When Chen Qingwu was nine years old, Meng Fuyuan took her and his younger brother Meng Qiran to the forest park.

Chen Qingwu caught a butterfly and released it when leaving. On the way to the parking lot, Chen Qingwu kept turning back to look. Before getting in the car, she turned back one last time, and in that dusk as thin as a cicada’s wing, she asked Meng Fuyuan sorrowfully, “Brother Yuan, is there no winter in the butterfly’s world?”

Later, when he fell for Chen Qingwu at age twenty, he inexplicably recalled those words.

Is there no winter in the butterfly’s world?

—Epigraph

/

The sky was dim gray, silted with layer upon layer of leaden clouds.

The weather forecast said there would be snow in the evening—who knew if it would be accurate.

Chen Qingwu stepped up the stairs and was about to raise her hand to knock when the door suddenly opened.

Aunt Qi leaned out, all smiles: “I just said she should be here when I heard the car—come in quickly! It’s cold outside, isn’t it, Qingwu?”

“A little.” Chen Qingwu smiled.

Aunt Qi affectionately took her hand. “Your hands are so cold, why didn’t you wear more clothes? Hurry inside, I’ll have the helper make you a hot cup of tea.” She led her into the house.

Outside, Meng Qiran called out loudly: “…Mom, don’t close the door, I’m not in yet!”

Lugging his suitcase, Meng Qiran took three steps as two. Aunt Qi made as if to close the door, and he quickly squeezed through.

Aunt Qi laughed and patted him once. “You’re a grown man, can’t you be more steady?”

Aunt Qi handed the suitcase to the family’s housekeeper, then led Chen Qingwu directly to the tea room. “We’re playing mahjong. My luck’s been terrible today—perfect timing for you to take my place, Qingwu.”

“I’m not very good at it.”

“It’s fine, just playing casually. I need to check on the stove. Qingwu, you love the fish I make, don’t you? I specially cooked fish for you.”

“Thank you for going to such trouble.”

Never mind that she was already a twenty-five-year-old adult—Aunt Qi still reached out to pinch her cheek like when she was little, as if she were extremely fond of this calm, well-behaved appearance.

Both the Chen and Meng family parents were in the tea room. The three-person mahjong game had paused, and everyone was taking the opportunity to drink hot tea and rest. The room held a sweet fragrance of tea smoke mingled with pastries.

The Chen and Meng families had long been close. During this period before and after New Year’s when business temporarily ceased, whenever they had free time, the two families would basically gather together to pass the time.

The moment she entered, everyone looked over. “Qingwu’s back.”

Mother Chen extended her hand, and Chen Qingwu walked to her side.

Mother Chen grasped her hand and looked her over from head to toe. “How did you get so thin?”

“There were a lot of things before New Year’s. I’ve been a bit busy.”

Uncle Meng asked: “Where did Qingwu come back from?”

Mother Chen answered: “The porcelain capital. That godforsaken place—very inconvenient transportation, such a hassle to get back.”

The porcelain capital was one of the holy lands in the hearts of ceramic artists—it wasn’t any godforsaken place at all.

But Chen Qingwu didn’t speak up, too lazy to argue over such a small matter.

Uncle Meng asked: “Don’t they have high-speed rail and flights there?”

Mother Chen said: “They do, but you can’t get there directly from South City.”

Father Chen said: “The way I see it, Qingwu, you should come back early and do some proper work.”

Chen Qingwu’s tone was gentle, but her rebuttal was firm: “How is making ceramics not proper work?”

Uncle Meng chimed in: “Old Chen, you need to update this old-fashioned thinking of yours. The tea bowl we’re holding right now was fired by Qingwu herself.”

Father Chen laughed, looking at Mother Chen. “I said back when she was little we should have given Qingwu to the Meng family. Look at how Old Meng protects his own—people who don’t know would think Qingwu is the Meng family’s biological child.”

Uncle Meng also laughed: “I’d really rather trade Qiran for Qingwu. He’s never home, doesn’t do a single proper thing.”

Meng Qiran made an innocent face. “I haven’t said a word since walking in, and I still get scolded.”

The housekeeper pouring tea at the side joked: “Why distinguish between the Meng and Chen families? Just have Qingwu and Qiran get married early—then you’ll all be one family.”

Everyone laughed heartily.

Meng Qiran also chuckled lightly, but with a rather indifferent air.

