Chapter Three: A Loving Father and a Dutiful Son

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Fu Lan ultimately did not dwell too much on his heart condition. What troubled him was never death itself, but the matters left behind. At this tangled stage of life, he could no longer simply let go like before; there were too many people and too many things that needed to be settled in advance.

Among them, one person was completely unaware and sent him a message.

Fu Linxing: “Old He is on a two-day business trip. Can I stay at your place for a night? If it’s inconvenient, forget it—I’m old enough now and not afraid to stay alone.”

Fu Lan: “You’re just hoping I say no, aren’t you? Hurry over after school.”

Fu Linxing: “[Heyhey.gif]”

After asking what he wanted for dinner, Fu Lan returned to the main chat interface and noticed an unread message on He Yue’s avatar.

He silently opened it but deliberately avoided the long text at the top, stopping at the only new message in half a month: “Remember to help with homework tonight. All of this weekend’s assignments must be finished before I get back.”

He typed “Okay,” then deleted it and sent back a simple “OK” emoji.

After buying groceries at the supermarket, Fu Lan pushed his cart toward the frozen drinks aisle.

As he picked up a promotional pack of cola and checked the production date, fragmented voices echoed in his mind.

“Long time... no see, Fu Lan. How... have you been recently?”

It was a lazy female voice, tinged with its usual teasing tone. He closed his eyes briefly, displeased, and ignored it.

“Don’t be so cold... after all, we’re old friends who haven’t met in years. Can’t you at least... talk to me?”

The voice paused, then deliberately dropped a line to catch his attention: “By the way, do you know about that new recruit your city had? She turned herself in last week.”

Fu Lan didn’t respond, choosing a fresher pack of cola and placing it in the cart.

“She’s quite... you know. I heard that this year, the Magic Bureau officially stopped issuing compensation fees. Things are getting worse.”

Not going to prison was already fortunate, though living under constant surveillance was inevitable afterward... Thinking this, he still said nothing.

“Oh, and I recently met with Requiem.”

He finally paused, pulling out his wireless earphones and putting them on.

“Smart move. But you’re best to bring me along to the toy section, the middle row of shelves. We’re too far apart.”

Soon, Fu Lan found the shelf lined with plush dolls staring blankly ahead.

As he approached, one doll’s eyes slowly turned toward him.

He cautiously glanced around to make sure no one saw this eerie scene. Then he picked up the doll, pretending to read the tag.

“Hello, Fu Lan,” it grinned—a smile the toy itself couldn’t produce.

Fu Lan pulled out his phone and faked a tap, adjusting his earphones. “How long have you been following me, Black Coral?”

Unable to reply with his mind now, he had to pretend to be on a call.

“Just happened to run into you, but even if I hadn’t, I planned to look for you. Why do you insist on pretending we’re strangers? Honestly, calling me by my codename in this situation is less safe for both of us than my real name. Do you really hate me that much...?”

He ignored the rambling and said, “Cut to the chase.”

Black Coral was silent for a moment, as if losing the strength to keep up the act, then said quietly, “Requiem’s been admitted to Gray Isle Psychiatric Hospital.”

Fu Lan instinctively clenched the doll’s neck. “What happened?”

“I’m not sure yet. I worry the Magic Bureau knows her identity, otherwise, they wouldn’t have put her in Gray Isle. But they probably haven’t confirmed it either, given her condition...

“When I went there, I saw several dark agents around her, so I didn’t investigate further. I want to wait a bit longer; they’ll eventually lower their guard.”

Despite his reservations about Black Coral, he said, “Alright, be careful. How is she... mentally?”

“She’s pretty withdrawn. From what I overheard, since admission, she’s been silent—only eating, sleeping, and going to the bathroom.

“And she keeps crying—silent, expressionless crying. She’s shed so many tears the hospital is worried she might go blind, so they’ve assigned three nurses on shifts to monitor her.

“Besides that, she’s relatively stable. Honestly, that’s a relief—I can’t even imagine what she’d be like if she fully lost it...”

Fu Lan slowly released his grip on the doll’s arm and lowered his head without speaking.

