Although it was called a private clinic, once Rong Qian arrived, no matter how she looked at it, this place bore no resemblance to a clinic.

Half-hidden among lush green trees stood a small white Western-style villa — pure European architecture, grand and magnificent. The interior décor leaned toward high-end luxury: white walls spotlessly clean at every glance, the floors covered in thick velvet carpeting.

Even the entrance had a full-body scanner installed. The moment Rong Qian stepped through, a mechanical female voice announced in English that she had cleared security — giving Rong Qian the distinct feeling of walking into a high-tech complex.

They entered the elevator, and Xu Yang pressed the button for the top floor. The high-speed elevator took only seconds, accompanied by a soft chime, and they arrived.

The elevator doors opened directly onto a spacious living room — a royal blue velvet sofa, two large potted plants by the floor-to-ceiling windows — the overall feeling was warm and welcoming.

Xu Yang led Rong Qian through the living room, then through an automatic motion-sensing glass door, and finally into Xu Zhiwei’s room.

The space was large and open. Apart from the medical equipment, there was only a single hospital bed — and lying in that bed was an old man whom Rong Qian recognized the moment she saw him. It was Xu Zhiwei.

At the sound of their arrival, Xu Zhiwei opened his eyes.

Seeing Xu Yang walk in with a young woman, Xu Zhiwei first froze, then slowly and shakily began to sit up. A care attendant nearby hurried to support him, tucking a pillow behind his back.

“Child, what is your name?” Xu Zhiwei’s voice was low and hoarse.

Rong Qian said: “Didn’t he tell you? My name is Rong Qian.”

“If I’m not mistaken — Rong Qian was your grandmother’s name, wasn’t it? She’s the one who sent you to see me, and had you deliver that message, am I right?” Xu Zhiwei might be old, but he was not so easily fooled.

The young woman before him did bear a strong resemblance to the woman he had met all those years ago — but he certainly didn’t believe they were the same person.

“Great-Grand-Uncle, she really is called Rong Qian herself,” Xu Yang spoke up from the side. Xu Zhiwei paid him no attention — he had apparently lumped him in as an accomplice.

“Mr. Xu,” Rong Qian said calmly, “I remember you saying that what was spoken between us that evening was something you would never forget for the rest of your life. So I truly want to know — why, on that night, did you fail to take Yan Qingyao away? Why did you let Shen Chi get there first?”

“Are all of these questions something your grandmother sent you to ask me?” Xu Zhiwei’s brow furrowed.

Rong Qian didn’t answer. Instead she continued: “The painting — I’m sure you’ve already seen it. The subject is an angel. Yan Qingyao painted her in my likeness.”

Xu Zhiwei was stunned. Xu Yang, meanwhile, wore an expression of complete bewilderment and confusion — he had lost the thread entirely.

“Xu Zhiwei.” Rong Qian called him by name directly, her face darkening. “I asked you that night — are you certain you can do this? You said that as long as Yan Qingyao made it out of the manor, you were completely confident. I promised I would see her safely away. And then? Why didn’t you show up?”

“Who exactly are you?” Xu Zhiwei stared at her, his expression alarmed.

Rong Qian let out a sigh. “The person you met that evening at the banquet was me. You don’t need to doubt that.”

Xu Yang was sent out of the room by Xu Zhiwei. He left with backward glances every few steps, and only once he was gone did Xu Zhiwei speak to Rong Qian. “Miss Rong — who are you, really?”

“To be frank with you, from my perspective, I only met you half a month ago. So everything that was said between us — I still remember it all clearly.” Because she wasn’t certain whether he could be trusted, Rong Qian told him half and withheld the rest, deliberately leaving things unstated.

Xu Zhiwei had lived long enough to read people clearly. Rong Qian’s small cleverness did not escape his notice.

“Miss Rong, is asking me about that the only reason you’ve come to see me?” Xu Zhiwei followed her lead.

Rong Qian shook her head. “No. What I want to ask about is Shen Yi.”

