed across the beach with a flutter of its wings.

Ming Weiting was still looking at him.

His gaze fell into Ming Chi’s eyes. Ripples spread there, layer upon layer, like the song Ming Chi had played just for him.

Ming Weiting suddenly spoke, “This is not good.”

Ming Chi came back to his senses. He was just wondering if he had made the very air hot. “What’s wrong?”

“We shouldn’t have postponed the fireworks,” Ming Weiting said. “The atmosphere right now is very suitable.”

He and Ming Chi had agreed that after he returned from his business, they would hold each other and chase the fireworks in the sea. But it was too late today, and Ming Chi had played to his heart’s content, leaving him with little strength left.

…

Considering safety and other factors, Mr. Ming had temporarily postponed this event on the schedule for two days. He didn’t think it would be a problem at the time, but now a clear sense of regret suddenly emerged.

Ming Lu stood not too far away, watching the scenery. For some reason, he suddenly coughed.

Ming Chi also coughed. He looked at the very serious and self-reflecting Mr. Ming and couldn’t help but lower his voice to join the discussion. “Suitable for what?”

Ming Weiting shook his head. He didn’t know. “Uncle Lu won’t say.”

He was just looking at Ming Chi’s eyes—of course, he often looked at Ming Chi’s eyes. In the past, it was mostly to let Ming Chi see his lip movements clearly, to establish a clear sense of communication, and also to find subtle changes in Ming Chi’s physical and emotional state from them.

Later, it became a habit. He always wanted to look at those eyes. Seeing the smile in them would make him feel relaxed, and he would want to be happy along with him.

And when they came ashore, among a crowd of people.

Ming Weiting wasn’t quite used to crowds and had never been inclined towards lively scenes. He originally thought he would be somewhat unaccustomed to it after disembarking. But after staying on the beach for a long time, he realized that the surrounding situation was hard to notice.

He hadn’t noticed how many people were around him, how noisy it was, nor had he noticed the difference between land and the cruise ship.

He stood in the clamor looking at Ming Chi and found that Ming Chi happened to be looking back at him.

…Even Mr. Ming was well aware that at times like this, the “Stanning Guide” and skills for making friends were useless.

But the Ming family’s storm-weathered butler was quite outrageous, refusing to easily leak the insights his father had summarized, even telling the master that this part could only be researched on his own.

The accused Ming family butler himself didn’t care at all. While the master wasn’t looking, he grinned and made a gesture to the little mister.

Ming Chi blinked his eyes, immediately understood, and hid his smile. “That outrageous?”

“Yes,” Mr. Ming continued his complaint. “He wants me to figure it out myself.”

Ming Chi was still steadily flushing hot. He took a deep breath and slowly raised his hand. “You can.”

Ming Weiting was a little confused, his gaze questioning.

“You can,” little mister Ming said, magnanimously bending over. “Please, explore.”

Ming Weiting was stunned. Before he could react, his hand had been scooped up and led over.

“This part is hot.” Ming Chi held Mr. Shadow’s hand, placed those fingers on his ear, and introduced it himself. “It’s hot further down too, all the way here.”

He guided Mr. Shadow’s hand to his left ear. “This side doesn’t have tinnitus anymore. With the hearing aid, I can hear very clearly. I can hear everything Mr. Shadow says.”

“My vision is also fine. The follow-up check-up showed a good recovery.” Ming Chi used his hand to gently touch his own eyes, then rested it on his temple. “My head doesn’t hurt anymore either.”

Ming Chi continued his introduction down to his collar, then over his shirt to his chest. “This part is beating, very fast.” He held that hand and knocked on his own heart through his chest cavity. “I guess it’s very familiar with Mr. Shadow.”

“I’ve read the letters. To be honest, they’re a bit cryptic. It’s hard to fully deduce what state I was in when I wrote them.”

Ming Chi had a bit of a headache. “I wrote thirteen ‘ah’s.”

…But perhaps now he could deduce it.

After all, some hearts weren’t just beating vigorously in the chest, constantly bumping against the ribs to greet the other person warmly, but were also diligently helping him add the “ah”s all the way up to thirty-six.

Ming Chi pursed his lips. He raised his gaze. If he weren’t currently leading the other person in an exploration of himself, he would almost want to reach out and touch Mr. Shadow’s eyes.

“This is the subject’s shoulder. It’s a bit sore. When we get back to the cruise ship, I want to soak in the bathtub. The bathtub on the cruise ship has a massage function. That’s why I want to go back to the cruise ship with Mr. Shadow.”

