That night, Fu Xuanliao slept very restlessly.

When he opened his eyes in the middle of the night with a heart palpitation, the words "Don't forget me" were still echoing in his ears. He went to the bathroom and rinsed his face twice under cold water before he truly came to his senses.

Back in the private room, I picked up my phone and saw several messages from my mother, Jiang Rong.

Are you asleep?

—Mom just came to let you know that she and your dad have already discussed it and will visit the Shi family when she returns to China next month, so you don't need to worry.

A drop of water fell from the end of his hair onto the screen. Fu Xuanliao wiped it away with his thumb and then sighed.

He replied to his mother: "Don't rush, things aren't that simple."

It's not an exaggeration. Fu Xuanliao had already discovered that Shi Huai cared about Shi Meng more than outsiders thought. Otherwise, he wouldn't have stepped in four years ago to help Shi Meng force him to sign the contract. The guidance and care that the Shi family has given him over the years, as well as the cooperation between the two families that they have facilitated, are mostly related to Shi Meng.

Perhaps thinking that he only had one son now, or perhaps wanting to make up for the past mistreatment... Fu Xuanliao pinched the bridge of his nose, no longer bothering to think about these unimportant things.

There was no time for him to think it over. After running for an hour at the gym, he returned to find his friend Gao Lecheng's "impromptu performance" already in place.

Today's item is a landscape painting. When the waiter carefully carried the framed painting in, Fu Xuanliao raised an eyebrow: "Is this also one of last night's auction items?"

"No, I bought it from an art exhibition. It just arrived here." Gao Lecheng grinned slyly. "It's a masterpiece by your Ice Beauty."

Fu Xuanliao's face darkened, and he glanced at the flowers in the painting again. From the meticulous brushwork to the color scheme, they were indeed extremely similar.

“Although we missed out on that painting… oh right, ‘Flame’, don’t be discouraged,” Gao Lecheng said generously. “Consider this one a gift from your brother. Take it and let loose.”

Fu Xuanliao scoffed, "You've got too much money to burn."

Gao Lecheng said, "It's not much money. I know you're holding a grudge, so isn't this a legitimate way for you to get revenge? He likes to steal, so we can't just break his hands, can we?"

Fu Xuanliao took a sip of wine, swirled the glass, and the color in his eyes darkened with the liquid in the glass: "How did you know I did that?"

Four years after Shi Mu passed away, Fu Xuanliao asked Shi Meng for the painting more than once.

After much coordination and effort, the outside world has generally accepted that Shi Mu is the author of "Flame". However, Shi Meng is blinded by greed and refuses to hand over the painting no matter what.

The last time was in the Shi family's attic, a studio that originally belonged to Shi Mu but was now occupied by Shi Meng. When asked where the paintings had gone, Shi Meng turned his head and looked at him, his voice and eyes equally cold: "Sold."

Fu Xuanliao's heart was in his throat: "Who did you sell it to?"

"A collector."

"That's Shi Mu's painting. What gives you the right to buy it?"

“The owner of the painting has the right to dispose of the painting itself.” As if he was not used to face-to-face communication, Shi Meng said slowly, “I didn’t want to see it, so I sold it.”

According to regulations, the recipient of a gift is considered the owner of the artwork, and after the artist's death, they do have the right to do whatever they want with it. Shi Mengzheng exploited this loophole, and even without being recognized as the author, he could still dispose of the artwork at will.

And he refused to say who he sold it to.

“I forgot, it seems they weren’t locals.” Shi Meng turned to stare at the drawing board, sketching the outline of the painting with charcoal pencil. “They should have already moved the painting away by now.”

Fu Xuanliao found it hard to accept that a painting created by his beloved for him had been sold to a stranger.

In a fit of rage, he strode forward and grabbed Shi Meng's hand that was holding the pen.

With his thumb and forefinger wedged at his wrist joint and his knuckles exerting force, the charcoal pencil fell to the ground with a thud, forcing Shi Meng to look at Fu Xuanliao again.

He should have been in pain, but his expression was stern and fearless: "You want to break my hand?"

Fu Xuanliao gritted his teeth and unconsciously increased his strength. Shi Meng was very thin, with protruding wrist bones. Under such violent treatment, the creaking sound of bones and flesh being squeezed together could almost be heard.

His hatred had almost reached its peak when Fu Xuanliao said in a rough voice, "You think I wouldn't dare?"

"Even if it's broken, I still have my other hand."

Shi Meng endured the pain until his face turned deathly pale. Instead of begging for mercy, his expression showed a kind of joy as if he was about to be released.

He raised his chin and looked at Fu Xuanliao, his eyes even containing a hint of provocation: "Even if it's broken, he's already dead and can't come back to life."

After hearing this story, Gao Lecheng shuddered: "He really didn't care about his life."

Fu Xuanliao snorted through his nose, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

As he poured the wine, Gao Lecheng thought about it more and more and found it absurd: "You know, someone whose thought process is so different from normal people, who doesn't even care about his life, what else could he care about? Money? But he can buy a painting for ten million without batting an eye."

