Meng Fu Yuan held her wrist firmly, not letting go.

His gaze, too, seemed to insist on watching her safely descend.

Chen Qing Wu had no choice but to let him guide her down the ladder.

The moment she touched the ground, Meng Fu Yuan gently pulled her aside, “Careful.”

She looked down at the glass shards on the floor and stepped aside.

Feeling her wrist lighten as Meng Fu Yuan released his grip, Chen Qing Wu turned and fetched a broom and dustpan to clean up.

“I’ll do it,” Meng Fu Yuan said, reaching out. “You go find what Teacher Qian needs.”

Chen Qing Wu hesitated, then handed him the cleaning tools.

She had been out all day and hadn’t had a chance to search yet.

After some effort, she found the blue-glazed plate among the items Teacher Qian had left.

Carrying the plate, she returned to the front room.

The glass shards were already swept into a black garbage bag. Meng Fu Yuan was squatting on one knee, sleeves rolled up, carefully picking up any remaining glass fibers with a roll of yellow caution tape he must have found on the tool rack.

She remembered once visiting the Meng house as a child when Qi Ran insisted on playing rough and they accidentally broke a white porcelain plate. Too afraid to tell anyone, they tried to clean it up themselves, and she ended up cutting her finger on a shard.

Meng Fu Yuan, coming downstairs for a drink of water, had scolded Qi Ran and then told them to step aside while he cleaned up, using transparent tape to meticulously pick up the remaining fragments.

Now, Meng Fu Yuan was doing the same thing, tossing the tape with the glass fibers into the trash bag and tying it up.

“Do you have a marker?” he asked.

Chen Qing Wu fetched an oil-based marker from the workbench.

Meng Fu Yuan took it, cut a piece of caution tape, and stuck it to the bag. He then wrote on the tape: “Caution: Glass.”

This warning was obviously for the sanitation workers who would handle the trash.

Chen Qing Wu often marveled at his attention to detail and sense of public duty.

“Where should I put this?” Meng Fu Yuan asked.

“Just by the door. I’ll take it out with the rest of the trash in the morning.”

Meng Fu Yuan carried the bag to the door while Chen Qing Wu put the cleaning tools away.

She felt immensely grateful that Meng Fu Yuan was there, his presence and assistance distracting her from her overwhelming emotions.

After a moment, Meng Fu Yuan returned and looked around before heading to the sink.

Chen Qing Wu followed, carrying the dusty plate.

Meng Fu Yuan turned on the faucet and glanced back.

Chen Qing Wu stood behind him as if waiting her turn.

After he finished washing his hands, he stepped aside.

Chen Qing Wu moved forward, washing her hands and the plate.

Meng Fu Yuan stood by, not leaving, his hand resting on the counter, quietly observing her. He asked in a calm voice, “Did you have a fight with Qi Ran?”

“We hardly ever fight.” Chen Qing Wu seemed to snap back to reality and answered softly.

The same words again.

“Then why did you break Qi Ran’s gift?” The glass wind chime, with its exquisite painted design, was unmistakably a gift from Qi Ran, matching the style of the glass cups on the shelf.

“I don’t want it anymore,” she said even more softly.

She lowered her head slightly, seeming to focus intently on washing the plate. The sound of running water made her voice sound muffled and heavy.

She wasn’t crying, but her emotions seemed even more drenched than tears.

Meng Fu Yuan felt helpless. He had no position or right to pry or offer comfort.

Especially if they were breaking up.

Young love was always like this, full of ups and downs.

After a moment, he said carefully, “I’m completely neutral, Qing Wu. You can trust me.”

Chen Qing Wu paused, then turned off the faucet, shaking the plate to drip off the water.

She set the plate aside and grabbed some kitchen paper, speaking softly, “Brother Yuan, do you remember the summer when I was nine…”

“Yes.” Meng Fu Yuan’s gaze deepened behind his glasses.

Of course, he remembered.

That summer, their families were on vacation in the mountains.

One afternoon, while reading in his room, Meng Fu Yuan was asked by his parents to take Qing Wu and his brother Qi Ran to the forest park.

