Chen Qingwu descended the stairs with rapid steps.

Qi Lin was sitting in the living room, and the moment she caught a glimpse of her figure, she immediately stood up.

However, Chen Qingwu walked straight toward the exit, as if she hadn’t noticed her surroundings at all.

Qi Lin was hesitating whether to follow and take a look when Meng Qiran walked out from the tea room.

He caught the instant when Chen Qingwu disappeared at the doorway and asked Qi Lin, “Mom, what’s wrong with Wuwu?”

Qi Lin only shook her head.

Meng Qiran immediately strode after her.

Seeing that Chen Qingwu was about to walk out the main gate, Meng Qiran hurriedly descended the steps in two strides. “Wuwu!”

Chen Qingwu’s steps paused slightly, but she didn’t stop.

Meng Qiran was tall with long legs. Taking three steps as two, he caught up with Chen Qingwu under the tree shadows before the gate.

Chen Qingwu cast him a light glance. “…What is it?”

Meng Qiran was about to speak when his gaze inadvertently caught sight of the skin on the side of her neck, and he froze for a moment.

There was a streetlamp standing beneath the tree. By that lamplight, on the pale white skin, a conspicuous dark red mark was visible, as if it were… a kiss mark.

Meng Qiran’s breathing hitched, and he shifted his gaze away somewhat flustered. “…What’s wrong, Wuwu? You seem emotionally off.”

Chen Qingwu shook her head. “I’m going out for a walk. You go back.”

However, the tip of her nose was red, and her eyelashes still carried undried moisture—she had clearly just been crying. In this situation, he couldn’t possibly leave her be.

“I’ll accompany you.”

That helpless anger-derived emotion faintly surged up. Chen Qingwu took a deep breath and involuntarily reached into her coat pocket, pulling out cigarettes and a lighter.

She drew out a thin cigarette, held it between her fingers, lowered her eyes, and flicked the lighter.

Meng Qiran’s gaze fell on that lighter, and he paused again.

Plain silver body with no extra decoration, only the fine scratches left by years of use.

It looked so familiar that without much thought, he knew whose possession this was.

The lit flame illuminated Chen Qingwu’s pale face. In that instant, she seemed as fragile as a porcelain statue.

“…Did someone say something to you, Wuwu?”

Chen Qingwu slowly exhaled a thin wisp of smoke, shook her head, stepped aside, and prepared to walk around him to continue forward.

Meng Qiran’s brow furrowed slightly as he reached out and grasped her arm. “Wuwu, I want to help you…”

“How can you help?” Chen Qingwu abruptly raised her eyes. All her emotions surged up together, and her tone sharpened somewhat. “Can you even help?”

“You won’t say anything, so I…”

“Would it be useful if I did? You don’t understand anything…”

“If you don’t tell me, how can I…”

“Right, as long as I don’t tell you, you can feel at ease pretending you know nothing.”

Like a thin blade swiftly slicing across his heart, Meng Qiran was struck speechless for a moment. “…I’m sorry. The past was my fault. I really want to make amends…”

“I don’t want anyone’s amends. I just want…”

She suddenly stopped speaking.

Meng Qiran immediately stepped closer, pressing on. “Want what?”

Chen Qingwu said nothing, struggling forcefully with her arm.

As if desperate to break free from him.

Meng Qiran frowned slightly, said “Sorry,” and pulled her into his embrace in one motion, holding her tightly with both arms.

“Why won’t you believe that no matter what you want, I can give it to you?” His voice was low and resolute.

This embrace was extremely tight. Chen Qingwu truly lacked the strength to resist further. Her mood was almost one of resignation, self-abandonment. “…Qiran, you make me feel like my life is a joke. In the past, I wanted everything from you so badly, but you turned a blind eye. After I completely gave up, you come to tell me you can give me anything… What were you doing in the past? On my twentieth birthday, I joked with you that when you turn twenty-two, we’d go get our marriage license. On your birthday, you ran off to the mountains with friends to hike, and because the signal was poor, the phone was unreachable all day. That day, what were you thinking? When midnight passed, did you breathe a sigh of relief?”