Chen Qingwu glanced at him.

Having grown up with him since childhood, she understood the meaning of that smile better than anyone. When he was noncommittal, this was usually his reaction.

By rights she should have been indifferent long ago, but she still couldn’t ignore that instant sensation of falling, that slight weightlessness.

The mahjong game resumed, with Chen Qingwu filling Aunt Qi’s spot.

Meng Qiran had nothing to do, so he sat beside her helping to draw tiles, asking: “My brother’s not back yet?”

Uncle Meng said: “He had an appointment to discuss business. He might not come back for dinner tonight.”

“What business requires discussion on the twenty-eighth day of the twelfth lunar month?”

“You think money’s easy to make these days? I think you should learn from your brother about getting things done.”

Meng Qiran laughed: “You think my prize money from racing is easier to earn?”

Aunt Qi came in carrying a plate of desserts just then, interjecting: “That’s right—it’s your blood money.”

“Proper races are very safe.”

Aunt Qi set the desserts on the stool beside Chen Qingwu. “Qingwu, talk to him. Tell him not to participate in that motorcycle championship or whatever.”

Meng Qiran said: “Wuwu, you should talk to my mom instead. She sends me compilations of race accidents every day—who can stand that?”

Chen Qingwu only smiled, not joining in their bickering.

Meng Qiran picked up a pastry and put it in his mouth, immediately frowning. “Why didn’t you say earlier it was durian filling?”

“It’s made for Wuwu—who told you to be greedy?” Aunt Qi glanced at Chen Qingwu’s tile rack and smiled, reaching out to pat her shoulder. “Play well.”

Uncle Meng laughed: “What does that mean?”

Aunt Qi raised her eyebrows: “It means Qingwu has excellent tiles this round. You all just wait to pay up.”

Aunt Qi left the tea room for the kitchen. When she returned, this round had already ended.

“How was it? How much did you win?”

Chen Qingwu was very embarrassed. “I lost.”

“Oh dear.” Aunt Qi was quite regretful.

Chen Qingwu stood up to yield her seat. “You play, Auntie. My mahjong skills really aren’t good. Maybe from sitting on the plane so long, my head hurts a bit. I’ll go outside for some fresh air.”

Aunt Qi sat down. “Wear more clothes, it’s cold outside.”

“Mm.”

Meng Qiran grasped Chen Qingwu’s wrist. “Should I come with you?”

“No need, I’ll just walk around the courtyard.”

Chen Qingwu took a down jacket from the coat rack by the door and put it on. She pushed open the door to a blast of biting cold wind.

It was already dark, with lights on in the front courtyard.

Walking down the steps, something seemed to fall on her face—a cold spot. She raised her hand and wiped it to find only moisture, realizing it had started snowing.

She walked to the sheltered spot under the tree, feeling the down jacket pocket.

One cigarette left, but she’d discarded her lighter when boarding the plane.

Chen Qingwu zipped up the down jacket, stuffed both hands in the pockets, and walked out the gate.

The neighborhood had inevitably hung red lanterns, which looked warm and cozy looking down the road. The snow was falling heavier. She pulled up her hood and quickened her pace.

Just as she walked out the main gate, a black SUV drove over.

Chen Qingwu moved aside, but the car slowly braked to a stop.

The window lowered, and a low voice came through: “Qingwu.”

Through the sound of the wind, it seemed somewhat ethereal.

Chen Qingwu looked up.

The person in the car wore fine-framed glasses, his expression bland, with an austere coldness like thin snow on a solitary mountain.

It was Meng Qiran’s older brother, Meng Fuyuan.

Chen Qingwu quickly greeted him: “Brother Yuan.”

When she was little and just learning to speak, it was very difficult to pronounce the sound “fu,” so her parents let her omit it and just call him “Brother Yuan.” After that, she got used to it and never changed—a habitual form of address from over twenty years, changing it would be awkward instead.

Meng Fuyuan looked at her. “Where are you going?”

“Out to buy something.”

“Walking?”

“…Mm.” The nearest supermarket was one kilometer away—walking wasn’t that far.

“Where’s Qiran?”

“At home.”

“Get in. I’ll take you.”

Meng Fuyuan’s tone was quite indifferent, leaving no room for discussion.

Chen Qingwu accordingly went over and opened the car door.

The moment she entered, a light fragrance flooded into the car, a cooler note like the unfrozen blue-green spring water of early spring.