“This is the subject’s arm. It will probably be too sore to lift tomorrow, so for tomorrow’s breakfast, I want something that doesn’t require chopsticks. Actually, I’m hungry now. I want to pull Mr. Shadow and Uncle Lu to have a late-night snack. I’ve been practicing a few new-flavored dishes these days.”

“This is the subject’s hand. I’ve been drawing these past few days, preparing to show them to Mr. Shadow. Today I played the guitar, played all the songs I’ve written these days for Mr. Shadow.”

Ming Chi finally placed his hand back in his own, holding them together. “This is very comfortable, so I plan to keep holding it like this.”

“This is the subject. He is currently holding hands, waiting to go home together.”

Ming Chi looked up, steaming hot, and finished his report. “Mister, have you explored and understood clearly?”

…

Butler Ming coughed, suppressed a laugh, and made a nimble exit. In a few steps, he quickly disappeared into the night, going ahead to have someone lower the cruise ship’s gangway.

Ming Weiting was still looking at Ming Chi.

He was silent for so long that Ming Chi couldn’t help but raise his hand and wave it in front of his eyes. “Mr. Shadow?”

Ming Chi looked down at himself, a little curious. “What are you looking at?”

“Fireworks,” Ming Weiting said. “Uncle Lu was right.”

There shouldn’t be a guide, skills, or a tutorial for this kind of thing. One shouldn’t refer to the insights left by one’s father.

These things might give one a bit of confidence, make one less clueless and anxious, but they would also offset the intense, firework-like feeling that comes after every unexpected moment.

Ming Chi looked up and saw Mr. Shadow suddenly break into a smile.

Ming Weiting looked down at him, his eyes filled with nothing but smiles, filled with his reflection.

Ming Chi couldn’t help but curve his eyes as well. His hand was really tired from being held up, but before he could use up all his strength and let it fall, he was already being lifted into an embrace.

“Very clear,” Ming Weiting said, holding him in his arms.

He didn’t often hold Ming Chi like this, his arms encircling him completely, his chin resting lightly on the top of his head, his chest vibrating slightly as he spoke. “A small part, very clear.”

Ming Chi thought he had given a very detailed introduction and was a little surprised. “There’s still that much left unsaid?”

“A lot. It will take a long time to say,” Ming Weiting said. “It will take a very long time to understand.”

A considerable amount of time.

Perhaps the time it takes to write down twenty thousand things.

…

At the pier, Ming Lu had someone lower the gangway. He didn’t wait long before the little mister arrived, being carried back by the master.

The Ming family’s butler waved with a grin, not having the ship’s health manager come to adjust the master’s sleep problems again. He wasn’t in a hurry to go into the cabin, instead watching the scenery on the deck for a while before being drawn in by the enticing aroma of food for a late-night snack.

The cruise ship was docked at the port, the wind calm and the waves still.

The moon had already moved to the other side of the sky. The deepening darkness of the firmament was like a piece of fine velvet, making the stars seem particularly bright.

The late-night snack under the lights was steaming and fragrant. Ming Chi had just learned how to make fruit wine at the beach party. Translucent ice cubes clinked as they fell into the glass, and a layer of cool condensation quickly formed on the outside.

Ming Chi finished making the drinks. He was encircled by Mr. Shadow and sat down, prompted to talk about what happened on the beach.

This ball of fire still didn’t seem to have a clear enough understanding of “just how cool he was,” but those perspectives were also interesting, making one curious about the world through his eyes.

Ming Chi told them about the changes in his friends, how everyone seemed to have become more mature and steady, and how the professional skills of the artists were even better than before.

Ming Chi talked about seeing an elderly couple, a gentleman and a lady with white hair, dressed in very fashionable and trendy clothes, their energy no less than that of young people.

He also saw a small group of surfing enthusiasts, all young people. They were probably planning to stay in a nearby hotel after dark and weren’t in a hurry to leave. They were discussing techniques in the shallows under the lights, occasionally performing quite stunning moves.

There were many interesting people and fun things on the beach. He saw two seabirds fighting over a fish, getting so angry that they turned their rage on a passerby’s newly bought fries. There were also clams that sprayed water, and crabs hiding in two nearby sand holes, one responsible for startling tourists who had never seen the sea, and the other responsible for pinching their toes.

And there was a particularly cool lady.

