“Ruan Luo?”
Fu Yu’s low, gentle voice pulled Ruan Luo back from his daze.
Fu Yu looked at him. “I’ll teach you how to use them, okay?” His tone was incredibly tender, a gentle request.
Ruan Luo nodded.
“Can I move a little closer?” Fu Yu asked.
Ruan Luo wanted to tell him: You can come closer. Just like when I wrote the wish slip, you let me write a little more.
He also wanted to say: I’m trying not to be afraid of you anymore.
Ruan Luo curled his fingers, his pale lips parting slightly, but no words came out. He simply nodded again.
Fu Yu moved closer to him, yet still kept a seat’s distance between them.
Fu Yu taught Ruan Luo how to send messages, make calls, listen to music, and play games. He showed him how to watch movies on the tablet and how to use the fitness watch.
He was as patient as if he were teaching a newborn child.
He taught him everything he could.
Ruan Luo had always been a sensible child. Since Fu Yu was teaching him so patiently, he learned diligently. Whenever he encountered something he didn’t understand, he asked honestly and cautiously. Fu Yu answered every question he could.
Except for a few things he couldn’t bring himself to tell him.
For instance, Ruan Luo’s smartwatch actually had a remote monitoring feature. But the terminal was bound to Fu Yu’s account. Whenever Ruan Luo’s heart rate or pulse fluctuated abnormally, Fu Yu would receive a system alert immediately, even if Ruan Luo didn’t tell him.
“You can play games when you’re bored. There are single-player ones and online ones. Just tell me what you like. If you prefer multiplayer games, let me know. You’ll get bullied if you play by yourself, so I’ll find a pro team to carry you. I won’t let you lose.”
Ruan Luo’s eyes glazed over as he scanned the full three pages of games, eventually settling on a match-three puzzle game.
Fu Yu’s lips curled into a smile. “This kind of game is simple at first, but it requires a lot of mental calculation in the later stages. Come to me if you get stuck on a level.”
Ruan Luo, captivated by the game, unconsciously leaned in close to Fu Yu’s shoulder. He tentatively swiped his finger on the screen to try it out, then asked softly, “Do you play this game?”
Fu Yu chuckled lightly. “…Yes.”
Fu Yu lied without blinking an eye; he just wanted Ruan Luo to guess correctly. He was a career-driven man who never played games, but his mental arithmetic was so formidable that he could clear even the hardest levels of such a game in a single try.
Ruan Luo, unaware of the depths of human deception, took Fu Yu’s lie at face value and murmured an “Mm,” a genuine spark of joy lighting up his eyes. Then, the celebratory fanfare of a completed level chimed from the phone; he had cleared the first stage.
Ruan Luo let out a soft, barely audible laugh. When he looked up and met Fu Yu’s gaze, he immediately lowered his head again.
With his focus no longer absorbed by the game, his awareness returned. He hadn’t realized he had drifted so close to Fu Yu’s shoulder; now that he did, his body stiffened reflexively. He forced himself to relax, terrified that his physical reaction would betray his lack of composure again.
Fu Yu noticed and thoughtfully created a little more space between them.
As Ruan Luo’s body loosened, the chill that had crept into his heart seemed to grow more fierce.
The air fell silent for a moment before Fu Yu asked softly, “Do you like this game?”
“Yes.”
“Because it’s easy to play?”
Ruan Luo shook his head. His attention shifted to something he enjoyed; the gloom in his eyes partially lifted, and his gaze slowly brightened. “Because there are so many jewels on it. They’re colorful and pretty.”
Fu Yu studied Ruan Luo for a moment, then suddenly smiled.
Fu Yu took Ruan Luo on a leisurely tour of the mountains and wild fields. During one of their breaks, Fu Yu sent a message to Song Qi: “I’ve taken Ruan Luo out for some fresh air, and he seems very relaxed. He’s still interested in gifts, scenery, and new things. Does this mean his depression is improving?”
Song Qi’s reply was a total mood-killer: “Boss, depression isn’t that simple. A patient’s usual state isn’t fixed; it varies depending on their personality. But when an episode hits, it’s the same for everyone. He’s just not having an episode right now.”
Fu Yu glanced at Ruan Luo, his fingers suddenly feeling heavy. He typed out a few words: “But he is indeed more relaxed than when he’s at home. He’s even smiled a few times.”
