At that moment, with the evening breeze blowing and holding a kitten, Agnes felt a sudden sadness as she watched the receding figure. She thought of her own kitten again, and the unrelenting longing and worry tormented her constantly. Was he okay? Was he still alive? The light from her youthful memories had illuminated her entire life.
Every time she recalled those days, she felt particularly happy. Many of her creative inspirations came from him. He was knowledgeable, wise, mysterious… He seemed to understand everything and always remained calm, like an elder who had seen through the world. But he had completely disappeared from her life, as if he had never existed.
On the drive back to Fritz Manor, Tom Fritz sat in the driver’s seat, one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting lightly on the window. He had been so obsessed with finding Bubu that he wanted to chop Spencer into pieces, but now he was finally at ease. His thick, handsome eyebrows furrowed slightly as he wondered how to face his grandmother.
Back home, Agnes sat cross-legged on the sofa. She pulled up Tom Fritz’s message avatar on her phone and compared it with the social media avatar of the kitten. They were identical… The only difference was that the social media avatar was gray because it hadn’t been online. Staring at Tom Fritz’s message avatar, she suddenly had a suspicion…
If the kitten were still alive, would its avatar be this one? How could there be identical message avatars? Was this kitten really Bubu? Or was it just a random internet image? It looked very similar, but the more she looked at it, the less certain she became.
After a while, Agnes clicked on his posts, all of which were public. This man had no privacy. He didn’t post much-about ten to twenty posts a year-and she quickly scrolled to the bottom. Most were shared links, possibly information from his circle or viewpoints he agreed with.
That night, Ansel worked through the night in his studio. He rethought his competition piece and discussed his ideas with his father before starting to paint. With the competition approaching, he didn’t dare slack off. Winning this award was crucial for him to teach at the university. It would be an acknowledgment of his abilities so that when he went to teach, no one could say he relied on connections. However, he knew the competition was fierce and many were aiming for the grand prize.
After completing a painting, Ansel admired it carefully and felt quite satisfied; it was a significant improvement over his previous works. He was grateful to his father despite his strictness. After 27 hours of continuous work, it was already noon the next day.
Ansel walked out of his studio and stood by the lakeside railing, gazing at the distant mountains with blooming sunflowers around him-it was beautiful. He needed to clear his mind and rest his eyes.
Ansel couldn’t help but think of Agnes again; he started to get distracted and worried that his efforts wouldn’t catch up with Agnes’s pace of getting married. After all, Andrew was a formidable rival in love. So, he decided to go down to Campell family to fight for a chance in love; he couldn’t just give up.
An hour later, in an ancient alley in front of a flower shop called “Not Just Morning,” Ansel walked in carrying some fruits. “Mr. Campell! Mrs. Campell!”
“Ansel is here?” Mrs. Campell greeted him warmly as she saw him approach. “You haven’t eaten yet, have you? My husband is cooking in the kitchen; you came just in time.”
Ansel smiled kindly and brightly. “I just came down from the mountain; I’ve been working on a piece in my father’s studio for a competition.”
“Ansel is getting more outstanding by the day! Go wash your hands; lunch will be ready soon,” Mrs. Campell said happily as she went to set another place at the table because she liked him very much.