By Zephyria 
As the year drew to a close, the snowy days in Lincheng were frequent, veiled in a thin mist.
The city’s temperature wasn’t particularly low, so the streets remained mostly free of accumulated snow, leaving only the dark, wet asphalt exposed.
At school, the specialized courses had reached the stage of submitting term papers and final exams.
The open-book exams for several specialized subjects ended first, and Jing Mian passed them all smoothly. However, the major subjects that required significant time and effort couldn’t be delayed. Some local roommates even carried stacks of books home to pull all-nighters.
With revision time tight, the library and study rooms were packed.
Jing Mian flipped to the last page of his final textbook, slowly closing it. Beside him lay a handwritten summary of key points from the chapter.
He neatly tucked away his notes, his gaze inadvertently falling on a few pristine sheets of A4 paper nearby.
Suddenly, he recalled the notes his husband left at home whenever he went out, never colorful sticky notes, but neatly torn quarters of A4 paper.
In Mr. Ren’s mind, sticky notes probably fell outside the realm of daily necessities.
Jing Mian pressed his lips together.
A quiet warmth rose in his chest, and the young man couldn’t help but smile.
This side of Mr. Ren…
Was so endearing.
Jing Mian packed the papers along with his textbook into his bag, put on his coat, and left the study room.
Having contacted Master Ye twenty minutes ahead of time, he found the driver already waiting at the school gate when he arrived.
Jing Mian took the passenger seat and headed straight to the training base for the day’s practice.
In the break room, Red Hair, trying to stay alert, grabbed a box of tea leaves.
He found a teapot, tossed in the leaves, poured boiling water, and filled it up. But when he took a sip from his cup, he frowned. “Is this the Longjing tea the organizers gave us? It tastes bland.”
Chen Xi said, “You just don’t know how to brew it properly. There’s a real art to it.”
He Jing asked her, “Do you know how?”
Chen Xi admitted frankly, “No.”
Red Hair: “…”
He Jing turned to the quiet young man beside them, who was watching a match replay with lowered eyes, and asked, “MianMian, do you know how?”
It was meant as an offhand question, but to their surprise, the boy took off his headphones and nodded. “Yes.”
Then, the two watched as Jing Mian poured boiling water, not for brewing, but to warm the cups. He deftly measured the tea leaves and water ratio, letting them steep while adjusting the electric kettle to its highest temperature. The two onlookers stared, dumbfounded.
He Jing, noticing the temperature display, asked, “Don’t you use fully boiled water?”
“Eighty to ninety degrees is best.” Jing Mian held the cup, his fingertips lightly rotating it as he explained, “Boiling water can strip away the flavor, making it taste flat.”
Next came the proper infusion.
The tender green tea leaves slowly unfurled in the water, the liquor gradually deepening in color. Jing Mian poured two cups, leaving some tea at the bottom.
Red Hair and Chen Xi each took one.
This time, the rich aroma of tea enveloped their senses.
The first sip awakened their taste buds, refreshing, mellow, and lingering.
It was both light and full-bodied, with a sweetness that appealed to younger palates.
—Truly worthy of Longjing.
What had started as a simple attempt to stay awake had unwittingly turned into a tea-tasting session.
Red Hair asked in surprise, “MianMian, how do you know all this?”
Jing Mian’s expression remained unchanged as he replied softly, “My dad used to enjoy tea.”
So, even if he hadn’t been particularly interested, he’d inevitably picked up a thing or two.
The players outside the lounge were also drawn in by the refreshing fragrance. Soon, each of them held a steaming cup of tea. Outside, a light snow fell, while inside the glass windows, warmth seeped into their fingertips, leaving them relaxed and content.
Xuan Cheng leaned against the long table, as casually as if he were discussing what to eat for dinner, and dropped a bombshell:
“In a couple of days, the founder of ME. will make an appearance.”
The man cleared his throat and announced nonchalantly, “We can arrange a dinner or meet at a KTV—just so everyone can get to know the boss.”
…
The entire team froze.
Under their astonished gazes, Xuan Cheng continued, “What’s worth mentioning is that he was once a Glory player too.”
The members perked up, their shock growing by the second. “Wasn’t ME. founded by you and Xuan Rui-jie?”
“No, rather than founding it…” Xuan Cheng interlaced his fingers, rubbing them slightly as if they were sweating, and said, “It’s more accurate to say Xuan Rui and I managed and operated it. The original founder of ME. Club wasn’t us.”
