Chapter 1: A Sudden Voice — Xiao Xiu

She was speaking again.
　　
Setting down the paintbrush in her hand, Fu Lizhen rose to turn off the light. With a soft “click,” the room instantly dimmed.
　　
He moved through the room without obstruction, accompanied by the voice that kept chattering in his ear.
　　
As his fingers brushed against the soft, heavy fabric, he took a step back, then yanked open the curtains, and bright light eagerly spilled in.
　　
A beautiful morning.
　　
Outside, sunlight bathed everything, and in the courtyard, white magnolias bloomed across the branches, a feast for the eyes.
　　
This was a studio of about fifty square meters, quite spacious, but oddly, all the painting tools and canvases were gathered in a corner on the same side as the door, taking up only about four square meters.
　　
The rest of the space was empty, with nothing at all.
　　
Even the completed works were gathered in that one corner, either hung up or neatly stacked.
　　
Fu Lizhen pushed open the window, and the noise from outside diluted the woman’s voice by his ear. He returned to that corner, sat down, and quietly gazed at his unfinished painting.
　　
It was a gouache painting—the same one he had painted for twenty years. Every time, he would stop at this point, sit alone in silence for a while, and then go to sleep.
　　
When he woke again, he would use a paper cutter to slice the painting into 256 identical pieces, then discard them.
　　
His psychiatrist pulled him back toward the general direction of normalcy, yet could never intervene in these small matters.
　　
The psychiatrist couldn’t understand him, and he couldn’t understand so-called normal people or their normal state.
　　
But none of that mattered now—he could live independently, without relying on anyone.
　　
He had his own house, a substantial amount of savings, and a clear mind and sharp thinking.
　　
He sat there for about half an hour, without moving a muscle.
　　
She finally fell silent.
　　
Fu Lizhen stood up, opened the door, and walked out.
　　
His house had no living room; beyond the studio was a narrow hallway, with the bathroom, bedroom, kitchen, and entryway lined up across from it in that order.
　　
Closing the bathroom door, Fu Lizhen turned on the faucet and began washing his hands. He washed with great care, finger by finger, scrubbing between the fingers and under the nails—if possible, he would have counted the ridges of his fingerprints too. He applied soap no fewer than three times.
　　
The water was cold, and his hands quickly turned red under the chilling stream, but he didn’t care.
　　
It was just that the nagging voice in his ear was starting to irritate him.
　　
That voice had appeared a week ago, suddenly reaching his ears without any warning whatsoever.
　　
The phone rang from the entryway, and Fu Lizhen took his time washing his last finger. The person on the other end seemed equally patient, redialing over and over again.
　　
He should answer the phone.
　　
After washing his hands, Fu Lizhen thought it over carefully before finally walking toward the entryway.
　　
The moment he picked up the receiver, a roar came bursting through the line: “Fu Lizhen!! Why did you take so long to answer the phone again?! Do you have any idea how worried Mom was?!”
　　
“Sorry.” His voice was hoarse from disuse, his tone calm and utterly at odds with the words he spoke.
　　
Lin Yu took a deep breath. “Fu Lizhen, you’re twenty-nine this year, and I’m fifty-three. I don’t have the energy to keep managing everything for you anymore.”
　　
Fu Lizhen never seemed to understand her words: “Mom, I’m fine.”
　　
Lin Yu’s brows furrowed as she was about to raise her voice, when a hand landed on her shoulder. A young man around twenty, wearing a baseball cap, sat down beside her, a knowing smile on his upturned face. “My brother?”
　　
Lin Yu nodded helplessly. Seeing her youngest son full of vitality lifted her spirits a little, and she finally refrained from snapping at the phone: “I accepted the appointment letter from F University for you. They’ve invited you to be a visiting professor at the School of Fine Arts.”
　　
“Mom—”
　　
“Shut up!” Lin Yu, who had just calmed down, clenched her fists and straightened her body. “Are you planning to never leave the house for the rest of your life?! Are you going to die in that studio?! You need to interact with people, you need to integrate into society!”
　　
Fu Lizhen fell silent. He went out for supplies every week, got a haircut every month, and held an art exhibition every year.
　　
Fu Lezhen quickly patted her back gently: “Take your time, don’t get angry with him, calm down, calm down.”
　　
Lin Yu took a deep breath, and only when her mood had settled did she give him an ultimatum: “You have to go. Be at the Fine Arts Building of F University at eight o’clock next Monday. Someone will come to pick you up. If you don’t go, just wait for Dr. Wang to move into your place!”
　　
After saying this, she hung up the phone with force and rubbed her brow in frustration.
　　
Fu Lezhen hesitated for a moment, then said, “Mom, why don’t you let Brother move back home? That way, at least he can communicate with us more.”
　　
He hadn’t spent much time with Fu Lizhen. He was nine years younger than Fu Lizhen, and by the time he was old enough to remember things, Fu Lizhen was practically living in the sanatorium. When he turned thirteen, Fu Lizhen had already made a name for himself—his oil paintings had won an international award, and from then on, his value skyrocketed, granting him financial independence.
　　
At twenty-two, Fu Lizhen moved out.
　　
He lived alone.
　　
Fu Lezhen deeply admired this brother, with whom he had spent less than a month in total, because winning an international award was not something an ordinary person could achieve.
　　
Even though Fu Lizhen was never an ordinary person to begin with.
　　
Lin Yu looked up at him, her expression helpless. “This won’t work.”
　　
Fu Lezhen was puzzled. “Why? I really don’t understand you and Dad. My brother isn’t normal—why would you feel at ease letting him live alone out there! In his state, he needs the company and support of his family more than anything, doesn’t he?”