When Ah Heng went to pick up that person, she was caught red-handed by her grandfather.

The old master glared at her with an ashen face, watching for a long time at the hospital entrance. Burning with anger, he wanted to throw the letter at her, only saying one sentence: “So this is how well I’ve taught my granddaughter!”

Si Wan made eye signals from the side.

Ah Heng pressed her lips together, smiling: “Grandfather, are you angry with me?”

Elder Wen glanced at Si Wan beside him, feeling somewhat inexplicably angry. Ah Heng was so well-behaved, yet could write such a heartless letter threatening him—it must be somehow connected to this troublesome boy.

He had his private intentions, wanting Yan Xi to stay away from Si Wan, but there was no malice in it. Yet in his granddaughter’s eyes, it had become an unforgivable sin.

Children’s thoughts are pure; without adult guidance, they misunderstand things—this wasn’t his intention at all. Moreover, the child had already said so much in the letter…

“You go home first,” the old man thought for a moment before speaking to Si Wan.

Si Wan sheepishly touched his nose, looked worriedly at Ah Heng, and obediently left.

“You plan to play this game with grandfather, running away with Yan Xi?” Elder Wen sighed after Si Wan had gone far, looking at his granddaughter’s features, which were five parts similar to his late wife, his tone softening.

Ah Heng’s small face concentrated as she pouted: “Grandfather only loves Si Wan anyway and doesn’t like me. I might as well keep Yan Xi company, so I won’t offend your eyes.” This childishness was her first time showing it before Elder Wen.

After all, she was his flesh and blood, and of the grandchild generation. As the old man listened, he almost wanted to laugh, and did laugh, scolding: “If I truly didn’t love you, would that letter of yours have been able to frighten your grandfather?”

Ah Heng smiled, with a hint of ingratiation: “I never meant to frighten grandfather—I am going to take Yan Xi away.”

Elder Wen snorted coldly: “You’re truly filial!”

Ah Heng just smiled, nodding, somewhat embarrassed.

When she wrote that letter, what she had in mind from the beginning was a win-win situation. Although she had that moment’s thought about sharing the last piece of bread with Yan Xi, thinking that dying of hunger together would be fine. But the hardship she could bear—how could Yan Xi, pampered since childhood, endure it?

“Forget it, forget it, we old folks must have owed you little ones in our past life.” Elder Wen sighed, caught between laughter and tears. “I’ll find someone to handle Yan Xi’s discharge procedures shortly. I’ll handle the Yan family’s side—you go bring him home.”

Ah Heng’s eyes sparkled.

The old man smiled helplessly, patting his granddaughter’s head: “You held onto the Yan family’s keys for three months without returning them—did you think grandfather was getting senile?”

Ah Heng was somewhat embarrassed, smiling, her fair face showing rare discomfort.

Elder Wen became serious, speaking earnestly to Ah Heng: “Since this is the path you’ve chosen, even if you regret it, there’s no turning back. Understand?”

When she went to get Yan Xi, everything was white, making her eyes hurt.

Three months wasn’t short at all. Her battle of patience and indirection had lasted three months, finally ending in great victory.

Peering through the window, that person lying on the white hospital bed, soft and clean, curled up, sleeping. His left index finger hooked around a Chinese ring puzzle, silver, flashing a desolate yet beautiful light in the sunlight.

She could almost see his black hair, scattered by sunlight, facing away from her.

Ah Heng walked in. On the bedside table sat a glass of water and pills—white ones, black ones, brown ones. This was truly awful, none were his favorite colors; she wondered if he had been obediently taking them. His breathing was very light, quiet, a peaceful breath.

She grabbed his right hand, thumb, index finger, and middle finger, gradually joining them together, gently, and then, misaligned, gripped tightly, fingers interlocked.

His veins showed, his thin bones pressing against her.

He had lost much more weight.

The scars left by the cactus had become dark, thread-like marks, somewhat frightening.

It didn’t match Yan Fan•Gao’s painting.

So they say, life can’t be hypothetical. Even if you predict the ending and everyone ends up happy, there’s always a tiny flaw.

She felt somewhat tired, watching him, quiet. No day or night, endless injections of medicine, endless sleep, not even being able to dream.

Yan Xi, have you… thought of Ah Heng…

She gently shook him. The sleeping person, due to the medication’s effects, was difficult to wake.

She gently lifted his body, gently let him lean against her, embracing him with both arms, slowly patting his hair, with gentle finger warmth: “Yan Xi, wake up soon, we should go home.”

Some year, same month, someday, someone had also jealously watched her gently holding and coaxing that lazy-bones doll, saying: “Baby, time to get up, we need to go to kindergarten.”

He had directly manhandled the doll instead: “Hey, get up, get up! Even I don’t get such good treatment!”

But she had smiled. Fool, I once pampered you like this too, only, do you remember?

When he woke up, his whole body was filled with a warm, pleasant scent. Opening his eyes hazily, he saw a person.

Her eyes were so gentle, carrying weariness, as if for a long time, no one had looked at him like this.

He rubbed his eyes, his clear black and white eyes looking at her for a very long time.

Then, he gently raised his head, his slightly cool body temperature, a light kiss, pressed against her eyelid.

A ticklish, soft kiss. Afterward, like a child, he smiled, breaking free from her embrace, innocent and shy.

Ah Heng was stunned, helpless, yet couldn’t bring herself to scold him.

Because three months was enough time for him to forget her thousands of times—putting on airs to lecture him would just be wasting breath.

Then, she guessed, he must have taken her for a love-spreading angel, treating the kiss as a mission.

So, she also smiled, holding his hand, speaking: “Yan Xi, let’s go home.”

