Yingqu Liuzi was pampered by her wealthy daddy.

Everything seemed normal for the week following the art exhibition.

As usual, Xize picked her up and dropped her off every day, and Shen Yu'an did her homework in the car as usual.

The subtle distance between the two grew closer and closer, so close that Shen Yu'an sometimes had a moment of daze, wondering if they were already together.

But this daze was completely shattered on Tuesday afternoon.

Shen Yu'an went to an art supply store near the school to buy things since she had no classes that afternoon.

He was picking out paintbrushes in front of the shelf when he heard two people chatting behind him, speaking quickly in that typical London high society tone.

"Have you heard? It seems the Lester family's son has recently taken a mistress."

Which Leicester?

"Who else could it be but Caesar Leicester, the sole heir of the Leicester family, that notoriously aloof duke."

Shen Yu'an's hand froze in mid-air.

Duke.

He thought he had misheard, but the word pierced his ears clearly: Duke. In England, this was not a word to be used casually.

"Doesn't he never bring anyone to social events? But last time he brought an Asian kid to a concert. My cousin was there and said the kid was dressed like a student."

"They're students, I think, still in school. You know, the Leicester guy, he's thirty years old, how come he's suddenly interested in kids like this?"

"Who knows? Old money always has weird tastes. But he's a hereditary duke, who in all of London wouldn't want to be associated with the Leicester family? That kid's lucky."

The laughter gradually faded into the distance.

Shen Yu'an stood in front of the shelf, clutching a paintbrush in his hand, his knuckles white.

Duke.

Hereditary duke.

He knew that Xize was rich, that Xize had status, and that Xize belonged to the true upper class.

But he didn't know, or rather, he never dared to think about, what level of "upper class" Caesar belonged to.

Old money. Hereditary nobility. A century-old family. Leicester.

He recognized each of these words individually, but when put together, they formed a mountain whose top he couldn't even see by looking up.

He suddenly remembered what the two women at the art exhibition had said: "Collect exotic little things."

At the time, he felt wronged and offended, but now he suddenly realized that in the eyes of those two people, he might really be such a "little thing".

A foreign student from the East, wearing a white shirt and not even a suit, appeared next to the hereditary duke.

What does it look like?

Like Cinderella in a fairy tale? No, at least Cinderella had glass slippers and a pumpkin carriage.

He had nothing. No family background, no connections.

All he had was Caesar's "goodness".

But what exactly is the reason for this "goodness"?

Shen Yu'an put down his paintbrush, bought nothing, and walked out of the art supply store.

The London wind blew against his face, making him shiver.

He stood on the street, watching the passersby, and for the first time felt that the city had turned gray and hazy.

He remembered what Caesar had said.

"You're not a problem."

"You are a very important friend."

You'll find out later.

A very important friend.

What is a "very important friend"?

Was it a nobleman's spur-of-the-moment favor to a foreign student, or something else entirely?

Shen Yu'an dared not think about it, nor did he want to. Because he knew that no matter what it was, the gap between him and Xize was too great.

They are like people from two different worlds.

That afternoon, Nishizawa appeared at the school gate on time.

He texted, "Arrived."

Shen Yu'an sat in his studio, looking at the message. His finger hovered over the screen for a long time before he finally typed: "Sir, I'll go home by myself today. You don't need to pick me up."

After sending the message, he turned off his phone and left through the back door of the art studio.

He didn't know how long Xize had been waiting at the door, nor what Xize's expression was when he saw the message. He dared not think about it.

From that day on, Shen Yu'an began to deliberately avoid him.

He leaves home twenty minutes early every day, walks through the back door of the apartment, takes a long detour to the subway station, and avoids the black Rolls-Royce that is parked downstairs every morning.

After class in the afternoon, he no longer came out through the main gate, but slipped out through a small door on the side of the teaching building, walked in the opposite direction from the school gate, and only called a taxi or took the subway when he reached another street.

He messaged Xize, always with the same message: "Sir, you don't need to pick me up today, I'll go home by myself."

The reasons were always different. "A classmate invited me to dinner." "I haven't finished my homework and need to stay in the studio a little later." "The weather is bad, so please don't come."

Every reason is reasonable.

Xize did not ask any further questions.

Every time Shen Yu'an told him not to come pick him up, he would only reply with two words: "Okay."

There was no questioning or coercion, not even a single "why".

But this silence was more painful for Shen Yu'an than any questioning.

He knew that Xize must have noticed something.

A person who was obediently getting on the bus last week, doing homework on the bus, and smilingly saying "Thank you, sir" has suddenly disappeared, vanished without a trace.

No one can fail to notice.

But Xize didn't look for him or make any other moves.

He simply withdrew quietly from Shen Yu'an's life during those two fixed periods each morning and evening.

On the fourth night, Shen Yu'an stayed alone in the apartment.

He sat on the sofa, wrapped in a light camel-colored cashmere blanket, holding a cup of black tea he had brewed himself.

The tea was something Xize had kept in his kitchen. The tea leaves were in a dark blue tin can, and you could smell its rich aroma as soon as you opened the lid.

Shen Yu'an took a sip and found it bitter.

It's not the tea that's bitter, it's my heart that's bitter.

He looked at the sketchbook on the coffee table and remembered the hand he had drawn.

Her bones were clearly defined, and she wore a silver signet ring.

He studied the engraved patterns on that signet ring very carefully when he was drawing it.

Now he knew that it was the sigil of the Leicester family.

The coat of arms of a hereditary duke.

Shen Yu'an put down the cup and buried her face in the cashmere blanket.

The blanket was soft and warm, like that person's embrace.

He closed his eyes, his mind filled with Xize's face.

Those grey-blue eyes, and the gentle look in them when they looked at him.

And that sentence he said in the car on the night of the art exhibition.

"If I tell you now, you'll run away."

So you knew all along that I would run away.

Shen Yu'an's tears slid down silently, dripping onto the cashmere blanket, where they were absorbed by the soft fabric without leaving a trace.

On the morning of the fifth day, Shen Yu'an, as usual, came out through the back door and took a detour to the subway station.

He walked quickly with his head down, and when he reached the street corner, he caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye.

The black Rolls-Royce was parked across the street.

Not the usual spot downstairs in his apartment building.

It stood there quietly, like someone who had been waiting for a long time, unsure if they would ever see them again.

Shen Yu'an's heart clenched suddenly.

He stopped.

The car windows were closed, and the tinted glass obscured the view inside. But he knew that person must be inside.

They were on opposite sides of the street, less than twenty meters apart.

Shen Yu'an looked at the quiet car, his Adam's apple bobbing. He wanted to step out and say, "Good morning, sir."

But his body did not move.

Because a voice in his head was saying: You don't deserve it.

You are Shen Yu'an, an ordinary Chinese student studying abroad. He is Caesar Leicester, the hereditary duke and heir to his family's fortune.

You are not from the same world.

He's just having a passing fancy; he'll leave once the novelty wears off. It's better to leave first than to be left behind.

Shen Yu'an lowered his head, gripped the strap of his backpack tightly, turned around and walked away quickly.

He didn't turn around.

But if he turned around, he would see the rear window of the car slowly closing down a crack.

Watching the boy's hurried departure.

The gaze was very quiet.

It was so quiet it was heartbreaking.