Meng Fuyuan imperceptibly held his breath briefly, glanced at her once then withdrew his gaze. “Why didn’t you bring an umbrella when going out?”

“It only started when I came out. Too lazy to go back for one.”

Meng Fuyuan backed the car up a bit, made a turn, and re-entered the lane.

“What are you buying?” Meng Fuyuan asked in a casual tone.

Chen Qingwu hesitated for an instant. “…Snacks.”

Smoking was a bad habit she’d picked up this year. Even Qiran didn’t know, much less the family. If they found out, she’d definitely get scolded, and Father Chen might even personally supervise her quitting.

It had nothing to do with rebellion. It was purely because one early morning waiting for the kiln to open, waiting drowsy and exhausted, a kiln worker casually handed her a cigarette and she casually accepted it. The worker offered a light, and she took it too. It made her cough terribly, but after trying a couple more puffs, she learned without a teacher.

Later this habit continued. She wasn’t really addicted—just occasionally used it to ease her troubles.

To avoid causing herself trouble, Chen Qingwu still chose to lie.

Two minutes later, the car stopped in front of a convenience store.

Chen Qingwu pulled open the door. Meng Fuyuan turned off the engine and also opened his door.

After getting out, Chen Qingwu saw Meng Fuyuan open the back door and pull out a black umbrella. The umbrella was automatic—it opened with a soft “pop.”

The next moment, the umbrella was handed to her.

She was slightly startled. “…No need.”

Meng Fuyuan didn’t withdraw his hand, his expression somewhat brooking no argument.

Chen Qingwu felt she’d already taken up too much of his time, so she took the umbrella.

At that moment, Meng Fuyuan turned and also walked toward the convenience store.

Chen Qingwu wasn’t sure—was he also buying something?

Without overthinking it, she followed.

Meng Fuyuan hadn’t opened an umbrella. Wearing a long black overcoat, his tall figure stood out starkly, crane-like and austere in the fine snow.

Just a few steps—an umbrella was really quite superfluous. Chen Qingwu closed the umbrella at the entrance and placed it in the umbrella rack.

The automatic door sprang open. She followed behind Meng Fuyuan inside.

There were no other customers in the store, only one clerk on duty.

Chen Qingwu walked toward the snack shelves. Meng Fuyuan paused, then walked in the same direction toward the beverage cooler.

The moment he pulled open the cooler door, he raised his eyes slightly, his gaze lightly sweeping across Chen Qingwu’s face.

The last time they’d met was at Dragon Boat Festival—half a year without seeing her, he only felt she’d gotten far too thin. Black cashmere dress, wearing a black down jacket, making her skin appear pale to the point of nearly bloodless. At first glance, she almost seemed wasted away. Like a piece of celadon placed on a display shelf under cold white light, solitary and alone.

He didn’t know how she was taking care of herself.

Chen Qingwu normally had no habit of eating snacks. Wandering between the shelves, unable to decide for a long time, she finally just randomly took a box of chocolates.

Walking toward the register around the corner ahead, her steps paused slightly as she glanced at the items on the shelf, then withdrew her gaze.

Meng Fuyuan casually took a bottle of water and also walked toward the register.

At the place where Chen Qingwu had just paused, he stopped briefly, looking down.

It was a box of lighters.

At the register, Meng Fuyuan stood behind Chen Qingwu, handing the water bottle to the clerk to scan.

Chen Qingwu quickly opened her payment code, smiling: “Let me pay for both.”

The bill was too small—Meng Fuyuan didn’t stand on ceremony with her.

The two walked out of the convenience store and returned to the car.

Chen Qingwu fastened her seatbelt and thanked Meng Fuyuan. He only gave a faint “mm.”

On the way back, the two didn’t exchange a single word.

Chen Qingwu didn’t find it strange. Meng Fuyuan always gave people a sense of being serious and unapproachable. Even someone fearless like Meng Qiran was somewhat intimidated by this elder brother of his.

Meng Fuyuan had attended university in North City, then went abroad for further study. And when he returned to the country, Chen Qingwu had left home to study.

Over these years, each had their own life trajectory. Contact became increasingly sparse. They never private messaged on WeChat, only occasionally liking posts.

With someone like this, Chen Qingwu didn’t even know how to begin small talk.

Fortunately, she knew Meng Fuyuan absolutely detested ineffective socializing.

The phone in her pocket vibrated.