Qing Wu had caught a butterfly but released it when they left.

On the way to the parking lot, she kept looking back, reluctant to leave.

Just before getting into the car, she asked him, “Brother Yuan, is there no winter in the world of butterflies?”

He vividly remembered that twilight, delicate as a cicada’s wing, and Qing Wu’s sorrowful tone.

She was a precocious child, her early years spent in and out of hospitals, making her acutely aware of pain and unusually sensitive.

Such children were often unhappy.

Her mother, Liao Shuman, had once privately lamented that she might have given her daughter too “fragile” a name in her youthful literary fervor, inadvertently influencing her fate.

The mist of melancholy was not a good symbol.

At that time, Qing Wu might have just feared that the beautiful butterflies would disappear after summer.

But this spontaneous question seemed to turn into a prophecy, especially after an incident soon after.

Because of her weak health, Qing Wu’s parents rarely allowed her to run around. Going to the forest park was a special privilege.

But Qi Ran was restless and had explored the surrounding area within two days of arriving in the mountains.

That sweltering midday, Qing Wu couldn’t stay in the room any longer and secretly asked Qi Ran to take her out.

Qi Ran rode his bike with her down the mountain.

Near the schoolhouse was a basketball court where local kids were playing. Naturally, Qi Ran joined them.

Qing Wu watched from the side, unable to participate but feeling proud when Qi Ran scored.

After the game, one of the kids mentioned a nearby stream where they could cool off.

Qing Wu couldn’t climb the mountain to the stream, so Qi Ran left her at a shop, promising to return soon.

But she waited until dark.

No one was more earnest than Qing Wu. She never imagined Qi Ran, engrossed in playing, would forget about her.

Eventually, the shop owner, seeing it was getting dark and Qing Wu still waiting, asked if she was waiting for her parents.

She gave Meng Fu Yuan’s phone number instead—knowing that telling her parents would get Qi Ran in trouble.

Meng Fu Yuan got the call and rode his bike down to get her

She sat on his back seat, clutching his white T-shirt, and asked gloomily, “Brother Yuan, has Qi Ran already gone back?”

He didn’t lie, “Yes.”

“Oh.”

Returning to the villa on the mountain, they found their parents preparing to go down and search for Qing Wu.

The secret didn’t last. Meng Fu Yuan’s father, Meng Chengyong, scolded Qi Ran,

 “If something happened to your sister, you’d be in big trouble today! You’re responsible for her if you take her out!”

Nine-year-old Qi Ran, irritated, retorted, “She’s not my real sister, and I’m only a week older. Why should I be responsible for everything? It’s not my fault she’s sick!”

Meng Chengyong, enraged, was about to hit him when Chen Suiliang stopped him, advising against physical punishment.

In the end, Qi Ran was grounded for a week.

When his punishment ended, Qi Ran went out to ride his bike.

Qing Wu followed to apologize.

Qi Ran, thinking she wanted to go out with him again, braked and coldly said, “Don’t follow me! I can’t take responsibility if something happens!”

Chen Qing Wu froze.

At that moment, Meng Fu Yuan, upstairs watching a movie, heard the commotion, opened the window, and saw her standing there, watching Qi Ran disappear around a corner.

In the scorching sun, her lonely figure made him frown. He leaned out and called, “Qing Wu.”

She looked up, her face pale.

“Come inside. It’s hot; don’t get heatstroke.”

He went downstairs to find her sweaty and pale.

He fetched the remaining half of a watermelon from the kitchen, cut it, and served it on a plate.

She sat on the sofa, nibbling at the watermelon, not saying a word as if the previous scene hadn’t happened, and she hadn’t experienced any pain.

Just like now.

Her expression was so calm, as if she wasn’t the one who had shattered the wind chime.

She even smiled slightly after he said “I remember,” saying, “…Sometimes I really envy Qi Ran. A life without any responsibility must be very happy.”

Meng Fu Yuan instinctively said, “He has to be responsible for you.”

