Benjamin's birthday coincided with Double Ninth Festival, and it was also her first weekend since starting kindergarten.
The night before her birthday, Benjamin lay in bed with her eyes closed for an hour, unable to fall asleep out of excitement. Finally, the little girl got up, slipped into her pink butterfly slippers, and hurried to knock on the study room door. Her voice was soft and timid, like a little kitten's, as she said, "Daddy, I can't sleep."
Ignatius Leclair was immersed in work. The study, with its cool-toned décor, was utterly silent. In the dark of night, his features appeared even sterner than in daylight, exuding a years-long aura of solitude.
Hearing his daughter's tender, syrupy voice, the pen in Ignatius's hand paused slightly. He raised his sharp eyes toward the doorway, beckoning to the little girl in her pink sleepwear and said in his deep voice, "Benjamin, come here."