She was the mother of a boy around ten years old, wearing sunglasses and chewing on a lollipop, happily building sandcastles and playing in the water with her son. Attracted by the music, the two of them ran over and squeezed into the front row to listen.

“This cool!” The cheers and applause were so loud, in a wave of sound after another, the mother shouted at her son, “You have to be this cool when you grow up! Be cool for mommy to see!!”

The boy was wild when he was with his mother, but still nervous around strangers. Clutching the new guitar his mother had just bought him, he finally mustered up the courage after constant encouragement from the young guitarists and ran to ask Ming Chi for an autograph.

Here, we must mention the instrument shop by the beach—this shop had been around for some years. The owner had been working here for over a decade. Because he loved the sea and refused to leave, he fought a tenacious battle against the sea breeze every day to prevent humidity.

The owner half-sold instruments and half-ran classes, providing resident singers and temporary bands for the nearby bars. Business had always been mediocre, not too hot, not too cold. The last time guitars sold out, one had to go back ten years.

This time, not only did the guitars sell out in an instant, but because other instruments were also in the ensemble, several other instruments also sold like hotcakes. Even two electronic keyboards were carried away.

The owner was overjoyed. He managed to find Ming Chi, gave him a set of the best guitar strings, and invited him to come to the beach to play more often, preferably once a year.

Ming Chi’s windbreaker pockets were stuffed with many things. He rummaged through them for a long time, found the set of strings, and then thought of the little boy. “I asked him what he wanted me to write. He said he wanted to grow up quickly.”

Ming Weiting picked up the glass and lightly tapped it against his forehead.

Ming Chi came back to his senses, looked up with a smile, saw the straw placed in front of him, and took two big sips.

The fruit juice completely masked the taste of alcohol in the wine. The fruit wine was cool and sweet. A few more sips would bring a particularly light dizziness, but the alcohol content Ming Chi used was not high, so his mind was still quite clear.

Ming Weiting asked softly, “What did the mother say?”

“She said not to rush.” Ming Chi repeated with a smile, imitating the tone from his memory. “What’s the rush? No rush, grow up slowly.”

“Grow up after you’ve had fun, grow up when you’re ready.”

Ming Chi said, “A lifetime is very long.”

Ming Weiting stroked his hair.

Ming Chi processed this intertwined memory and emotion on his own, took a deep breath and exhaled, fully revived. As he was about to stand up, he suddenly swayed and sat back down, a little dazed.

Ming Chi thought for a moment and remembered that the particularly cool lady hadn’t actually said that.

The lady patted her son’s head and shouted with a laugh, “Hurry, hurry, grow up quickly, then your old mom can be free and travel the world. You won’t even be able to find my shadow.”

The people around them laughed good-naturedly. The boy hugged his guitar, his head bowed, his face flushed red, but the corners of his mouth were also turned up high.

…

Ming Chi propped himself up with his arms, looked at the tabletop, and studied it seriously for a minute. “Mr. Shadow.”

“My drink is finished,” Ming Chi concluded calmly. “What I just drank was yours.”

He knew his own alcohol tolerance very well and had made a distinction when portioning it out. On Uncle Lu’s advice, he had secretly added a double shot of base liquor to Mr. Shadow’s glass.

Ming Weiting let Ming Chi lean on his shoulder, cupping the back of his head and neck to help him sit steady. “I used your straw.”

Ming Chi’s logic was clear. He nodded. “So I didn’t notice.”

No wonder.

He had just been wondering why he had suddenly become so talkative.

Ming Chi thought for a moment. He looked up and found that Mr. Shadow was still looking at him. He raised his hand to gently touch those eyes. “What’s wrong?”

Ming Weiting cupped his shoulder with one hand and lowered his head slightly to make it easier for him to touch. “Exploration complete.”

“The little mister has a low alcohol tolerance, but he holds his liquor well,” Ming Weiting reported his conclusion. “The difference between when he’s drunk and when he’s sober is very small. He just likes to chat a little more than usual.”

Ming Chi’s eyes widened slightly. He was lost in the first three words, sitting there warmly for a long time, then thought for a while longer. “Just a little?”

He tended to want to talk when he had alcohol. He thought of the past and couldn’t help but smile. “Auntie said I was a little chatterbox.”

Ming Chi’s behavior when drunk was indeed very good. He wouldn’t cause trouble or have blackouts. The more he drank, the clearer his mind became, but his control over his body would weaken, so he would always talk uncontrollably.