Xu Zhiwei’s eyes trembled ever so slightly, but he said nothing — he lowered his head and fell into silence.

“You know he disappeared, don’t you? Why did he disappear? And who caused it?” Rong Qian pressed urgently. Then she paused for three full seconds before asking the final question: “And — did Shen Yi actually die back then?”

Xu Zhiwei’s answer, however, dashed her hopes completely.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know.” He shook his head. He genuinely didn’t know. But then he turned the question back on her: “Why did you think I would know anything about him?”

Rong Qian pursed her lips, and said with obvious reluctance: “Not because I think so — because I have no other choice. You’re the only one I can ask.”

“He and I lost contact decades ago,” Xu Zhiwei said, his gaze dimming. He spoke slowly: “I am a shameless and despicable man. I have no right to face him.”

“What do you mean?” Rong Qian could hear that there was more to this.

Xu Zhiwei struggled with himself for a moment, but in the end he deflated, and said wearily: “In those days, in my desire to take revenge on Shen Chi, I became ruthless and unscrupulous. And so I came up with a plan to use him…”

“You used Shen Yi? Used him to do what?” Rong Qian’s voice grew sharp. Using a child — of course he was capable of something like that!

She could see it now — everyone around Shen Yi, not a single one was good. Every person carefully calculated their moves, and not one of them was ever truly sincere with him!

“I am very sorry. After Qingyao died, I lost all reason. Hatred blinded me. My only thought was to take revenge on Shen Chi — to avenge her.” Perhaps because his days were numbered, Xu Zhiwei had lately been revisiting the memories of his past with increasing frequency — and with them came the ever-deepening guilt he felt toward that child, Shen Yi.

Rong Qian felt an inexplicable surge of anger. How could they all be so selfish?

“I have no wishes left — only to take back this last painting of Qingyao’s before I die.” As he spoke, Xu Zhiwei picked up a small remote control.

He pressed one of the buttons, and Rong Qian watched the curtains on the side of the room draw open from both ends. Behind them was a display cabinet, inside of which stood many paintings — including the one she had seen before.

Rong Qian stepped closer to look. From the style of painting, they had all come from the same hand — there was no need to wonder; of course they were Yan Qingyao’s work.

From these works it was not difficult to see that Yan Qingyao’s early pieces had been full of color.

As time went on, the paintings grew darker and darker. Rong Qian knew nothing about art, and yet even she could tell — these were absolute masterpieces.

Rong Qian looked through them one by one. When she reached the last one, she stopped cold. In that instant, a flood of images and memories washed over her, and her eyes began to sting.

The painting depicted Shen Yi — Shen Yi at twelve years old.

The young boy in the painting sat alone in a garden, with several butterflies circling around him. He paid them no mind, as though lost in a daze. His eyes held a look of desolation — loneliness, stillness, silence — that was the feeling the painting gave.

Rong Qian suddenly had an overwhelming urge to hold him. While she was still thinking this, she came back to herself and found she had already pressed close to the display cabinet, her eyes brimming with hot tears.

Xu Zhiwei said: “If you like this painting, I can give it to you.”

“May I?” Rong Qian wiped her tears.

Xu Zhiwei smiled bitterly. “I can no longer make it up to him. The guilt I’ve carried toward him all these years has never left me — it hangs over me day and night and has never faded. If making you happy can lessen even a little of what I owe him, there is nothing I wouldn’t do.”

“Because you are the most important person to him.”

The most important person. Rong Qian found that rather ironic. The person he held most dear — and yet, without meaning to, she had wounded him most deeply of all.

“Miss Rong, what is past cannot be undone. But the kindness you showed me remains engraved in my heart.”

Before Rong Qian left, Xu Zhiwei said to her: “I know you are guarding yourself against me, and that is only right. I don’t know what has happened to you, but if you are ever able to see Shen Yi again — could I trouble you to pass along a message for me?”

“Tell him I am sorry. And… thank you.”