"Fu Sichen."
Pei Zhen called out. He opened his eyes, but there was no sign of the young Great Genius, nor running track, nor frantic cheering.
The familiar ceiling, the familiar room, the familiar feeling of waking up in the night, and he was still a cat.
Pei Zhen instinctively turned his head to look.
Fu Sichen was gone.
He reached his paw out to feel the bedsheets—they were cold. He had no idea when he left.
Huh. Didn't he fear having no income? He was as busy as ever!
He couldn't say what he was feeling, but there was a sudden sense of loss.
There wasn't anyone around. Pei Zhen took the liberty to be himself and laid on his back, limbs spread out in four different directions.
He stared at the ceiling in a daze, his mind a blank. After a while, Pei Zhen sluggishly got up from the position.