His friends at Huaisheng Entertainment knew this better, as Ming Chi mostly drank with them. The General Manager could handle at most three cans of beer. Any more and he would fall asleep. So when they wanted to hear stories or songs, they would pour two and a quarter cans into the General Manager, and then the group would chat from night until dawn.

“Indeed,” Ming Chi recalled the situation at that time and judged for himself. “I had just received a gift those few days and was too happy.”

His tolerance for alcohol had also increased after he became an adult, so he wouldn’t get dizzy from just one sip. Although he would always talk a lot, he could basically judge what he was saying and whether he needed to stop.

But when he was a child, he couldn’t do that much yet—after being invited by his curious auntie and tasting a few sips of the new wine sent from the manor, he had squatted by her side and chattered non-stop for a whole night.

When he woke up the next morning, he was faced with his completely hoarse voice, still feeling quite puzzled and confused.

“What gift?” Ming Weiting asked.

Ming Chi blinked his eyes. He thought for a moment, then smiled and shook his head. “It’s a secret.”

Although he said it was a secret, the image in his memory became clearer and clearer, so clear that it completely occupied his entire mind.

Ming Chi looked at the drawing board and sketch paper that had appeared in front of him at some point, then at the pen in his hand. He tried to draw a few strokes on it, and the remaining lines seemed to flow out of the nib on their own.

Ming Chi began to explain his gift. He thought that he could actually not say it. He could handle this matter himself, face it and digest it on his own.

But it seemed it was also okay to say it.

Because he was already completely capable of handling, facing, and digesting this matter.

“We did a lot of modifications to the car, added a new ventilation system, did a new paint job, changed the color-changing glass…”

Ming Chi paused to think and proactively added, “It was all legal. We registered it with the vehicle management bureau. It can be driven on the road, and it has always passed its annual inspection.”

Ming Weiting ruffled the back of his hair. Ming Chi found this very comfortable, so he also reached out to touch the back of Mr. Shadow’s head and smiled. “It’s been fine for a long time.”

He was taken home by his aunt and cared for for three years. Then, because of a leg injury, he spent a full three months with his aunt at the Seaview Villa, and even got the coolest, most awesome car.

He was knocked out by a few sips of wine and chattered to his aunt all night about the places he wanted to take her in the car when he grew up.

For this, he had specially downloaded many maps from the internet and looked up the driving routes and scenic roads. He had memorized them all, and because he was so familiar with them, he recited them quite fluently when he was drunk, without even needing to pause and think.

…The next morning, his aunt, with dark circles under her eyes, stood with her arms crossed, watching him drink a pear soup boiled with sterculia lychnophora, tapping his head and calling him a little chatterbox.

But when he finished the throat-soothing soup and returned to his room, he saw a super large map—all the places he had mentioned were marked with little red flags, and all the routes, without a single one missing, were traced out with a shiny gold paint pen.

He was stunned for about ten seconds, then turned and rushed out of the room.

He rushed out just in time to see his aunt, who couldn’t hold back her laughter, peeking out and waiting for him. He was lifted up and spun around several times.

The two of them went to the car and sat in it majestically to savor the moment. His aunt held his hand and pressed the horn.

“No rush, what’s the rush,” his aunt stroked his head. “Slow down, grow up after you’ve had fun.”

His aunt hugged him and rocked him, whispering in his ear, “A lifetime is very long.”

…These were all very good things.

He had had such clear, undeniable good things in his life. These things made him feel lucky and happy even when he looked back on them many years later.

“Auntie gave me the car to make me happy.”

Ming Chi finished the last stroke of the drawing. He held the drawing in his arms for a while and came to a conclusion. “If I were sad because of this, Auntie would definitely regret it so much, slapping her thigh and exclaiming, ‘Oops, miscalculated.'”

“Oops, miscalculated,” Ming Chi slapped his thigh, lifted his head, and imitated his aunt’s tone. “If I had known, I would have just sent a plane.”

Ming Weiting was speechless, raising his hand to lightly touch his eyelashes. “How did you become so amazing?”

Ming Chi’s eyelashes were dry. His eyes were curved, the light in them clear and gentle. He continued to hold his head high with the momentum from just now. “Of course.”

Ming Weiting looked at him, amused by his spirited posture. He smiled, exchanged a look with Uncle Lu, and they both applauded for the little mister.