Realizing he’d lingered too long, to avoid drawing attention, he put the doll back in the cart and pushed off aimlessly.

He didn’t know which feeling pierced his heart more sharply—

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Was it sympathy for Requiem’s mental collapse, the irreparable regret that they might never reconcile, or the selfish sorrow for losing a former companion who perhaps held the greatest hope of healing his own heart?

All of it combined to pierce his heart, filling it with an indescribable bitterness.

Perhaps influenced by his illness, these feelings were clearer and more disorienting than usual.

“By the way, I originally wanted to ask her the same question,” the doll rolled over in the cart, avoiding the onions pressed against its face. “I’m planning to visit her grave. Do you have anything you want me to bring?”

“No. You don’t need to go every year.”

“It’s fine; they don’t know who’s buried there. Besides, I won’t get caught. If I don’t go, no one will.”

“What I mean is,” Fu Lan sighed and spoke coldly, “no matter how often you go, it won’t redeem your sins.”

After circling the supermarket, Fu Lan began to head back, and Black Coral sighed, “Thank you for the warning.”

They fell silent for the rest of the way. Fu Lan returned to the toy aisle shelf and took the doll out of the cart again.

“Aren’t you going to buy me? You clearly have more to say. I can tell your life force is unstable. Talk to me; maybe I can help?”

He put the doll back in place. “Don’t follow me. You know the consequences.”

The doll fell silent, staring straight ahead.

...

In the evening, Fu Lan arrived home, put away the groceries, set the rice cooker to start, and tidied the paper on the table before going out to pick someone up.

He met Fu Linxing at the school bus stop nearby. The kid shouted loudly as he parted from his classmates, “Remember, nine o’clock tonight, Dad’s taking you all for the big match!”

Then, seeing Fu Lan, he ran over and gave him a subordinate-style handshake, “Hey Old Fu, coming to pick me up yourself? So polite.”

Since he was little—actually, since he was one year old—he had learned bad habits from them, even calling parents “Old” something. Occasionally, his prankster personality mirrored his mother’s youthful days.

Fu Lan looked at his carefree face and felt a pang of emotion.

When he was young, everyone said Fu Linxing looked like him, and he’d been disappointed, fearing he’d burden his son and rob him of a rosy youth.

Now that he’d grown, he increasingly resembled his mother, and his height nearly matched Fu Lan’s, standing out among the boys.

As the school bus left, Fu Lan saw several girls leaning against the window, stealing glances at his son. But Fu Linxing was too absorbed in play to notice.

After dinner, Fu Linxing volunteered to wash the dishes and, barely drying his hands, eagerly sat beside Fu Lan, stretching out a hand for a game controller.

“Come on, come on, over there there’s nothing to play with. I’m dying of boredom! What’s the game tonight? Still Nintendo’s Super Smash Bros?”

“Deadly Kombat.”

In less than half an hour, Fu Lan had beaten him twenty times. Dejected, Fu Linxing put down the controller and pulled out his homework.

“That’s not fair. Who lets kids play such gory games? I’m so scared I can’t hold the controller steady. And Old He never lets me practice this game.”

He coughed while pretending to complain.

Fu Lan set the timer, “Three minutes penalty for each death. No nonsense.”

While Fu Linxing obediently did his homework, Fu Lan did the housework.

After mopping the floor, he sat opposite his son, correcting the completed exercises: “Teachers nowadays are useless; they don’t even grade homework.”

“Why don’t I drop out and have you teach me? Didn’t you used to be a teacher?”

“Teach you to become a good-for-nothing and leave it to your mother to raise? She’d kill me.”

Fu Linxing laughed heartlessly, then coughed again. Fu Lan took two cans of cola from the fridge and handed him one.

Fu Linxing shook his head in frustration, “Are you really my dad? When other kids cough, their parents rush for medicine. You just hand me cola and call it a day.”

“Cola cures coughs,” Fu Lan said, then added, “except Pepsi.”

In truth, having experienced a childhood where every cough caused a big fuss, he constantly reminded himself not to repeat that.

Still, sometimes he worried if he had gone to the opposite extreme. “Xiao Fu, do you think I don’t care enough about you?”