Chen Qingwu took it out to look—it was Meng Qiran calling.

She answered. Meng Qiran asked where she’d gone—dinner was about to start.

Chen Qingwu said: “I ran into Brother Yuan at the gate. We’ll be there right away.”

After hanging up, the previously silent Meng Fuyuan finally asked: “Qiran picked you up from the airport?”

“Mm.”

But there was no follow-up.

The car quickly arrived outside the gate.

The shrubs and tree leaves in the courtyard were already covered with a thin layer of snow. Chen Qingwu closed the car door and saw the villa door open as Meng Qiran walked out.

“It’s snowing?” Meng Qiran asked.

“Mm.”

Meng Fuyuan turned off the engine. Before getting out, he glanced outside to see Chen Qingwu standing in front of Meng Qiran. Meng Qiran naturally reached out to brush away the bits of snow that had fallen on her shoulders and hood.

They’d always been this intimate.

Meng Fuyuan slammed his door lightly. Meng Qiran looked over and greeted him with a smile. “Bro, you finished your business discussion?”

Meng Fuyuan nodded very calmly.

The three entered the house together, with Meng Qiran and Chen Qingwu walking ahead.

Meng Qiran placed his hands on Chen Qingwu’s shoulders like children playing train, gently pushing her toward the dining room.

The dishes were already on the table, with both families’ parents taking their seats.

Aunt Qi was quite surprised: “Didn’t you say you had a dinner engagement and wouldn’t be back to eat tonight?”

“Changed it to next time.” Meng Fuyuan didn’t explain further. He restrained himself from looking at Chen Qingwu, greeted Father and Mother Chen, and said: “Uncle, Auntie, please eat first. I’ll just change clothes and be right there.”

He was wearing a three-piece formal suit, very stiff and proper, unsuitable for a family dinner.

Before long, Meng Fuyuan came over, having changed into a black round-neck sweater. He seemed to have washed his face as well—his bangs had some water droplets.

“Come sit quickly.” Aunt Qi pulled out the chair beside her. Once he sat down, she smiled and handed him utensils.

The two families were very close, so all perfunctory courtesies were omitted.

The parents inquired with concern about the youngsters’ recent situations.

Meng Fuyuan now lived primarily in East City, Chen Qingwu worked in the porcelain capital, while Meng Qiran had no fixed pattern—not just East City, South City, and the porcelain capital, but traces of him could be found all over the country.

Uncle Meng asked with a smile: “Qingwu, are you still working at Zhai Jingtang’s place?”

Zhai Jingtang was a renowned ceramic artist. After Chen Qingwu obtained her master’s degree in Ceramics and Glass from the Royal College of Art, she submitted her resume to Teacher Zhai Jingtang’s studio and was selected with odds of one in a hundred.

“Currently yes, but I’m planning to resign after New Year’s.” Chen Qingwu put down her chopsticks and spoke honestly.

Mother Chen said: “Wasn’t everything going well? Where are you planning to go after resigning?”

Chen Qingwu had stayed at Zhai Jingtang’s studio for two years, throwing clay, applying glaze, firing kilns… she’d fired all types of porcelain and pottery, greatly supplementing her lack of experience and technique as someone from an academic background.

With accumulated experience came the impulse to try making her own things.

“I want to establish my own studio, but currently it’s just a preliminary idea.” Chen Qingwu said.

Father Chen was somewhat displeased: “I think this idea of yours is pure fantasy. Where will the studio be? Where will the startup capital come from? Where will you get clients after opening? Have you thought about any of this?”

Of course she had.

But Chen Qingwu didn’t speak. She didn’t want to argue more with her father.

Meng Qiran laughed and said: “I think Wuwu should rest for half a year first. You’ve gotten so thin.”

Meng Fuyuan saw Meng Qiran reach out to lightly squeeze Chen Qingwu’s forearm.

Aunt Qi agreed: “Exactly. It’s so tiring for a girl to deal with clay every day. Qingwu, since you’re planning to resign anyway, why not quit first and come back to South City to rest for a while? When you’re not here I feel so bored, can’t even find someone to go shopping with.”

Chen Qingwu smiled, her tone still gentle: “Without working there’s no income, and who knows how much money the studio will require.”

Meng Qiran said: “You still have me, don’t you?”

“Your prize money earned with your life—I don’t dare spend it.”

“I earn it to spend on you. I don’t have any major expenses myself.”