It took them dozens of seconds to digest this staggering and earth-shattering revelation.
“So, who is this big-shot investor?”
“The captain said the boss plays Glory too.”
“Was he any good?”
Red Hair shook his head and muttered, “Probably not. Usually, people who start clubs do it because they lack the skill to compete themselves, so they recruit top players to form a Team.”
“That makes sense.”
“Captain, what’s the boss’s in-game ID? I’ll look up his past records.”
Xuan Cheng silently took a sip of tea, waiting for their enthusiasm and curiosity to settle slightly before speaking. “Not yet… I don’t want it to affect you.”
“Once the official meeting time is set, I’ll tell everyone.”
Maybe it was Jing Mian’s imagination.
But when Xuan Cheng said the word “affect,” his gaze seemed to linger on him for half a second before flickering away.
“Such a tease.”
Cen Xian looked up at Xuan Cheng and asked, “Is he really that strong?”
…
“He’s strong.”
Unexpectedly, Xuan Cheng spoke slowly. “Stronger than anyone here.”
“…”
The lounge fell dead silent.
The people present included Mole and Sheep.
These two players, with their outstanding performances in national tournaments, were practically unmatched across the entire Glory scene, finding rivals for them would be no easy feat.
Xuan Cheng scratched his head, oblivious to the shift in atmosphere, and continued, “Maybe no player in Glory could beat him in a PK.”
…
After a brief silence, someone suddenly laughed, breaking the quiet.
“That’s too much of an exaggeration.”
“If someone like that existed, they’d already be in the top three of the PK rankings.”
Others chimed in, chuckling. “Captain, be honest, are you messing with us?”
Xuan Cheng, feeling complicated, forced a knowing smile. “You got me.”
The members, who had been riding an adrenaline high, collectively sighed in relief, equal parts disappointed and exasperated.
But that still didn’t curb their curiosity.
“Is he much older?”
Xuan Cheng looked at the young man and hesitated before answering, “…No.”
Jing Mian: “?”
So the big-shot investor was younger than they’d imagined.
Red Hair leaned forward from his chair. “Is he a streamer?”
Xuan Cheng rested his hand on the edge of the chair. “No.”
“Does his account even have ten thousand followers?”
Xuan Cheng: “…”
The captain dragged each of his team members who were frantically digging for clues back to the training hall, personally overseeing their drills. His breath trembled slightly, and his palms were inexplicably damp with sweat.
If things were already like this now,
What would happen when he truly revealed his ID two days later? ME. would probably explode.
The young man hadn’t finished his training when he received a call from an unknown number.
After answering, there was silence on the other end for a long moment before a hoarse voice finally spoke: “MianMian.”
“It’s me.”
Even though they hadn’t been in contact for a long time, the young man recognized it almost instantly—
It was Jing Guozhen.
“Can you come home today?”
When there was no response, Father Jing, as if afraid he would hang up immediately, hastily added, “MianMian, come home for a visit.”
“…Luo Luo misses you terribly.”
After hanging up, the young man stared at the screen for a few seconds, then stepped back and called out, “Xianyang, take over.”
Song Xianyang had just unwrapped a piece of gum. He took the headset. “Got it.”
The call hadn’t come early. Whether Jing Mian asked Master Ye to come pick him up, took a taxi, or the bus, the journey would take at least half an hour. By the time he reached the old house, dinner would already be over.
At least he wouldn’t have to deal with Jing Guozhen or Li Qiao, nor would he run into the family during mealtime.
…This trip was just to see Luo Luo.
After careful consideration, the young man boarded the car heading to the old house.
The two-story home where he had lived for over a decade now looked unkempt from lack of upkeep. Yet, as he gazed at it, he felt nothing but calm. There was no sense of belonging.
He had grown up here, yet it had never truly felt like home.
Jing Mian knocked on the door.
To his surprise, it wasn’t the usual housekeeper who answered, but a stranger.
“Young Master, you’re back,” the unfamiliar woman said, as if she knew him.
“Who are you?”
The woman wiped her hands on her apron. “I’m the new housekeeper. I used to be a caregiver at the hospital, looking after the old master.”
The old master… Did she mean Jing Guozhen?
Jing Mian didn’t press further. He didn’t hand her his backpack, only the snacks and fruit he’d brought for Jing Luo, along with his favorite cartoon merchandise and toys.