“Not really. This is fine. Compared to my classmates, I’m living pretty well.”

Fu Lan took a sip of the cold soda. “Too bad your mother and I still divorced.”

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“Eh, divorce these days is no big deal. The real headache is those families who insist on keeping a so-called complete family for the kid’s mental health, but fight every day and only divorce after the college entrance exam.”

Fu Lan studied his son’s focused profile. He really seemed quite at ease.

Since Fu Linxing could understand words, he and He Yue treated this child as an adult, discussing any issue seriously and explaining the reasons.

It proved that cultivating mature thinking early didn’t rob him of his innocence. Sometimes Fu Linxing could even offer opinions from a child’s perspective that impressed them all.

They had also openly discussed the divorce with him beforehand.

From Fu Linxing’s point of view, if his parents truly fulfilled their promises in the agreement, his life wouldn’t change much, so he didn’t oppose it.

But when the homework timer rang, he said to Fu Lan, “Old Fu, now that Mom’s not around, can you tell me the truth? Why did you two divorce? I swear I’m not spying for her.”

Fu Lan replied earnestly, “The truth is what I told you before: we couldn’t live together anymore. The reasons are complicated. I don’t want to say ‘you’ll understand when you grow up,’ but it really is hard to explain now.”

Maybe because even he hadn’t figured it out himself.

“Why not just live apart then?”

“Then why keep the title? An empty shell is like a rotting corpse left unburied—it only makes people miserable.”

Fu Linxing rested his head sideways on the table. “Mom says the same. I just don’t get you two. All my classmates’ parents divorced because of affairs or family conflicts, or at worst, personality clashes.

“But you two had none of those problems. She just suddenly said she wanted a divorce, and you agreed. I don’t get it...”

Fu Lan took another sip of cola, feeling the carbonated sting in his mouth.

Though they always tried to answer every “why” from the child, this question truly defied explanation.

“It’s nine o’clock. Get on your account,” he said brusquely, changing the subject.

“There’s a wimp who can’t get to the computer, so no game tonight.”

Fu Lan tapped the controller on his head. “Play by yourself then. Finish the rest of your homework tomorrow. The weekend’s for relaxing. I’m going to shower.”

After water sounded in the bathroom, Fu Linxing pulled out his phone and opened a deeply hidden photo.

It was a pencil drawing he had found by chance in the study during a move.

The sketch portrayed a half-length portrait of a young girl, her slightly curled long hair cascading beyond the bottom of the frame.

Though monochrome, the shading suggested her hair color was silver-gray.

She seemed to be leaning on the railing of a lighthouse, gazing beyond the picture, her outstretched hand as if to touch something.

The background was pitch black—unclear if it was the night sky or simply left unpainted.

Upon closer inspection, dense dark lines overlapped, resembling countless swirling vortices harboring a seductive, almost entrancing power.

If one stared too long, faint glowing spots appeared within the black whirlpools, akin to the colored spots seen on the retina when staring into darkness. The longer you looked, the more restless these lights became, forcing an uneasy glance away.

The image felt incredibly real—pencil strokes rendered a photograph-like effect, yet the detail went beyond what a photo could capture, astonishing the viewer.

Strangely, the girl’s face was blurred in the phone’s photo, as if smeared carelessly, but the drawing showed it clearly.

When Fu Linxing first snapped the photo, he was startled, but after calming down, he realized this probably wasn’t supernatural.

He recalled the rumors.

Magic girls were so hard to track for so long because any attempt to capture their likeness—photos, videos, or drawings—only produced distorted, corrupted results.

This pencil drawing, undistorted and unbelievably real, was clearly a magical artifact.

The girl’s exquisite attire, ethereal aura, and elfin features all testified to her true identity.

After taking the photo that day, Fu Linxing slipped the drawing back into the dusty old book. He wasn’t ready to display it openly; it was clearly a topic not easily discussed.

Closing the photo on his phone, Fu Linxing sighed deeply, staring toward the bathroom.

Old Fu, old Fu, you’ve hidden it deep enough. Even now, you won’t admit it. Is this the real reason for the divorce?

You actually have an unforgettable first love, and she’s a...

Magic girl!