*Note: This chapter contains language and scenes that may cause discomfort.

Right on the following Saturday, the sun shone brightly along with the return of summer breezes, and Hạ Đan left her house to go to Long Nhật's home as planned. Along the way, she recalled the incident that had happened and wondered how Quang was doing. She didn't dare to text and ask, fearing it would bring up unpleasant memories. Not until she reached the gate did she see the familiar house with that treehouse. In the flower garden, a man was standing and watering the plants; seeing her, he stopped and asked:

"Who are you looking for, little girl?"

"Yes, I'm looking for Long Nhật."

"Ah, then please come on in."

She smiled politely and nodded as he went to open the gate for her. After looking around the garden and then at Hạ Đan, he said:

"He's probably up in the treehouse; I haven't seen him downstairs for a while. Have you ever been up there before?"

"Yes, I came over once before."

"Ah, is that so? Oh, but I've never seen you come over to play before, are you two dating?"

"What are you saying, uncle? We've only just started talking. I'm a friend of Quang."

"Thanh Quang? I know him. I thought he got himself a girlfriend out of nowhere, but then again, how could he ever get a girlfriend."

After that, they both laughed at the joke, then he told her to go on up, she nodded while he went back to his work. She approached the treehouse and called his name, but there was no response. She tried to stand on her tiptoes to peek, but she couldn't see much. The door wasn't closed either, so she decided to climb up.

"Nhật..?"

There was still no answer; it turned out Long Nhật wasn't even in the treehouse. She looked down at the table from the other day, seeing her plates on it. Hạ Đan intended to pick them up and leave right away, but for some reason, a scent made her involuntarily stop in her tracks. She sniffed and realized this scent was very familiar, it smelled like a type of flower. It turned out to be jasmine, her favorite flower. She looked around, then decided to put the plates back on the table to see where it was coming from. She walked around, the wooden floor creaking, but still found nothing. Not until she got close to the bookshelf did the scent become clearer. She became more excited until she saw a jasmine petal appear. Hạ Đan pushed a few books aside, and that soothing scent became clearer than ever, making her feel very comfortable. But what was worth mentioning that surprised her wasn't the flower.

It was the photograph right next to it.

The photograph next to the jasmine was a rather old picture, containing a young boy and a woman. Perhaps the relationship between the two was mother and son. The woman smiled gently; she possessed the beauty of a clear, gentle, and soft morning dawn, holding him tight. As for the little boy, he wore a bright, joyful smile with his mother. That smile was overflowing with innocence and happiness. They stood in the middle of a wheat field, with a swing far behind them, the stalks of wheat swaying toward the wind.

Hạ Đan guessed that the boy was Long Nhật. That face was unmistakable. Only, those eyes had now lost their clarity, and that smile was no longer bright.

While she was entirely absorbed in admiring the maternal love in the photo, suddenly the sound of something dropping startled her into looking back. It turned out to be Long Nhật; he stood frozen, staring wide-eyed at Hạ Đan holding the frame, and he had dropped a jasmine flower from his hand onto the floor. Hạ Đan was startled, freezing in place while holding the photo frame, and confusedly said:

"I-I came to get the plates..."

"Then why didn't you just take them and leave? The plates are on the table, are you blind?!"

He strained his voice and angrily advanced toward her, furiously snatching the photo frame out of her hand. And that piece of glass shattered into a hundred shards. Hạ Đan trembled in fear; she didn't expect that she had just touched something she shouldn't have touched:

"I'm sorry, I—"

"SHUT UP!"

Then he tightly grabbed her right wrist, the wrist that had held the photo frame. His face was filled with rage and insult:

"Weren't you taught that it's forbidden to touch other people's things without permission? Are you stupid?!"

As he spoke, he twisted her wrist, making her scream out in pain before using her left hand to scratch his arm, forcefully snapping back:

"I know I am wrong, I sincerely apologize, but why are you speaking to me like that???"

"If your parents didn't damn teach you, then let me tell you! Fuck it, get the hell out from now on, I'm not welcoming someone like you, I knew from the start what kind of person you—"

Before he could finish his sentence, he was shoved away by her, she shouted loudly:

"You have no right to touch my parents like that! Fine, I am wrong and I apologized, but regarding this matter, I haven't even done anything yet, so why are you dumping it all on my head?!"

"YOU SHUT YOUR MOUTH! DO YOU BELIEVE THAT IF YOU SAY ANOTHER WORD, I WILL BEAT YOU?"

"WHAT KIND OF WAY IS THAT TO TALK, YOU PUNK?"

Neither giving in to the other, two seconds later they both turned around and armed themselves with a "weapon." One held a broom, the other held the large clock placed on the study desk. Just one more small clash and it seemed neither could guarantee their own safety:

"Don't you think that just because you're a girl, I won't dare to do anything!"

"And don't you think just because you're older, you can adopt that parental tone here!"

Right after, the force of his broom swung at her, and she used her arms to block it, resisting with all her might before shoving the broom back. In her anger, she immediately threw the large clock straight at his face, but it was deflected by the force of the broom, and he kicked it. As the broom was charging forward once again, she used both of her radius bones to block it. Summoning all her natural strength, she immediately shoved the broom back, causing him to lose his footing and fall before he could defend himself.

Unbeknownst to her, the force of her push in her rage was so strong that he took a painful fall to the ground. As his hand pressed down onto the floor, a sharp shard from the previously broken photo frame accidentally stabbed into his hand. He shrieked in agony and immediately used his other hand to hold it up. A stream of blood flowed down like a waterfall onto his wrist. She was shocked and stunned at first, but after he shrieked, she immediately looked for bandages and gauze. Even though they were in the middle of an argument and their mutual hatred was escalating drastically, once blood was shed, it was no simple matter. Fortunately, there was a backup first-aid kit in this treehouse. She immediately took all the necessary supplies and approached him. He grimaced and looked up at her, intending to push her away, but it hurt too much, so he stayed silent, allowing her to bandage him up. Between the two of them was a heavy, suffocating silence, filled with mutual hatred that had not yet been defused. But they still remained silent:

"Done... remember not to let it encounter much friction."

The two continued to remain silent. She only bowed her head slightly and was about to stand up when she suddenly heard a sound. She immediately looked down to check and was even more surprised.

Long Nhật was crying.

So she immediately dropped back down and anxiously checked on him. She tightly gripped both of his shoulders and tried to make him lift his face to look at her, thinking her actions had caused him too much pain:

"What's wrong with you? Are you crying because of the bleeding? Let me go call the uncle downstairs—"

Before she could finish her sentence, he immediately shook his head repeatedly, tears streaming down uncontrollably, pouring like a fountain. She felt more and more confused, constantly asking if he wanted anything, or if the wound was hurting him more and more. But he was too choked up to speak, the treehouse echoing only with the sound of his crying.

Suddenly, with a thud, she froze at his unexpected action.

He lunged forward to hug her.

The crying kept sounding out, his two arms wrapping around to hold her tight. She was too shocked to know what to do at first, but slowly she hugged him back, caressing him, hoping he would gradually stop. She remained silent, while he suddenly said:

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

She only gently nodded. The red mark on her forearm from the force of the broom no longer felt painful now; she kept caressing his back to soothe him down. But he still kept sobbing, and then whispered faintly:

"I'm sorry, Mom... Mom..."