He glanced at her once, but lowered his head to play with the ring puzzle, looking at each small ring, just falling into his world.

Still, the same as before.

Looking up, Grandfather and Dr. Zheng were already standing at the hospital room entrance.

She held his hand, and he obediently followed behind her, seriously playing with the ring puzzle.

Dr. Zheng’s eyes brightened somewhat: “Rare to see Yan Xi so well-behaved today. Usually, when he wakes up, he always cries and makes a fuss.”

Ah Heng frowned: “Was Yan Xi hurt?” She knew Tianwu’s methods of handling patients—those who wouldn’t behave would be tied up and given sedatives.

Dr. Zheng was somewhat sheepish: “There was no bleeding.”

Ah Heng lifted Yan Xi’s sleeve—his pale, thin arms were covered in purple bruises left by hemp rope bindings.

Her heart ached, and Ah Heng’s face darkened. She said a few polite words, but the atmosphere ultimately grew cold.

Usually when Yan Xi got bumped or hurt, although she would verbally scold the youth for being careless, she would secretly curse the offending railings or chairs ten or eight times in her heart, remembering exactly which one had hurt him.

Ah Heng said goodbye to the adults, told their grandfather she would wait outside, then lowered her head, cursing Dr. Zheng while holding Yan Xi’s hand as they walked out.

Elder Wen smiled, how could he not see through Ah Heng’s little thoughts: “Little Zheng, the child is spoiled at home, don’t take offense.”

Dr. Zheng watched the direction the two had gone, smiling slightly: “If it’s her, how could I take offense? Does Elder Wen know what Yan Xi cries about each time?”

Elder Wen shook his head. He couldn’t imagine—the patient was so unstable, how could anyone guess?

“Don’t forget, don’t forget, Ah Heng, Ah Heng, Ah Heng…” Dr. Zheng murmured, imitating that person’s tone.

He would hold his head, his pupils so scattered, so unwilling to let go of his precious one. Don’t forget his Ah Heng, but ultimately, gradually forgot.

Because he had already forgotten how to speak.

So, how could he open his mouth to call out Ah Heng?

She taught him to speak; he looked at her, just smiling, his big eyes clean and innocent.

She fed him, pointing at the pork ribs: “Ribs, ribs, Yan Xi, your favorite ribs, say it with me, ribs—”

Yan Xi tilted his head, not speaking, just opening his mouth wide to bite the spoon she held out with ribs on it.

She held the milk, deliberately not giving it to him: “Yan Xi, your chocolate milk, milk, this is milk, say it and I’ll let you drink.”

Yan Xi looked at her, hazily, but snatched the glass, gulping down the drink, his throat making loud sounds.

Ah Heng’s lips twitched—that wasn’t the right sound. She thought for a moment, then cheerfully taught him again: “Yan Xi, Yan Xi, Yan Xi, this is your name, you know? Yan—Xi—”

She dragged out the syllables, pronouncing them very clearly and pleasantly, carefully observing his expression.

He looked somewhat confused, then thought very, very hard, obediently offering her the remaining half glass of milk, painfully parting with it. In his mind, milk and Yan Xi were equivalent concepts—he thought Ah Heng wanted to drink his milk.

Ah Heng became dejected, giving up: “Ah Heng, what about Ah Heng? Never mind, never mind, if you remember, I’ll take your surname.”

That youth seemed to remember something, suddenly enlightened, smiling until his dimple showed on one side, childishly clapping his hands, gently and tenderly lowering his head, six centimeters’ distance, lightly kissing her eyelid.

Cool and ticklish.

Did Ah Heng equal kisses?

When Ah Heng went to school, she couldn’t take Yan Xi anymore because he had started fearing places with many people.

Except for several fixed annual concerts, Mother Wen wasn’t busy, so she would take care of Yan Xi at home while Ah Heng was at school. She bought another mobile phone for Ah Heng, to call her immediately if Yan Xi started crying or making a fuss.

Mother Wen always smiled, as if she was raising another baby.

Si Er twisted her mouth—what kind of baby was this big?

Si Wan remembered something, feeling somewhat lost, looking at Ah Heng, quite unsettled.

Ah Heng was very grateful to her mother in her heart, but Mother Wen shook her head with a smile: “Seventeen years don’t match up to two years—Yan Xi is truly an ungrateful wolf.”

Mother Wen followed Ah Heng’s instructions to teach Yan Xi to speak, but Yan Xi always ignored her, sitting by the telephone, staring without blinking.

When the ring tone sounded, his longan-like big eyes curved in a smile as he rushed to answer the phone, but it was always unfamiliar voices. So he would throw down the phone, pout, and turn around, leaving a patch of grey shadow, extremely resentful.

Mother Wen laughed heartily: “My precious, even if it’s not Ah Heng, you can’t throw the phone!”

She became enthusiastic about teaching Yan Xi to remember Ah Heng’s phone number: “136××××6196, treasure, remember it?”

Mother Wen recited it once, but Zhang Sao called from the kitchen, so she stopped and walked to the kitchen.

When she came back, Yan Xi was hugging the phone, smiling until his mouth almost formed a heart shape.

From the phone: “Hello? Hello? Hello? Mom? Hello, is the signal bad? Mom, is Yan Xi misbehaving?” That gentle, soft voice was exactly Ah Heng’s.

Mother Wen stood stunned, looking at the innocent, joyful face before her, the voice on the other end of the receiver so far yet so near, tears suddenly flowing down.

“No, he’s very good, very good. Every moment, every minute, every second, he’s obediently thinking of you. Although he doesn’t know how to speak, how to say your name.”

But you are just you.