“I…”

“I’m not trying to dredge up old grievances, nor do I plan to blame you for anything. I’m giving this example only to tell you how ridiculous your so-called amends are. You simply can’t make amends, because a person’s life only has one twenty-second year. In the past, we had countless opportunities—as long as you were willing, everything wouldn’t be in the current situation. What I want, you can’t give me now. Only you can’t give it.” Chen Qingwu closed her eyes. In her drooping hand, the cigarette was still burning quietly. In her heart, there was only a blank expanse of white. “…Let me go. I’m truly in great pain. Please let me be alone for a while.”

Meng Qiran didn’t move at all.

This seemed to be the first time since Chen Qingwu was determined to draw clear boundaries with him that he’d heard her make such an emotional accusation.

This was right.

He had been such a bastard—she should accuse him, not calmly state nonsense like “I’m no longer your responsibility,” or “You’re free to do what you want to do, to like whoever you want to like.”

“Qiran…”

He only stubbornly held her even tighter.

“Qiran, don’t make me hate you.”

“As you wish. Hatred is better than indifference anyway.” Meng Qiran looked down at her. “Wuwu, tell me what you want?”

Chen Qingwu only felt a powerless exhaustion. Tears fell uncontrollably. “…Right now I only want you to let me go. Qiran, please let me go.”

Meng Qiran paused, and his arms finally slowly loosened.

Chen Qingwu took the opportunity to push lightly, breaking free from his embrace. Without another glance at him, she walked forward quickly.

Meng Qiran stood in place.

Only the sound of wind rushed into his chest. His heart was so empty that not even an echo existed.

He didn’t know how he entered the house.

Qi Lin came over with some concern, first asking how Qingwu was. He shook his head and walked straight toward the stairs.

Entering the second-floor room, he sat down on the bed’s edge, arms propped on his knees, and raised his eyes to look.

In that lit glass display cabinet, a solitary cup stood alone.

He stood up, opened the cabinet door, took out the cup, and held it in his hand.

A light purple color, like the mist diffusing through mountains and fields at dawn.

Such cool and fragile porcelain—hard to imagine it had been forged from earth and fire.

He held it, not daring to loosen his grip even slightly, fearing that if he lost his hold, it would shatter completely.

He sat in the silence, repeatedly recalling Chen Qingwu’s words.

The promise made at twenty, countless missed opportunities.

Young and ignorant then, possessing favoritism yet squandering it carelessly.

Ending up in the current state where he could only beg for a sliver of hope—it was what he deserved.

He had no complaints, only regret.

If only, if only on that twenty-second birthday, he hadn’t retreated and evaded…

After New Year’s Day, Chen Qingwu returned to Dongcheng.

She sent a message to Pei Shao, asking him to help keep an eye on Meng Fuyuan’s recent physical condition.

Pei Shao was extraordinarily straightforward: You’re not unaware of where he lives—why not care about him yourself?

Chen Qingwu: …I can’t care about him myself, that’s why I’m asking you.

Pei Shao: Oh, so you’re the culprit behind why President Meng has been working overtime like crazy recently.

Chen Qingwu: …

Pei Shao: I was wondering—clearly all the milestone nodes were completed on time, yet he’s still rushing frantically, like he’s racing to be reincarnated.

Pei Shao: What’s actually going on between you two?

Pei Shao: Do you need me to help set you up?

Chen Qingwu couldn’t be bothered to respond.

After Pei Shao sent a barrage of messages screen-by-screen, he finally said: Don’t worry, I’ll take care of him. If he knew you cared about him, he’d definitely be very happy.

Chen Qingwu quickly replied: Don’t tell him! I’m asking you precisely because I don’t want him to know.

Pei Shao: Oh. Good thing you said so in advance, otherwise I was just about to tell him.

Chen Qingwu was beginning to understand why Zhao Yingfei couldn’t be bothered to add him as a friend.

She wearily replied with a “Thank you.”

Because she had submitted an expedited application, immediately after the holiday, Chen Qingwu was scheduled for an in-person visa interview.