Fu Xuanliao slumped onto the sofa, tilted his head back and shook his head at the ceiling, as if to say no, or as if to say he didn't know.

Gao Lecheng suddenly laughed and said, "I understand."

Fu Xuanliao turned his head to the side, giving him a look that said, "Spit it out."

Gao Lecheng slapped his thigh: "Isn't it you he cares about?"

After a two-second silence, Fu Xuanliao burst out laughing: "Is that what he calls caring?"

Gao Lecheng explained logically: "They use every means to keep you by their side, and they'll do anything to cut off your feelings for your ex. That's how it's always portrayed in TV dramas..."

“That’s called possessiveness,” Fu Xuanliao interrupted him. “It’s called selfishness, greed, and harming others for personal gain. It’s not called caring.”

How can such an absurd relationship be called caring?

Who cares about others by forcibly binding them regardless of their wishes? Who cares about others by wanting everything they have and snatching it away without a second thought?

Fu Xuanliao suddenly sat up straight and drank the wine on the table in one gulp.

Then he stretched out his arm and opened his hand: "Lighter."

When he handed the item over, Gao Lecheng was a little puzzled: "Don't you not smoke?"

Taking the lighter, Fu Xuanliao stood up and walked over to the picture that had just been brought in.

"I can do whatever I want with this painting?" he finally confirmed.

“Of course,” Gao Lecheng said. “You can throw it on the ground and stomp on it a few times without being asked…”

His voice trailed off, and Fu Xuanliao pushed open the lighter cap with one hand, flicked the flint wheel with his thumb, and a flame suddenly shot up in front of him, causing him to squint.

He did hesitate, but the voice in his dream lingered, reminding him of the regrets Shi Mu had carried when she died, and reminding him of the cruel hand that created the painting before him.

This made Fu Xuanliao determined to move the blazing flame to the center of the painting. The fluttering white petals curled inward, first forming a charred hole, then rapidly expanding until the entire delicate flower was engulfed by the flames.

The flames raged, like a menacing demon.

Fu Xuanliao watched coldly, the anticipated pleasure failing to materialize. He recalled the focused look on that person's face when they were painting.

But he never does anything he'll regret, so he turned around and said casually, "It was quite relaxing. Remember to call me next time there's something like this."

The night before Saturday, Shi Meng was able to sleep more soundly.

Even though he had a nightmare in which his paintings were used as slabs on the ground and trampled by thousands of people... when he sat up and flipped over a calendar on his bedside table, the striking red circle there helped to calm him down.

There was an inconspicuous little star in the upper right corner of the date. Shi Meng stared at it for a while, then poked it a few times with her finger.

On holidays, instead of having breakfast together, I would sometimes sneak upstairs into my studio and stay there for half a day.

During this time, I received a call from Teacher Sun, who said that the painting from last time had found a buyer and quoted a price, and asked what Shi Meng thought.

Without hesitation, Shi Meng said, "Okay."

Sun Yanfeng agreed and then asked him how he was doing lately. Shi Meng said he was doing well.

"Are you coming over on Sunday?" the middle-aged man asked tentatively on the phone. "Teacher, could you buy some of your favorite dishes, and we could have a couple of drinks at home?"

Shi Meng lowered her eyes, seemingly hesitant.

Seeing that he didn't speak, Sun Yanfeng advised, "It only happens once a year, and anyway, staying in that house is... restrictive."

The phrase "bound by constraints" is a euphemism; for the past four years, this day has been particularly difficult to endure.

Shi Meng ultimately declined her teacher's invitation, because Fu Xuanliao might stay overnight and leave later tomorrow.

After all, it only happens once a year.

However, by evening, the familiar car still hadn't appeared in the distance.

In the studio, there was a large table for laying out drawing paper. Shi Meng had built a three-story tower next to the half-meter-high card tower. When the housekeeper knocked on the door to call him for dinner, his hand trembled, and the two towers, one large and one small, collapsed instantly and were razed to the ground.

Shi Sihui also returned. She went back to her room to change her clothes. When she came out, she was stunned for a moment when she saw the cake on the table, and then she said knowingly, "It's better to come a day early, so as not to bring bad luck."

Shi Meng acted as if he hadn't heard, and pulled out a chair and sat down.

Everyone got a piece of cake.

Li Bihan sat opposite Shi Meng and said slowly, "It was supposed to be tomorrow, but I thought I had other things to do tomorrow, so let's celebrate Mu Mu's birthday early."

Shi Huaiyi's expression was not good: "What's the point of celebrating a birthday a day early?"

“Yes, it’s a nice birthday,” Li Bihan said leisurely. “If Mumu were still here, she would be twenty-four this year.”

Everyone at the table fell silent.

Shi Meng looked down at the cake on the plate, which was still pretty even after being cut open. He remembered when he was very young, before he came to the Shi family, he had written his wish to eat cake on his birthday in his dirty diary.

"Eat up, Shi Meng," Shi Sihui called to him. "I remember you loved sweets when you were little."

Shi Meng sat still.

Back then, I couldn't eat it; now, I just don't want to.

Suddenly, Li Bihan chuckled, "Is Xiao Meng waiting for his cake? I used to prepare a cake for each of you brothers."