Ming Chi tried his best to hold the pose for three seconds but really couldn’t keep it up. He couldn’t hold back and coughed with laughter, then blushed from his ears all the way down to his collar. He propped himself up on the edge of the table and quickly retreated to the bathroom.

…

The Mr. Ming who didn’t need sleep therapy finished washing up, returned to the bedroom, and waited for nearly another hour.

Mr. Ming was already very familiar with this situation. He put down his computer, got up, and went to Ming Chi’s bathroom, knocking lightly on the door twice.

In the realm of artistic creation, everyone’s place of inspiration is different. Some are accustomed to the balcony in the early morning, while others are accustomed to a street corner at dusk. Going further back in time, there is the saying of “on horseback, on the toilet, on the pillow.”

But Ming Chi’s inspiration mainly came from the bathroom late at night and in the early morning. The most heart-stirring melody was written on a half-unrolled, scattered roll of toilet paper.

Ming Weiting waited for a while. Hearing Ming Chi’s response, he opened the door and went in. “Little mister, it’s time for bed.”

He had discovered this form of address tonight, found it very suitable to say, and was always looking for opportunities to call Ming Chi by it. After a moment, he walked through the steam and found that Ming Chi’s face was still very red.

Ming Weiting raised his hand and touched Ming Chi’s forehead. “Did you soak for too long?”

Ming Chi shook his head, steaming. He tied the belt of his bathrobe. “I was thinking about the design of the invitation letters and thought too hard.”

The envelopes Uncle Lu had given him were all standard-issue, considered as invitation letters from the cruise company to selected tourists. If the other party was willing to accept, they would receive a formal reply that could be used to board the ship.

“No rush,” Ming Weiting had him sit down, took the hairdryer, and helped him dry his hair. “This invitation letter isn’t just for inviting friends onto the ship, so it should indeed be designed carefully.”

Ming Chi wanted to take the hairdryer, but the fatigue in his whole body seemed to have been completely scalded out by the hot water; he didn’t even want to move his fingers.

He simply leaned against Mr. Shadow’s arm, completely entrusting his hair to the hand that was gently gathering it up, and asked softly, “What else is there?”

“I don’t know,” Ming Weiting hadn’t thought of any other answers either. He just wanted to go with Ming Chi to meet Ming Chi’s friends. After pondering for a while, he gave a suggestion. “Is a dinner party convenient?”

Ming Chi blinked his eyes and looked up.

Ming Weiting also felt this suggestion was a bit abrupt. After the hair in his palm was dry, he turned off the hairdryer and set it aside. “If—”

“It’s convenient,” Ming Chi smiled. “I was thinking about how to sign it.”

Ming Weiting hadn’t considered this question yet. He touched Ming Chi’s warm, soft hair, squatted down, and looked up to meet Ming Chi’s gaze.

Ming Chi squatted down with him, hugging his knees, his head touching Mr. Shadow’s forehead. “The first invitation letter, I want to give it to Auntie.”

Ming Weiting cupped the back of his head and neck and said softly, “Of course.”

“Before I leave, I want to make a trip to the cemetery.”

Ming Chi said, “I think that place is a mailbox.”

He was beginning to believe that his aunt wasn’t really trapped in that cold grave—but that it should be a mailbox. All the letters he had burned there for his aunt should have been delivered.

His aunt received the letters, so she came back to find him in his dreams. To check if he had grown into a particularly amazing adult, as they had agreed.

“We’ll go together,” Ming Weiting pondered for a moment. “Is tomorrow night suitable?”

Ming Chi pursed his lips and nodded.

“Okay,” Ming Weiting said. “I’ll go get my hair done at dawn.”

Ming Chi’s eyes widened. He now fully believed that Mr. Shadow could also tell jokes and couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “No need. You’re already very handsome now.”

Ming Chi was led by the hand by Ming Weiting and stood up.

That hand knew exactly how much strength he could still exert. It accompanied him as he slowly walked back to the bedroom, accompanied him as he comfortably fell headfirst onto the bed, accompanied him as he didn’t want to move at all.

Ming Chi closed his eyes. He slipped into a dream almost instantly. In the dream, he finished making that invitation letter in a burst of inspiration, and together with a small note, he secretly tucked it into the mailbox for his aunt.

“Auntie,” the characters on the small note were handsome and proper. “I’m going to see the world with the person I like.”

“I have to go home after surfing. My home is on the cruise ship now. When we go to other places, I’ll come back and change the address.”

He wrote on the small note, “Auntie, come and see me and my mister.”