又甜又疼的那个夏天，他终于知道想画谁

The last two stretches of summer were a whole sky of balloons, and a "Mom" called out loud in public.

This stretch quiets down — a bowl of hot noodles, an old camera, and an easel set up inside a little shop.

Last time, to gather that three hundred thousand for grandma's surgery, Zhou Wan steeled herself before a room of guests and claimed the woman who'd abandoned her, then moved into the Lu home, under the same roof as Lu Xixiao.

Today, let's keep going.

Once they lived side by side day and night, that thing between them neither would admit grew thicker by the day.

One time, Lu Xixiao collapsed with illness.

Without a word, Zhou Wan cooked him a bowl of steaming three-fresh noodles and kept watch beside him, spoonful by spoonful, sparing no detail.

Leaning against the headboard, watching that figure bustling about for him, something hard in his heart was silently melting.

But this bit of sweetness was always wrapped in a layer of bitterness.

Zhou Wan's mother came to the door once more and casually pushed a check for a hundred and fifty thousand into her hand, every word airtight.

This, she said, was only half of grandma's surgery money; the other half hinged on whether Zhou Wan knew her place — she wanted her daughter to talk Lu Xixiao into going abroad alone this summer, leaving this home for good.

The moment Lu Xixiao nodded and set off, the other hundred and fifty thousand would land, to the cent, in Zhou Wan's account.

Clutching that thin check, Zhou Wan felt it heavier than anything.

And on Lu Xixiao's side, a wall lay across his path he'd never been able to cross.

He'd been obsessed with painting since childhood, but one line from Professor Qin drove straight into his soft spot: these paintings all merely trace your mother; not a single stroke is truly your own.

Lu Xixiao's mother had long passed, and those paintings were the last thread left between them, and a wound he didn't dare touch.

Seeing through his knot, Zhou Wan urged him the other way: stop locking yourself in the studio, go out, go crash into real life.

She simply dragged him to a children's home, where they put on a puppet show for the kids together; he changed the lines on the spot, and she followed his lead all the way, in seamless sync.

Later still, under the pretext of "finding inspiration," Lu Xixiao took Zhou Wan to an amusement park.

The whole way, he held up that old camera and secretly caught her in the frame, shot by shot.

As he filmed, he asked: what are you really after, helping me like this?

Back home, he studied Zhou Wan's profile on the camera for a long time, and all at once, everything came clear.

All this long time, what his brush had truly wanted to hold onto was, all along, the girl who kept crashing into his life.

From that day, Zhou Wan became the person at the very center of his canvas, the one he could never paint around.

For the first time ever, he even took her to a very old "time" convenience store.

The Uncle Li who kept it said Lu Xixiao used to come here with his mother as a boy; in all these years, this was the very first time he'd led a friend inside.

Lu Xixiao set up his easel and painted, stroke by quiet stroke, while Zhou Wan sat at his side, keeping him company without a word.

In that moment, the two of them tasted a long-lost, almost extravagant happiness.

But Zhou Wan understood better than anyone that this happiness stood squarely on top of a secret.

She was sinking deeper and deeper, while still carrying her mother's money and desperately hiding her true identity.

This summer was sweet enough to unsettle her, and painful enough to keep her clear-eyed.

If it were you — clearly moved for real, yet holding a secret that can't see the light — would you still dare to take one step forward?