Before Jing Mian could step away from the entryway, Jing Luo, hearing the noise, came running down the stairs on his short legs, calling out, “Is that Brother?”
The moment Jing Mian’s figure came into view, he confirmed: “It is Brother!!”
The young man’s expression turned alarmed. “Luo Luo, don’t run on the stairs!”
Jing Luo took the steps two at a time and, just as Jing Mian reached the foot of the stairs, threw himself into his brother’s arms, clinging tightly.
This separation had lasted two or three months.
The longing had grown unbearable. Though Jing Luo had met that imposing sister-in-law during this time and knew his brother missed him too, they hadn’t been able to meet.
Because Mom and Dad had abandoned Brother.
So Jing Luo didn’t hold on for long before tears began to fall, his arms wrapped around his brother’s neck.
“Have you eaten?”
Father Jing’s voice sounded from nearby.
Jing Mian ruffled Jing Luo’s hair, his tone flat and indifferent. “Yes.”
“If you’re not too busy, stay the night.”
Jing Guozhen appeared much older, with streaks of white hair at his temples that hadn’t been dyed yet, peeking through. His face bore a weary, sallow pallor, and his expression was uneasy, even nervous. “I won’t disturb you… and Li Qiao isn’t here,” he said.
…
That night.
The young man stayed over in Jing Luo’s room, sleeping alongside the little one.
He sent a message to Mr. Ren, saying he would stay the night and return home early the next morning.
As the night deepened, Jing Mian found himself unable to sleep.
Beside him, Jing Luo, tucked under a small blanket, was also awake.
“Brother.”
“Hmm?”
Jing Luo remained silent for a long moment before whispering, “Mom doesn’t want me anymore.”
Surprise flickered in the young man’s eyes.
A tear slid down Jing Luo’s face as he sniffled and murmured, “I don’t know… why she did this.”
No wonder Li Qiao was absent from the old house. Jing Mian had assumed Jing Guozhen had sent her away because of his return, but he hadn’t expected to hear such a shocking truth from Jing Luo’s lips.
“I feel like… it’s because of me. It’s my fault.”
Jing Mian’s pupils slowly constricted, his heart aching with a dull, persistent pain. It was a thought that had haunted him countless times since he could remember.
Why did no one want him?
Why was he the only one who survived?
Why hadn’t he died?
He still hadn’t found the answers to these questions, but he had met someone who made them no longer matter.
Mr. Ren was the dawn he had never anticipated.
And from now on, he, too, would become someone else’s light.
Jing Mian pulled Jing Luo into his arms, wiping away the child’s tears. “It’s not your fault,” he said.
“Don’t blame yourself for other people’s choices.”
“You still have me, so you don’t have to bear the consequences alone.”
Jing Luo’s pupils slowly shrank, hot tears spilling from his eyes.
In Jing Mian’s ears, Mr. Ren’s voice echoed, his heart growing warmer with each word. He parted his lips, his own voice overlapping with the one in his mind: “If others don’t want you, I do.”
The next morning.
Jing Mian slung his backpack over his shoulder. Before leaving the room, he gently ruffled Jing Luo’s hair, the child was still fast asleep.
But before he could descend the stairs, Jing Guozhen’s voice suddenly called out from behind him, “MianMian.”
The young man paused.
“Can we talk?”
When his son showed no sign of stopping, Jing Guozhen quickly added, “Please. Just one minute.”
…
Jing Guozhen pulled out a chair and walked around to the other side of the desk, pouring warm tea into a cup. Steam curled upward.
Since childhood, Jing Mian had rarely entered his father’s study. It was a place of solemnity and ceremony, where Jing Guozhen conducted business and received guests. Subconsciously, Jing Mian had always regarded it as a space he wasn’t meant to intrude upon.
On the wide desk sat two teacups. Father Jing first filled the one closest to himself.
Jing Mian had watched Jing Guozhen brew tea countless times, but this was the first time his father had made it for him.
“Li Qiao and I…” Father Jing began slowly, “are divorced.”
Jing Mian glanced up, though he wasn’t surprised.
Li Qiao’s departure, and the end of this marriage, had been expected.
“They say people only realize what they’ve lost when it’s gone.” Jing Guozhen set down the teapot, rubbing his fingers where the steam had warmed them. He smiled bitterly. “The things I regret… include your mother, and you.”