While waiting for the visa to be issued, the kiln had its final firing of the year.

The batch of works Chen Qingwu had sent had an extremely high rate of fine pieces.

Soon, the visa was approved.

Without wasting time, Chen Qingwu immediately booked a direct flight to Los Angeles. Accompanying her was a staff member from the exhibition preparation team.

After a twelve-hour long-haul flight, they arrived in Los Angeles in the morning.

McShawn was extremely polite and personally drove to pick them up from the airport.

California in January was still sunny and bright. Along the way, palm trees were everywhere, giving a very tropical feel.

McShawn’s parents lived in an English-style villa in Pasadena. The decor was somewhat dated—most of it was apparently done by his grandparents, with only some repairs made subsequently.

After entering, McShawn made introductions on both sides.

McShawn’s mother was American, named Mira. She was extraordinarily warm and cheerful, and spoke fluent Chinese. The name “Qingwu,” which would tie a foreigner’s tongue in knots, posed absolutely no problem for her.

Chen Qingwu first presented the gift she had prepared in advance. Mira placed it on the dining table and opened it, exclaiming in surprise. “Did you make this, Qingwu? I heard from Vincent that you’re also a ceramic artist.”

Vincent was McShawn’s English name.

“Yes.” Chen Qingwu smiled somewhat shyly. “I took away a set of Teacher Zhuang’s tableware, so I thought it would be appropriate to return a set of tableware.”

Freshly opened from the kiln, relatively speaking, a set of tableware that better suited Western dining culture.

“You Chinese call this ‘reciprocating courtesy,’ right?” Mira said with a smile.

“That’s right.”

“Thank you! I love it so much! I think I’ll definitely use it well.”

McShawn’s parents were very hospitable and personally prepared today’s lunch.

Their dining room faced the yard. Outside the yard, a lemon tree was planted, its shadows swaying. The sky was azure blue. This lunch was extraordinarily pleasant.

Mira cut her steak and asked Chen Qingwu with a smile, “How is Fuyuan doing lately?”

Chen Qingwu didn’t want to lie, so she could only say, “I haven’t really seen him recently, so I’m not too sure either.”

Mira then went on to say that every time Meng Fuyuan came to visit, they were very happy.

Westerners are never stingy with words of praise. Mira praised Meng Fuyuan as sincere, upright, and kind, saying they were very honored to have his friendship.

Chen Qingwu realized she was listening in a daze.

Meng Fuyuan’s past life was almost a complete blank to her.

She didn’t know that Meng Fuyuan actually skied extremely well and would often go skiing in Aspen with the McShawn family during his years of study.

Every time he came to visit, he would carefully select a wine with excellent taste.

He would drive two hundred kilometers just to help Mira deliver a tank of goldfish to a friend.

He would also help mow the lawn, prune the lemon tree, and take the Alaskan dog out for bike rides. When that dog died five years ago, he even made a special trip to attend its funeral.

Near his apartment was an Italian restaurant run by a deaf-mute owner. During his graduate years, he went there to eat almost every other day. Actually, that restaurant’s food was particularly terrible—without his support, it probably would have closed long ago. Of course, not long after he graduated, the shop was rented out.

When his research wasn’t going well, he would walk alone to Hermosa Beach.

In the apartment’s common areas, there was often a cat from who-knows-which household roaming about, and it would only accept regular feeding from him.

And many, many more things—like swimming upstream along a river, picking up those sparkling fragments along the way.

They pieced together the Meng Fuyuan that no one knew.

On the wall between the dining room and living room hung numerous photographs.

Among them, Chen Qingwu discovered a photo of McShawn and Meng Fuyuan together.

Both wore graduation gowns, standing before a long stone tablet engraved with the words “California Institute of Technology.”

Chen Qingwu asked with an embarrassed smile, “May I take a photo of this with my phone?”

McShawn smiled and said, “Of course.”

Chen Qingwu had seen Meng Fuyuan’s master’s graduation photo before—a framed photo placed on the mantel above the Meng family fireplace. Many memorable moments of the Meng family were displayed there.