“You’re going to compete after New Year’s. Getting equipment also requires money.”

“I can find sponsors. It won’t cost much. My last results were decent—people are already approaching me about sponsorship.”

Hearing the young couple bicker like this, the adults all showed smiles.

Only except for Meng Fuyuan. He lowered his eyes to drink water, his expression bland, without a ripple.

After this topic ended, Father Chen asked Meng Fuyuan: “I heard from Old Meng that you went to talk cooperation with the Lu family today, Fuyuan. How did it go?”

During his graduate studies, Meng Fuyuan had already assembled a four-person team to work on algorithm design for medical robots. After returning to the country, he naturally registered his own company.

After two years of intensive development, the core team’s medical robotic arm obtained financing. After overcoming obstacles to obtain qualifications and entering production, through multiple iterative updates it successfully entered a certain public hospital and assisted surgical doctors in completing a clinical tumor resection operation.

The product currently under development would undergo complete algorithm reconstruction and hardware updates based on the first-generation robotic arm.

The Lu family’s SEMedical specialized in medical equipment research, development, and manufacturing, with deep qualifications and deep cooperative relationships with several Grade A tertiary hospitals in South City. Meng Fuyuan wanted to bring them on board to advance the new project together.

Meng Fuyuan said: “We’ve reached a preliminary agreement. SE started with traditional equipment and is very cautious about participating in artificial intelligence industries. We’ll need to discuss details further.”

Chen Qingwu spoke up at this moment: “The SE you mentioned, is it SEMedical?”

Meng Fuyuan looked at her and nodded. “Have you had contact with them?”

He hadn’t expected Chen Qingwu to be listening seriously to what he said. What he did was actually very tedious—even Meng Qiran often listened with complete boredom. But that was fine—everyone had their own fate. Qiran was born to be a carefree young master.

Chen Qingwu said: “Their R&D team previously contacted Teacher Zhai Jingtang, asking him to help make a type of ceramic component. It seems to be used as insulating material in equipment.”

Meng Fuyuan said: “SE has a more comprehensive materials laboratory. That should be a material property test I asked them to do.”

“What a coincidence.” Chen Qingwu was slightly surprised.

Meng Fuyuan made an “mm” sound, his expression still bland.

Mother Chen picked up the conversation, asking Meng Qiran with a smile: “Qiran, what have you been busy with lately?”

“There’s a live show after New Year’s, and the first stop of the spring motorcycle championship starts in spring.”

Mother Chen laughed: “Sounds like our Qiran is still the most free.”

Aunt Qi disagreed: “Free what? Just fooling around aimlessly. He’s twenty-five years old and not the least bit anxious. Your brother at your age was already preparing to start his own business.”

Meng Qiran raised his eyebrows: “I don’t know who it was that asked me in advance to save a few front-row tickets for the race.”

“I want to go watch over you, so you don’t lose all sense of proportion.” Aunt Qi smiled. “You’re not anxious yourself, but have you thought about Qingwu?”

Uncle Meng also nodded: “Qiran, you need to have a plan.”

Meng Qiran was a week older than Chen Qingwu, and both were born at the same hospital.

The Chen and Meng families were already close, and the two children seemed to grow up according to the standard template of “childhood sweethearts who grew up together.”

From kindergarten through high school, they attended the same schools. Meng Qiran’s grades had always hovered in the middle during high school. To go to university in North City with Chen Qingwu, he studied intensively for an entire year in his senior year and got into a first-tier university in North City.

When Chen Qingwu went to study in the UK after her undergraduate degree, Meng Qiran also applied to a university in the same city.

Far from home with no family to look after them, during that graduate year, only the two depended on each other in London.

In Meng Fuyuan’s and the Chen and Meng families’ parents’ eyes, Chen Qingwu and Meng Qiran were a done deal as a couple. Even this Mid-Autumn Festival, their parents had half-jokingly mentioned starting to prepare the wedding house and bride price.

Meng Qiran smiled and chose to drag Meng Fuyuan into it: “My brother is thirty-one this year and he’s not anxious. What do I have to be anxious about?”

Chen Qingwu raised her eyes slightly to look at Meng Qiran.

As expected, again that noncommittal smile.

Meng Qiran was a natural center of attention, liked wherever he went.

Only Chen Qingwu knew that deep in his bones he was actually somewhat indifferent, casual about most things. It was just that people usually only noticed his enthusiasm while overlooking his coldness.

