Damn it, I'm surrounded by insane Alphas!

Shi Ran looked at the flat, square gift box in her hand, which had unpretentious and even somewhat plain packaging, and slowly untied the ribbon.

It turned out to be a picture book.

It's not a printed item; it's the hand-bound kind. The paper is thick, and the edges aren't very neat, showing that it's been flipped through many times.

The cover is made of sturdy kraft paper, with only two handwritten words on it: Homecoming.

The painting was done with colored pencils and watercolors, and the brushstrokes looked a bit stiff, but the content of the painting made Shi Ran hold her breath for a moment.

It was at the auction that he was locked in a cage and pushed up as a beta slave; that was the scene of their first meeting.

Turn the page again, and you'll see a dazzling banquet hall.

He stood beside Zhong Kun, holding a champagne glass, but his gaze was elsewhere—it was the scene of their second meeting.

He turned the pages one by one, and every scene seemed familiar to him, because they were all things he and Fu Yanshen had personally experienced.

He rolled backward, trembling.

Page after page, all fragments, all memories, with the date marked in the lower right corner of each drawing. The images in the copy are like slides being replayed.

The violence and soothing moments in the port containers, the shelter in the rainforest, and the two of them watching the cargo ship enter the port side by side in the salty wind—he asked himself, "Let's get married."

As I continued drawing, my brushstrokes seemed to become a little more skillful, and some of the drawings were so heavily revised that the paper became slightly fuzzy.

The last page shows a night view of Paris.

In the center of the image is a silhouette of the hotel window sill, the very silhouette of Shi Ran running to the window that night to watch the first snowfall in Paris.

Shi Ran's vision had long since blurred, and tears rolled down without warning, dripping onto the rough drawing paper and spreading out a small wet patch.

"Did you draw all of these?" His voice was choked with emotion.

Fu Yanshen stood in front of him, gently wiped away the tears on his face, and nodded softly.

"After you left, I was the only one who remembered these things, but I was afraid that my memory would fade over time, so I found a teacher and learned to draw."

He smiled somewhat helplessly, "I started by learning how to hold a pen, but I don't think I have much talent for it."

He spread out his right palm, and on the fingertips and the base of his thumb, besides the thin calluses left from years of holding guns and weapons, you could also see some fresh, fine marks worn by paintbrushes and carving knives.

For Fu Yanshen, holding a pen is even more difficult than holding a gun.

Guns are obedient, but penholders always seem to have their own temper.

His teacher sighed more than once at the crooked lines on his drawing paper, looking at the burly man in front of him and complaining with disappointment that he was just wasting paint and paper.

"Mr. Fu, is it really necessary for you to learn painting?"

He simply gazed silently out the window and said, slowly and deliberately, "Definitely."

Shi Ran could no longer hold back her tears; her heart felt as if something was gripping it tightly, a mixture of sourness and tenderness.

He suddenly believed the system's words: the five of them came to his world because of an uncontrollable and immense obsession.

They stubbornly believed that they and others shared the same world.

They never saw themselves as mere data-driven NPCs; in their eyes, they were real beings.

He could no longer hold back and suddenly threw himself into Fu Yanshen's arms. Fu Yanshen gently hugged him and tenderly stroked his back.

"Thank you, this is more precious than any expensive gift. I love it, really, I love it so much."

Just then, the faint sound of Christmas carols drifted in from outside the window.

The restaurant they booked has arrived.

The restaurant was filled with soft jazz music, and every table was lit with candles, making it the kind of fine dining that could greatly satisfy both the eyes and the palate.

Before dessert, Shi Ran would put down his napkin and say, "I'm going to the restroom."

"Um."

Fu Yanshen responded, his gaze following him as he stood up, until he turned past the piano in the center of the restaurant before turning his attention to the snow falling again outside the window.

Instead of going to the restroom, he quickly walked to the elevator and pressed the down button.

My heart is beating a little fast, like a child about to do something naughty.

On his way to the restaurant, he noticed a cozy-looking French cake shop on the ground floor facing the street, with exquisite Christmas tree cakes displayed in the window.

He secretly ordered a small one on Instagram, saying he would pick it up in two hours.

Now, the timing is perfect.

The elevator "dinged" as it arrived on the first floor.

Shi Ran strode out, the cold air mixed with the aroma of mulled wine from the street corner hitting him. Snow was still falling, landing on his eyelashes, cool and refreshing.

"Sir, your cake is ready." The friendly proprietress took out a beautifully packaged box from the kitchen, tied with a dark green ribbon.

"Thank you." Shi Ran took it, thought for a moment, and then asked softly, "Could I borrow a card and a pen?"

"certainly."

The proprietress smiled broadly, her eyes crinkling, and turned to pull a gold-embossed Christmas card from the cashier's drawer. She then handed over a silver pen. "You're writing a blessing for someone important, aren't you?"

Shi Ran nodded. "Yes, it's for my lover."

He held the pen, hesitated for a few seconds, then lowered his head and wrote carefully, stroke by stroke:

To My Mr. Fu

Merry Christmas.

— Your Time

Shi Ran stared at the line "To My Mr. Fu" for a while, her ears getting a little hot, and then quickly tucked the card under the ribbon.

As he walked out of the store carrying the cake box, he felt a mix of nervous excitement and joy. He rarely prepared any gifts for Fu Yanshen because the man seemed to have no needs for anything except himself.

He could almost picture Fu Yanshen saying "thank you" in that deep voice, and then giving him the biggest piece of cake decorated with Santa Claus when cutting the cake.

Snow fell on his shoulders, quickly accumulating a thin layer on his black coat.

He didn't bother taking pictures and quickened his pace toward the restaurant entrance.

Just as he was about to reach the revolving door—

"Sometimes."

A voice came from behind him, not loud, even a little hoarse, but it made Shi Ran freeze in place.

That sound...

He turned around very slowly, almost stiffly.

Across the street, under the warm yellow glow of old streetlights, fine snowflakes were falling.

A man in a long black coat stood there, his shoulders covered in snow, as if he had been standing there for a long time.

A light gray cashmere scarf was loosely wrapped around her neck, covering half of her face.

The light from the streetlamp shone from behind him, casting a long shadow that was somewhat blurred.

It's Gu Chen.

Gu Chen, whom I haven't seen for a long time.

(Hi Gu, it's been a long time! Many of you miss you.)