But every time Chen Qingwu looked at Meng Fuyuan’s solo graduation photo, she felt that the person in the photo wasn’t actually happy at all.

Presumably, when a person knows while being photographed that they’ll become some kind of bragging trophy, it’s very difficult to show a smile.

But in this photo with McShawn, Meng Fuyuan rarely displayed truly genuine joy.

After lunch, Chen Qingwu went to pack up Zhuang Shiying’s famille-rose bell-shaped cup.

Before coming, she had specifically asked McShawn to measure the cup’s dimensions and had a carrying case custom-made according to those measurements so it would fit snugly inside.

McShawn watched as Chen Qingwu carefully placed the cup into the case and asked with a smile, “Do you need help?”

“No need, this is about right. The item won’t be checked—I’ll be holding it the entire time.”

“When Meng Fuyuan packed that set of porcelain last time, it was much more awkward. He didn’t feel at ease—he refused help even from his assistant and insisted on packaging it himself.”

So it arrived without a scratch.

Chen Qingwu was somewhat dazed. “…I still need to thank Vincent for being willing to part with it. I’ve been using that set of tableware all along—it’s very handy.”

“Meng Fuyuan is my friend, so I felt at ease giving it to him. Besides, at the time he told me it was for the only person he would ever love in his life.”

Chen Qingwu’s heart shook.

After the packing was complete, McShawn invited Chen Qingwu to stay a few more days, saying he’d take her around Los Angeles properly. Having come from so far away, he couldn’t fail in his duty as a host.

Chen Qingwu smiled and said, “Ordinarily I shouldn’t refuse your kindness, but I’m truly pressed for time this trip.”

“Didn’t you say you just need to bring it back by mid-February?”

“…The day after tomorrow is Meng Fuyuan’s birthday. I have a gift I must give him.”

McShawn drew out a long “Oh” and said with a smile, “Then I won’t keep you.”

In the afternoon, McShawn drove again to take Chen Qingwu and her companion to the airport.

When saying goodbye, Chen Qingwu told McShawn to visit Dongcheng if he had time, and she would definitely host him personally then.

The back-to-back flying, with only a six-hour layover in between, left Chen Qingwu feeling completely paralyzed.

Throughout the journey, she didn’t dare entrust the carrying case to anyone else’s hands. She was constantly vigilant, even keeping it by her side when sleeping, fearing someone might accidentally knock it to the ground.

As if she had completely experienced once over the feelings Meng Fuyuan must have had when transporting that set of gifts back.

Upon arriving in Dongcheng and confirming the item was undamaged, she handed it over to the exhibition preparation team staff.

Chen Qingwu rushed back to her studio and collapsed into bed.

When she woke in a daze, her head was heavy and her breathing scorching.

She realized she had also fallen ill.

She didn’t know if it was because she’d overworked herself these past two weeks, or because this studio was as cold as an ice cellar.

Forcing herself to rally her spirits and get up, she ordered medicine through a delivery service. After taking it, she continued sleeping in a stupor.

After New Year’s Day, Meng Qiran had been staying in Dongcheng the whole time.

Having asked Liao Shuman and learned that Chen Qingwu had returned, he immediately went to her studio.

The door was open, but he didn’t see anyone.

Meng Qiran made a round and discovered fever-reducing medicine on the coffee table. He immediately walked toward the bedroom.

On the bed, Chen Qingwu was curled into a ball. He reached out to touch her—her forehead was alarmingly hot.

Meng Qiran didn’t hesitate. He immediately found a coat to put on her and lifted her up horizontally in his arms.

Very light, requiring no effort at all.

He suddenly thought of last winter. It had been the same feeling—she was truly too light.

Carrying her outside, almost instinctively, he thought of that time in the car when Qi Lin had called to “demand an explanation,” yet Chen Qingwu, still in a daze, had defended him, saying it wasn’t his fault.

Of course it was his fault.

Reaching the car, Meng Qiran freed one hand to pull open the back seat door and gently placed Chen Qingwu on the seat.

Just as he was about to withdraw his arm, he suddenly heard her murmur.

He instinctively brought his ear closer.

“Meng… so cold… hold me…”