When Shi Meng looked up and saw the smile on Li Bihan's face, it had already faded.

"The cakes are exactly the same. Mu Mu has one, and you have one too." She looked at Shi Meng, her eyes filled with pain and hatred, but devoid of any warmth. "Why did you take his? Have I been unkind to you?"

Before Shi Meng could answer, Shi Huaiyi shouted, "Enough! Let's eat, why are we talking about all that?"

"Those?" Li Bihan laughed again. "You only have this one son? What about Mu back then? My Mu Mu, who died in the hospital at the age of twenty, what was he?"

Shi Huaiyi's face darkened, and he said impatiently, "Who said Shi Mu isn't my son? Everyone did their best back then, and Shi Meng also had his bone marrow tested. What can we do if they don't match?"

"The test results are nowhere to be found, so of course whatever you say is true."

"You—" Shi Huaiyi slammed down his chopsticks, "Do you think I'd want my own son to die?"

...

For the past four years, a farce has erupted in the Shi family every year around this time.

The arguments, which often ended without resolution, usually concluded with Li Bihan covering her face and weeping, while Shi Huai helplessly tried to comfort her.

"My Mumu, my poor Mumu..."

Li Bihan kept muttering to herself, crying so hard she almost passed out. Shi Sihui was busy pouring water for her mother when she passed by Shi Meng's seat and kicked his chair, saying, "What are you sitting there like an idiot for?"

Shi Meng snapped out of her daze and turned to look at the grandfather clock in the living room.

It's 7:30, and Fu Xuanliao still hasn't arrived.

Perhaps it's because of what happened yesterday.

I sat by the window in the studio for more than an hour, almost falling asleep, when I vaguely recalled what happened in the hotel last night.

She had a fight with Fu Xuanliao; no wonder he didn't come.

But Shi Meng felt that he shouldn't be angry, after all, he was the one who was choked, and the marks were still very clear even after a night.

The second night was almost over.

Leaning against the glass window, a lone lamp shone in the courtyard outside, and the surrounding trees swayed in the wind. Shi Meng suddenly realized that he would be twenty-four years old tomorrow.

At twenty, Shi Meng had nothing; at twenty-four, she had everything she wanted.

Even though everyone described his actions as "stealing," Shi Meng still believed that these things should rightfully belong to him.

Just like the casing and gears of a machine, they are a single unit when they leave the factory, and neither can be separated from the other.

In the current situation, Fu Xuanliao clearly doesn't realize that he is a very important cog in the machine.

Shi Meng pulled out his rarely used phone, opened the contacts, and hovered his finger over the number "001" for a long time without tapping it.

He didn't want to be as impatient as last time, which could easily trigger his cravings. He tried to relax, took a few deep breaths, and mentally counted from one to one hundred, then backwards from one hundred back to one. No one came, but he did have a short dream.

It was also in this attic that Shi Meng, in her dream, was very small and could easily hide under the table.

Shi Meng loved this place and often sneaked up here to stay for a while when no one was around. This day, however, she was unlucky; less than five minutes after she arrived, someone else came in. Shi Meng hugged her knees and huddled under the table, watching two pairs of legs swinging back and forth in front of her, listening to the two people talk about school, and became somewhat engrossed.

Suddenly, a pair of long, slender legs belonging to a young boy stopped in front of the desk. Shi Meng immediately bit her lip and dared not breathe.

"Hey, didn't you say you bought a new game console overseas last time?"

"Yes, you want to play?"

"Okay, go plug in the power first, I'll make a call and come over."

The footsteps and the sound of the door opening and closing faded into the distance. Just as Meng was quietly waiting for the person to finish the phone call and leave, a face she had seen many times before suddenly appeared in front of her.

Even as a teenager, Fu Xuanliao possessed a handsome face that sparkled with life. At this moment, his peach blossom eyes were slightly upturned, revealing a playful smile.

Reaching a hand under the table, palm up, Fu Xuanliao said, "There's no one here. Come out quickly, aren't you cold in there?"

But this time, when Shi Meng raised his hand, he only touched the hard glass window.

Startled by the cold, his heart began to race. As if hearing some kind of call, Shi Meng looked out the window. Just then, a figure flashed past the fence outside the courtyard downstairs. Without thinking, he turned, pushed open the door, and ran downstairs.

The Shi family mansion has a courtyard covering 100 square meters. Passing through the secluded and lush bushes and the shimmering pond, when you push open the iron gate, you come face to face with people who have nowhere to hide in the wide open space.

The older woman, dressed in a thin dress, still possessed a slender figure and graceful charm. Her bright face, bathed in moonlight, lost some of its sharpness and harshness, gaining more gentleness and tenderness, which momentarily stunned Shi Meng.

When the door opened, her eyes lit up at first, but quickly dimmed again when she saw who opened it.

Perhaps not expecting to be discovered, the woman avoided eye contact: "It's you, Mengmeng."

Although Shi Meng was somewhat disappointed, he was not so much as to forget the kindness of being born and raised.

He lowered his eyes and called out softly, "Mom."