“Not anymore.”

Meng Fu Yuan was surprised, “Did Qi Ran say something?”

“No. He didn’t say anything.”

And he didn’t do anything.

That was precisely it—he didn’t do anything.

He didn’t dare kiss her because he didn’t want the responsibility.

He wasn’t willing to sacrifice part of his freedom, to follow the path their parents had set.

She understood Qi Ran’s mindset, his nonchalance masking a silent rebellion against responsibility.

She had once naively believed that even the wind, after flying tired, would find a place to rest in the valley.

At twenty-five, Qi Ran couldn’t settle down. What about in five years? Ten years?

She could wait.

But she had overestimated herself.

Her pride couldn’t allow her to deceive herself any longer.

He wasn’t even willing to kiss her.

Meng Fu Yuan looked at her, trying to gauge her emotions.

He rarely intervened in Qi Ran and Qing Wu’s matters, feeling it contradicted his principles and doubting his ability to remain unaffected by knowing their details.

“If Qi Ran did something wrong, you don’t have to cover for him. If you need help, I can mediate for you.”

Chen Qing Wu shook her head and smiled, “No need, Brother Yuan. It’s already fine.”

The plate was dry. She threw the used paper towel into the trash.

Seeing the pack of cigarettes on the counter, she took one out, placing it in her mouth.

Remembering the lighter was on the sofa, she turned to get it, but Meng Fu Yuan raised his left hand.

Between his fingers was a silver lighter.

He flicked it open, sparked the wheel, and a small flame danced in front of her.

Chen Qing Wu paused and looked up.

Meng Fu Yuan gazed down at her, his eyes calm through his glasses.

She lowered her head and lit the cigarette.

Meng Fu Yuan watched her, the flame casting a faint warmth on her pale face.

The fire seemed fueled by his emotions, burning quietly to ashes, unnoticed.

After lighting her cigarette, she pulled back.

With a click, the lighter’s lid closed.

As Meng Fu Yuan withdrew his hand, she noticed for the first time a silver ring on his left pinky.

Simple and understated.

She didn’t ask, just smoked quietly.

It was unthinkable to do this in front of their parents or Meng Qi Ran—

She felt Meng Fu Yuan’s gaze on her but said nothing.

Just as he had promised, he was completely neutral.

No pressure, no interference, no judgment.

This genuine acceptance suddenly made her feel incredibly wronged.

She abruptly turned and walked to the window.

Hearing footsteps following, she said hoarsely, “…Don’t come over.”

The footsteps stopped.

She halted by the window, resting her forehead against the glass.

She couldn’t hold back her tears any longer.

As a child, confined to hospital rooms, white sheets, bitter medicine, disinfectant, IV bottles… the endless cycle of fear and depression.

Like an eternal winter.

So, she always wanted to see the world of butterflies.

It must be free and colorful.

But she forgot, in the world of butterflies, there’s no winter.

The cigarette burned silently between her fingers.

Suddenly, the footsteps resumed.

As she was about to turn, a hand reached over, took the cigarette from her fingers, and extinguished it on the windowsill.

Then, a hand grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

The sharp scent hit her nostrils, and she realized her forehead was pressed against Meng Fu Yuan’s chest.

Startled, she felt his hand patting her back, like a brother comforting his sister.

She stopped moving, feeling her strength leave her as uncontrollable tears flowed.

It felt like that summer, under the scorching sun, watching Qi Ran’s back, tears evaporating instantly.

Tears and sweat mingled, impossible to distinguish.

This was the last time she would cry for Meng Qi Ran.

Meng Fu Yuan’s hand on her shoulder blade felt her slight, uncontrollable tremors.

He had told himself countless times it was inappropriate, but he couldn’t remain indifferent to her pain.

Her tears soaked through his shirt, burning his heart.

He had to restrain himself to keep from hugging her, betraying his position and Qi Ran.

Like that summer, carrying her home through the twilight, hearing her disappointed “Oh” but swallowing his useless comfort.

Between Qi Ran and Qing Wu, he was nothing.