After taking a shower, Rong Xianning tidied up the bathroom and returned to the study.
He unfolded the sofa bed and turned his head to glance at the bookshelf opposite him.
His eyes landed on *The Little Prince.*
The young man's gaze, like the starry river of a summer night, instantly became radiant and tender.
He walked over, stood on tiptoe, and pulled out the book.
And then he froze.
It was nothing more than a decorative fake book.
Looking up at the three walls filled with bookshelves, he suspected that they were all fake.
He put the fake book back, shook his head, turned off the light, and lay down.
The study had a massive floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the night view of Spring River. Rain and mist blurred the glass, and pea-sized raindrops hammered against the pane, tracing long streaks down like strings of sorrowful tears.
The room was well-insulated against sound. Despite the lightning, thunder, and howling wind outside, the interior was warm and peaceful.
