Fu Nanli even forgot that there was still someone sitting on the sofa behind him, took a cigarette out, lit it, frowned and smoked.

After all this time, his mind was still chaotic.

Twenty years have passed, and he was still young at that time, nine years old, and then he fell seriously ill, as if he deliberately wanted to forget those pains, and the memory before the age of nine was blurred, and only the picture of his parents' love was left in his impression.

Now that news suddenly came, the long-ago memory gradually came alive and clear.

Are parents really affectionate?

At what age do people have memories?

Some people are early, some people are late, Fu Nanli belongs to the high IQ, and he can even vaguely remember things when he was about three years old.

A sentence that my mother said suddenly came up from the depths of my memory—

[If you don't love me, why do you marry me?] ]

His face turned a little pale, and he reached out and pressed his temple, the painkillers didn't seem to work, and his head was splitting.

Once the floodgates of memory are broken, the past pours out.

It seems that parents often have quarrels.

When he was eight years old, his father seemed to say that he was going on a concert tour, went abroad, and did not return home for a long time.

It seems that he has not been home for almost a year.

When I was a child, I was convinced of touring, but now I think about it, what kind of tour takes a year?

A world tour, two months at most, will be over.

After his father went abroad, his mother, who had always been cheerful, optimistic and capable, seemed to cry behind his back.

It was summer, the grass was growing outside the window, he came home from school, the driver followed him with his school bag, he saw his mother standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, it was raining outside, he shouted.

The mother turned around, the tears in the corners of her eyes didn't have time to wipe away, he asked her what was wrong, and she said she was just listening to a sad song.

There was an old-fashioned gramophone playing on the side, and the music in it was Tchaikovsky's [Symphony of Pathétiques] played by my father.

And before his father left the country, there seemed to be a fierce quarrel between his parents.

Fu Nanli felt a little cold in his palms, the cigarette butt burned out, he lit another one, and the inexplicable text message was like a crimson soldering iron, burning his internal organs a little painful.

Wen Qiao saw that he smoked three cigarettes in a row and couldn't sit still, so he walked up to him and took his hand: "Why don't you keep smoking." ”

Fu Nanli hurriedly extinguished the cigarette butt in the ashtray on the side, and his voice was hoarse: "Why are you still here?" ”

Wen Qiao put his hands on his waist, Fu Nanli put one hand around her waist, and hurriedly waved the cigarette in the air with the other, "Didn't you leave?" ”

Wen Qiao shook his head, "I didn't leave, do you have something on your mind?" Or is there something going on at home? Can you tell me about it? I'm not good at comforting people, but I might be able to help you share some of that. ”

Fu Nanli smiled reluctantly: "It's the company's business, to open up the European market, it's a bit tiring, and you don't understand it very well." ”

Even if Wen Qiao realized it later, he could know that he didn't tell the truth, with his ability, how could he be so worried about things at work.

"Then take a shower and get some sleep? There's nothing you can't fix with a good night's sleep. ”

She dragged him to the bedroom, and he was a little mechanical, so Wincho helped him get his dressing gown and pushed him into the bathroom.

The water rushing down from the shower suddenly came back to his senses, recalling the daily life of his parents in those few years.

The floodgates of memory collapsed.

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