Chen Qingwu already had little appetite, and now completely lost what remained.

Meng Fuyuan’s gaze fell lightly on Chen Qingwu’s face, seeing her expression suddenly darken.

He responded to Meng Qiran: “You manage yourself first.” His tone had nothing to do with warmth.

Seeing Meng Qiran deflate, Aunt Qi laughed: “You just had to pull the tiger’s whiskers. None of us dare manage your brother’s private affairs.”

This topic came to an end for now.

Chen Qingwu really couldn’t eat anymore, but looking around, the adults were eating and chatting, still seeming in high spirits.

She had no choice but to raise her chopsticks and randomly picked up some greens to put in her bowl.

She was halfheartedly pushing those two vegetable leaves around to appear occupied when she suddenly noticed Meng Fuyuan across from her putting down his chopsticks.

Meng Fuyuan said: “I still have a conference call, so I’ll excuse myself first. Uncle, Auntie, please take your time eating.”

Father Chen quickly said: “No problem, we’re almost done anyway.”

Less than ten minutes after Meng Fuyuan left the table, what Chen Qingwu had thought would last at least another half hour came to an end.

The housekeeper came to clear the table. The adults still went to the tea room to play mahjong.

Aunt Qi needed to direct the housekeeper in tidying the kitchen, so she had Chen Qingwu and Meng Qiran fill in first.

Chen Qingwu couldn’t muster any interest and let Meng Qiran play.

She sat to the side and peeled several segments of pomelo, placing them by Meng Qiran’s hand. Meng Qiran said his hands weren’t free and lowered his head to the side, having her feed him directly.

Aunt Qi made an “oh my” sound.

“You’re showing off your affection right in front of us.” Uncle Meng thought he was using trendy young people’s language. He drew a tile and joked again: “Old Chen, give me a straight answer later—what’s your standard for bride price?”

Mother Chen laughed: “There’s not even a hint of it yet.”

Uncle Meng looked at Meng Qiran and smiled: “Not even a hint?”

Meng Qiran raised his eyebrows slightly. “You’d have to ask Wuwu. If she says there is, there is. If she says there isn’t, there isn’t.”

Still that casual, somewhat careless tone.

Uncle Meng asked Chen Qingwu with a smile: “Qingwu, what do you say?”

Chen Qingwu put down the pomelo in her hand and smiled: “I’ll go see if Auntie needs any help with anything.”

“Whoa, that’s quite an abrupt topic change.” Uncle Meng teased, thinking she was embarrassed.

Chen Qingwu just smiled and walked directly toward the living room.

She didn’t go to the kitchen but pushed open the door and went to the back courtyard.

The villa had two studies—the one on the third floor was for Meng Fuyuan’s exclusive use.

Meng Fuyuan stayed inside looking at documents, casually passing some time, calculating that he should go downstairs.

Getting up and walking to the window, preparing to close the window he’d opened earlier for ventilation, afraid that if the snow fell heavily tonight it would drift in and wet the floor.

His palm touched the glass pane. Inadvertently glancing outside, he froze for a moment.

The window directly faced the back courtyard. The back courtyard wasn’t large. Aunt Qi had carefully maintained it—flowers and trees interwoven, tables and chairs scattered about. When the weather was nice, it was a good place to drink tea.

Under the olive tree over a person’s height stood a rattan chair, and Chen Qingwu was sitting on it.

In the shadows, that figure was desolate and motionless, letting fine snow cover her shoulders.

He watched for a while, then closed the window.

Hearing rustling sounds, Chen Qingwu suddenly looked up.

Someone parted the leaves of the windmill palm and walked over, back to the warm light of the room.

It was Meng Fuyuan.

Chen Qingwu immediately stood up.

Meng Fuyuan walked up to her, his gaze falling on her face, yet seemingly without any particular meaning.

Just as she was about to ask if he was looking for her for something, he said: “Take it.”

She instinctively raised one hand, and something was lightly tossed into her palm.

She focused to look and was stunned for a moment.

It was a lighter.

Before she could react, Meng Fuyuan had already withdrawn his gaze and turned to leave.

Chen Qingwu closed her fingers.

Silver, still with a thin residual warmth.

If she remembered correctly, this lighter had followed Meng Fuyuan for many years.

What surprised her was—why would Meng Fuyuan know that at this moment she urgently needed a lighter?