On the other end, Song Qi’s “typing…” indicator appeared and disappeared for a long while before he finally sent: “Boss, careful companionship with the right approach can indeed temporarily alleviate a patient’s depressive mood, or even effectively prevent an episode for a short time. But there are twenty-four hours in a day. How many of those hours can you give to Ruan Luo? The darkness of his emotions is constant; a brief flicker of light cannot pull someone completely out of the mire. Unless you can hold his hand twenty-four hours a day.”
Fu Yu did not reply to Song Qi again.
By the time Fu Yu had shown Ruan Luo around just a tenth of the attractions, night had already fallen. The darkness in the mountains was far deeper and quieter than in the city.
The Purple-robed Daoist Master personally arranged for them to stay in a secluded courtyard within the temple grounds. After a brief greeting, he took his leave without further intrusion.
This courtyard was reserved exclusively for government officials and other distinguished guests. Now, only Fu Yu and Ruan Luo remained within its nine-layered deep gates.
The silence was absolute, broken only by the rustle of wind and the chirping of insects.
The ink-black night was nearly impenetrable. The bright lanterns hanging from the trees in the courtyard illuminated only a small area. Beyond that, the sky stretched out in a vast, dark blue expanse, with rolling black clouds clinging to the cliffs like a stained canvas.
Worried that Ruan Luo might be afraid, Fu Yu chose a suite with two bedrooms. The suite consisted of a main bedroom and a smaller side room, separated not by a wall, but by three layers of sheer curtains of varying thickness.
The larger, inner space was the main bedroom, enclosed by walls on three sides and the curtains on the fourth. Beyond the curtains lay the smaller side room, which in turn led to the main entrance.
It was clear that in ancient times, the main bedroom would have been reserved for young lords and ladies, while the side room was for guards or maids.
Yet, Fu Yu arranged for Ruan Luo to sleep in the inner main bedroom, while he took the side room for himself.
When night fell, Fu Yu heard Ruan Luo tossing and turning cautiously in bed. He asked softly, “Can’t you sleep?”
As if on cue, Ruan Luo went completely still. After a moment, he murmured, “Am I disturbing you?”
Fu Yu’s heart softened. He lowered his voice. “Toss all you want. I don’t mind. Ruan Luo, can’t you sleep?”
“Mm.”
“What’s on your mind?”
“The things that happened today.”
“Is something bothering you? If you don’t mind, you can tell me.”
“…Nothing.”
Fu Yu fell silent for a moment. “Ruan Luo, do you prefer goats or sheep?”
Ruan Luo was clearly drowsy, yet he forced himself to stay awake, his mind racing. His voice sounded muffled as he replied, “I like both. But sheep sound softer… better for hugging.”
Fu Yu chuckled softly. “I’ll count sheep for you.”
This time, Fu Yu only reached thirty-three before Ruan Luo went completely silent. Just as Fu Yu thought he had fallen asleep and stopped counting, he heard Ruan Luo start to speak incoherently.
He couldn’t tell if the other man was dreaming or still awake.
Fu Yu held his breath and listened intently, confirming that Ruan Luo was merely talking in his sleep, his voice soft and airy.
They had spent the entire afternoon on the mountain. No matter how well Fu Yu had taken care of him, Ruan Luo had still been exposed to the mountain breeze for half a day. Fu Yu worried he might have caught a chill.
He slipped out of bed and quietly sat beside Ruan Luo. He reached out, cautiously pressing the back of his hand against Ruan Luo’s smooth forehead. Only after judging his temperature to be normal did he withdraw.
Just as he was about to stand and leave, his fingers were caught by Ruan Luo’s half-conscious grip. Ruan Luo’s fingers were almost completely devoid of strength now, like a kitten extending its paw but finding no place to cling, chasing the only shelter from the wind to draw a little pitiful warmth.
Fu Yu let him hold on, leaning down to soothe him softly, “You’re not alone. I’m here with you. Go back to sleep.”
Ruan Luo’s lips moved again, softly murmuring two simple syllables, over and over.
This time, Fu Yu heard clearly. Ruan Luo was unconsciously calling a name, and it wasn’t Grandpa.
He was saying, “…Fu Yu.”
His voice sounded utterly aggrieved.