Zhefeng · Chat

Late at night, Zhefeng was alone in the study. The candlelight flickered, reflecting his pale face. A painting was spread out on the desk, depicting a boy on horseback, heroic and handsome, his eyes filled with wild and carefree spirit—it was painted by an artist he commissioned when he was six years old. Back then, he could still stand, run, and chase kites across half of the mansion in the spring. Zhefeng reached out and stroked the legs of the boy in the painting, his fingertips trembling slightly. Then, he suddenly grabbed the scroll and hurled it fiercely toward the corner. With a loud crash, the scroll knocked over a porcelain vase on the curio shelf. Amidst the flying shards, Zhefeng lowered his head, looked at his completely numb legs, and began to beat them frantically— The wind picked up outside, and begonia petals scattered all over the ground.