His knuckles struck the hard wall, and this time, he didn’t hold back his strength. The skin on his knuckles split open, and crimson blood began to seep out.

Looking down at the red liquid, the sharp pain helped to dissipate the fierce rage that had been building up deep inside Feng Min’s head, threatening to explode.

When he was recuperating abroad, Feng Min’s attending doctor had tried many methods to help him channel his violent tendencies, and they worked for a while. During that time, whenever Feng Min felt he couldn’t control himself and was on the verge of booking a flight home, he would smash things.

The house Feng Min had purchased abroad was filled with objects specifically for him to break.

Sometimes, he’d even smash his phone or computer, with bodyguards always nearby. But they weren’t really there to protect Feng Min; they were there to protect others from him.

For a while, Feng Min thought his violent outbursts had improved, but now it seemed the situation had regressed.

Had it really gotten worse?

Feng Min used his uninjured left hand to pull his phone from his pocket, entering the passcode to unlock it. The home screen showed a picture of Chi Yan in profile. Feng Min remembered that day—they had planned to watch a domestic film together.

Although watching movies wasn’t something Feng Min particularly enjoyed, he accompanied Chi Yan since it was something Chi Yan wanted to do.

Feng Min had arrived first and was waiting for Chi Yan in his car. Chi Yan arrived a few minutes late, standing outside the car and looking around for Feng Min, who had already texted him that he was there. But Chi Yan didn’t see him right away.

Suddenly, there was a flash from a camera; someone was secretly taking pictures of Chi Yan.

Chi Yan frowned slightly. He didn’t like being photographed without permission. If someone wanted to take his picture, they should just ask. Sneaking around like that gave off a bad vibe.

Chi Yan turned his head, lowering his eyes, and saw that the person taking his photo wasn’t a stranger—it was his then-boyfriend. A small dimple appeared instantly on his left cheek.

It was late afternoon, and the sunset had dyed half the sky a brilliant red, with the glowing light falling across Chi Yan.

In that moment, Feng Min hadn’t taken a photo, but he had captured it in his memory as if with a camera.

He opened the car door, taking a few long strides to reach Chi Yan.

What Feng Min did next startled Chi Yan, making him take a few steps back.

Feng Min had leaned in and kissed the dimple on Chi Yan’s cheek.

The anger and gloom in Feng Min’s eyes gradually softened as he looked at the photo and recalled those memories.

With his eyes closed, Feng Min brought his phone up to his lips, kissing the picture of Chi Yan with a deeply sincere expression.

His right knuckles throbbed with pain, but Feng Min had a high tolerance for it. Most people would be howling in agony after punching a wall like that, but not him.

He carefully let the blood drip into the sink to avoid making a mess and creating extra work for the cleaning staff. It was just a minor injury—no major blood vessels were damaged—and the bleeding slowed after a while.

Feng Min glanced at the time, knowing he couldn’t stay in the restroom much longer.

He wasn’t sure if there were still people outside, but even if there were, he didn’t care.

Opening the stall door, Feng Min walked out.

Two men were facing away from him, urinating at the urinals, chatting with each other and oblivious to Feng Min’s presence.

Feng Min walked past them, holding his right hand with his left to catch the blood, and stepped up to the sink. He turned on the faucet, letting the cold water run over his wound, causing a slight sting.

As he watched the water turn red with his blood, the corner of Feng Min’s mouth unexpectedly curved into a faint smile.

After finishing, the two men came to wash their hands. One of them glanced at Feng Min and froze for a moment. He quickly signaled to his friend, who also looked over and saw Feng Min washing blood from his hand.

Seeing the red blood and the eerie smile on Feng Min’s face, the two men felt a chill run down their spines.

They hurriedly washed their hands and left.

Once outside, one of them, still shocked, mentioned the blood. He had caught Feng Min’s reflection in the mirror just as Feng Min looked back at him.

It was a gaze filled with barely restrained madness, like a wild beast ready to tear something apart. Feng Min’s smile wasn’t friendly at all; it made their legs tremble, and they just wanted to run.

“That guy’s a psycho!” one of them muttered under his breath.

If someone had called him a psycho to his face, Feng Min wouldn’t have been angry.

In fact, he might have even agreed, saying, “Yes, I am a psycho.”

If he wasn’t a psycho, he wouldn’t have disappeared for over three years.

Chi Yan would never know that on the day Feng Min sent that breakup text, his hands were covered in blood, and the floor beneath him was littered with shattered objects.

A whole set of ceramic teacups that Feng Min had specially ordered from another country—because Chi Yan had once casually mentioned wanting a tea set to brew tea at home—lay smashed on the floor.

Feng Min took every word his lover said seriously, even if it was just a joke.

The tea set had arrived, but so had a relapse of Feng Min’s illness.

This time, it was worse than ever before. It took four bodyguards to finally subdue Feng Min.

His blood-soaked hands had stained his phone screen red, and the blood on his fingers had become so sticky that he had to wipe them over and over again before he could finally clean one finger enough to type out those five simple words: “We should break up.”

And with each word he typed, a sharp pain stabbed through his chest.