Lam Hai, a small seaside town.

It is home to a long beach with crystal-clear waters, palm trees lining the golden sandy shores, whispering in the wind. This place was once thought to be the perfect destination for tourists seeking rest and recreation.

However, due to the city's policies not prioritizing domestic tourism, coupled with a lack of funds for grand advertisements like other coastal cities, the number of visitors in the summer remains sparse.

As a result, the streets are not bustling or noisy, especially in the early days of summer when students have already finished school, and most families head to the larger cities for their vacations.

Under the scorching sun, at three-thirty in the afternoon, the heat still lingers in the air.

Như Hạ, wearing a cap, a black t-shirt, and long jeans that hugged her tall, slender frame, was about to turn seventeen. Perhaps it was because of her shoulder-length hair and big round eyes that she didn't look particularly "cool"—in fact, she looked quite cute.

Như Hạ wore sandals, pedaling her old bike along the road, sighing to herself, not paying any attention to the stunning beach on the other side of the street.

At the moment, she had a more important problem than admiring the picturesque beach, like the banners everywhere urging people to enjoy the beautiful coastline.

She could feel the pedal was about to fall off.

Nhu Ha looked around. The street was lined with houses, and she couldn't see any bike repair shops. So, she had no choice but to pull over to the side of the road.

She propped up the bike, squatted down, and tried to screw the pedal back into place. Unfortunately, her strength wasn't enough, and she could only fit it loosely, hoping there would be a repair shop ahead.

After finishing, she dusted off her hands, stood up, and pushed the bike, adjusting the rolled-up piece of paper behind her back. Today was her first day attending the drawing class.

Nhu Ha used to love drawing when she was younger, but it was just a pastime. She would often replicate characters from the manga she read.

She had never seriously thought about pursuing a career in art. In fact, she was focused on preparing for the A-level exams.

Yet, for some reason, when she saw those paintings—paintings by that man—she was captivated. A powerful emotion surged from deep within her heart, like a tiny plant that seemed fragile but could grow and thrive with just a drop of rain.

The paintings, long forgotten by their creator, lay covered in dust beneath a bed. She never imagined that person could paint such beautiful images, only to leave them abandoned in the dark.

The stunning, faded paintings were quietly rolled up and sold for scrap.

Nhu Ha didn't stop the man or ask him not to sell those priceless paintings for a pittance. She just stood there, motionless, as if paralyzed, her gaze never leaving the man's figure.

She wanted to memorize every detail, every image in her limited memory. And the look in the man's eyes when he saw Như Hạ discover those paintings—the emotion in his eyes was unspoken, like an unshed tear.

His gaze seemed to unlock a painful and sorrowful memory, filled with regret. That fleeting emotional moment was quickly brushed away, like smoke dissipating on the roadside, leaving only his usual indifferent look.

But those images, they were so vivid and alive, they moved Nhu Ha to the point where she felt compelled to draw. To capture the fleeting expression on the man's face—one she had caught in that brief moment. It was different from all the calm emotions she had seen in him before.

Clack.

Tsk. Nhu Ha clicked her tongue as the pedal finally couldn't withstand its age. Despite her attempts to tighten it little by little, it fell off after just a meter, clattering onto the hot road. She was a bit frustrated, stopped, and kicked the pedal into her front basket. She'd throw it away in the next trash bin. It was really bad luck—she didn't even know which foot she had stepped out with earlier.

So, throughout the entire trip, Nhu Ha struggled with the bike, which only had one intact pedal left, and every time she tried to pedal, her foot slipped off the broken "spine."

Nhu Ha reached into her back pocket to pull out the piece of paper with the address on it. The ink had smudged a bit because she had left it in her pocket the day before, but luckily she had remembered to air it out in time.

They called it a drawing class, but in fact, it was more like a home-based art course run by the teacher. The house was deep in a small alley. It was quite large but somewhat old, with no second floor, but it had a spacious, green, and breezy garden in front.

A small iron sign hung near the entrance with the house address, clearly stating:

"University Prep for H-block Entrance Exam."

Nhu Ha leaned her bike against the wall, stood on tiptoe, and pressed the doorbell. Perhaps the owner was worried that kids would break the bell, so it was placed quite high—was it just for decoration?

Nhu Ha pressed several times but didn't hear the bell ring. She looked through the iron bars and saw several people sitting on plastic chairs in the courtyard, their backs straight as they held pencils, squinting their eyes, measuring a few naked statues placed in front of the yard, before bending over and concentrating on their sketches. Do they not need rulers?

Impressive!

Nhu Ha marveled, her eyes sparkling. She secretly thought that after learning, maybe she could also sketch beautiful paintings like them, with fluid, sweeping strokes.

She walked back and forth in front of the gate, glancing inside the garden, then checking her digital watch. It was clearly the agreed time, so why hadn't the girl come out yet? When Như Hạ leaned over toward the gate to call inside, she finally caught the attention of a few people sitting and drawing.

A guy tilted his head, glancing over his sketchpad, and called out:

"Looking for someone?"

Looking for someone?

The guy was probably around her age at most. The other day, Nhu Ha had measured herself and grown another two centimeters. With her three-centimeter sandals, she was already nearly one meter fifty-five. She could only scold him in her mind, but just as she was about to speak, she saw a braid sway, and a pair of round glasses peeked out from the room inside.

It was the art class monitor from her 11th grade, with a pencil behind her ear, who waved at Như Hạ as soon as she saw her outside and quickly ran to open the door.