Prologue

"Hey, do you need me to teach you how to write the word 'privacy'?"

"Mingyan, don't flatter yourself. Who said I came here to see you... I'm here to visit Auntie."

The girl, clutching a large bouquet of flowers, made her excuse with righteous indignation, but the boy sitting cross-legged on the ground dismissed her with a sneer. "Oh? Then tell me, how many times is this that we've run into each other here this month?"

"Counting today, it's only the fifth time..."

"But we're only halfway through the month!"

"Is that so... What a coincidence that I keep running into you here," the girl retorted, still clinging to her excuse. Without a care, she placed the bouquet at the headstone and plopped herself down beside the boy, completely unconcerned about dirtying her jeans and facing her mother's wrath later.

As for the boy, such things were the least of his concerns. After all... his mother was now lying quietly beneath the very tombstone before them.

"Is Sister Mingyue still against you attending that arts high school?" Perhaps unable to bear the silence, the girl spoke first.

The boy laced his hands behind his head and gave a wry smile. "Yeah. She even came all the way back from Liangshan yesterday just to slap me over it."

"She hit you?" The girl leaned in, trying to spot any signs on his face, but found nothing.

"It's nothing. She's just looking out for me."

"You have to learn to protect yourself. If you want to be an artist, you need to take extra care of that face," the girl said, hands on her hips, adopting the tone of a seasoned lecturer.

"Is that the wisdom of a senior?" he asked.

"Of course. I'm officially a trainee now."

"Sure, sure, you're the best, my superstar."

A gust of wind swept between them, and silence fell once more, though the tension seemed to have eased.

"I heard your dad is coming back soon," the girl said after a moment.

"What does that have to do with me?" The boy's own irritation and anger crept into his voice, though he hardly noticed.

"I didn't mean anything by it. I just thought... maybe he'd support your dream..."

Realizing she might have spoken out of turn, the girl's voice grew soft and uncertain. Still, before she could finish, the boy cut her off, his tone sharp, "He never cared about anything I do. I don't care what he thinks, either."

After all, his birthday fell on the very day the woman beneath this stone had died.

To that man, he was nothing more than the culprit who'd taken his wife—a presence best kept out of sight and out of mind.

His gaze drifted to the photograph, already fading with time, set into the tombstone. Anger, frustration, and sorrow stilled his tongue once more.

Though it hadn't been his choice, it was true: his mother had died giving birth to him. That man had left him in the care of a nanny, wandering the world for years. He could understand it. But understanding didn't mean acceptance. The weight of disappointment, built up over so many years, was far heavier than words could express.

"It's all right. I support you," the girl said gently.

"Support what?"

"Your dream, of course!" She reached out and turned his head to face the same direction as her own. "We're both going to be stars one day."

The boy, unaccustomed to such close confrontation, looked away, fixing his gaze elsewhere. Before the gravestone, the vibrant bouquet of daisies looked just as fresh and lively as it had the previous four days—clearly chosen with care.

"Where did you get the money for all these flowers?"

"Why do you care? I can't let you come visit Auntie empty-handed, can I?"

Thinking of all the early mornings at the flower shop, and the endless pestering for loans from her sister and friends just to buy flowers for him, the girl felt her frustration bubble up. Never mind. She'd chalk it up as payment for all the times he'd fought on her behalf as a child.

Seeing her cheeks puff with indignation, the boy suddenly felt his mood lighten. Perhaps only someone as brash and carefree as this girl could breach that self-imposed wall of his.

"Hey, what are you smiling about?"

"Nothing. Let's go. I have some chocolate my brother-in-law brought from overseas in my backpack."

"I want some!"

"Nope."

"Hey!"