“So much so that for the rest of my life, I’ll regret every decision I’ve ever made.”
Jing Mian listened quietly, his expression calm.
“I’m not a good father.” Jing Guozhen murmured softly, “I’m sorry.”
“I can’t make it up to you, nor can I make up for the pain you’ve endured.” Jing Guozhen’s palms trembled slightly, his voice low and heavy: “And I can never make it up to your mother.”
“I know this arranged marriage was forced upon you.”
Jing Guozhen’s voice grew hoarse. He pressed his lips together, resting his palms on the table as he whispered, “If you don’t want to get married, you still have the right to back out now.”
“You can change your mind, even call it off.”
Under the young man’s slightly stunned gaze, Jing Guozhen pushed a teacup toward Jing Mian’s side of the table and said quietly, “Your father will handle the consequences.”
“Even if it means paying compensation or taking on debts, it doesn’t matter.”
“Nothing else is important, really.”
Jing Guozhen spoke slowly, his voice barely above a whisper: “As long as you’re happy, that’s enough.”
Father Jing bent down and seemed to retrieve something round from behind the wide desk—something that had been carefully preserved for a long time, protected from dust. Under the young man’s watchful eyes, Father Jing gently removed the soft cloth covering the spherical object.
In that instant, Jing Mian recognized it—
—It was a globe.
But unlike any ordinary globe.
Every single word on this globe was handwritten.
Beneath the delicate calligraphy of place names were painstakingly drawn mountains and oceans, with each province and city meticulously labeled by hand. Even the alternating green and blue colors were hand-painted, filled in gradually with watercolors.
This simple yet unique representation of Earth’s surface had been made into what resembled a sticker, firmly adhered to the spherical base, with every corner smoothed down to form a complete globe.
Father Jing found his glasses case nearby. Putting on his reading glasses, he pointed somewhat awkwardly, showing Jing Mian as if to confirm: “This is China, here’s the Pacific Ocean, Australia is over here…”
Jing Mian’s hands clenched tighter.
Halfway through, as if realizing something, Jing Guozhen slowly stopped speaking.
In the heavy silence that followed, he wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers and said hoarsely, “The gift you always wanted me to bring home.”
“I know… is it too late now?”
Jing Mian silently gazed at the globe, as if through it he could faintly see his younger self—that wide-eyed, hopeful child from long ago.
It really was too late.
This was the gift he had yearned for day and night since he was four years old.
Yet he only received it at twenty.
Jing Guozhen sat alone in the study.
His child had already left.
Father Jing looked at the globe as the morning light streamed through the window, casting a faint diagonal shadow of the sphere onto the desk.
In the end, Jing Mian hadn’t taken it.
“I already have a globe.”
The young man looked at him with unprecedented gentleness and calm in his eyes: “That one is enough for me.”
It seemed Jing Mian no longer hated him.
Jing Guozhen lowered his head and slowly covered his face with his hands.
Tears soon dampened the edge of the desk as Father Jing’s muffled sobs filled the study, unheard by anyone.
The tea across from him had gone cold.
As Jing Mian stepped through the entryway, his phone vibrated. Glancing down, he saw a message from Mr. Ren:
,[I’m downstairs.]
Jing Mian lowered his head and quickly replied.
Shouldering his backpack, he had just opened the door when he noticed the first light of dawn breaking through, the sky tinged with faint radiance as it spread across the land.
Jing Mian raised his hand to shield his eyes from the light, the young man squinting slightly.
Parents often seem to forget or downplay their past actions, only attempting to soften and reach for their child’s hand in their old age.
But by then, the child who once yearned for it is no longer there.
Even if an apology finally comes, the desolate numbness in their hearts still lingers over a childhood riddled with scars. And most children never even receive that apology.
Now, within that youthful frame, there remains only the boundless calm of adulthood.
They have truly grown up.
It turns out that one only fully lets go of the past when they finally find happiness.
Perhaps only when Husband is around does he forever remain a child.
When Jing Mian left the villa, Mr. Ren’s car was parked by the roadside.
The early winter chill clung to the windows, the maple leaves long gone, leaving only the stark, intertwined branches. The faint dawn light outlined the man’s silhouette as Mr. Ren leaned against the car, waiting for him.
Jing Mian’s breath misted in the cold air as he quickened his pace, running without hesitation toward the glow of dawn.
A faint light broke across the horizon.