All Chapters of The Flaming Lips: Chapter 271 - Chapter 280

Even in the south, the nights can be shockingly cold.I wrapped my coat tighter, estimating that Yusi would take a while to settle down and fall asleep. "Are you cold? Shall we walk and talk?"Trista Fowler wasn't wearing a coat; he only had on a light blue hoodie, looking more like a recent college graduate than a big boss."Give it to me." Trista Fowler reached out for the trash I was carrying.I handed it over, tightening my coat and pressing the elevator button.The elevator doors opened, and Trista Fowler and I stepped in. I held the door open, staring at the empty entrance, and only let go when Trista Fowler asked, "Why aren't you closing the door?""I... still love Stan Wallace," I said with little confidence. "I won't leave again."Trista Fowler's place in Stan Wallace's heart was on par with his grandmother, and I couldn't help but care.A scornful laugh came from behind. "You act so decisively, yet Stan Wallace still trusts you."I tightened my grip, unconsciously tu

The sound of water was gentle and steady, the rustling of bedding as I got up barely noticeable in the near pitch-black darkness. It was a quiet that belonged solely to the deep night, a serene stillness.It should have been comforting, but the lingering warmth of alcohol made me feel somewhat restless.I spent two minutes confirming that there really was no one else around, that the sounds from the bathroom were real, and that it was indeed Stan Wallace inside, before I carefully slipped out of bed.The bathroom door was ajar, and as I pushed it open, a warm, white mist enveloped my face. The soft light filtered through the thin fog, casting a faint silhouette of the person not far away.Stan Wallace was standing with his back to me, his head slightly lowered, one hand braced against the wall. His broad back bore several familiar scars, and his shoulder blades, strained, protruded slightly, moving subtly.The rising steam and water cascaded over him, clear streams of water tracin

In my memory, Yang Shu, who is also my mother, was gentle and beautiful. There was always a hint of a smile in her demeanor, making people feel as if they were basking in a warm spring breeze. She very much resembled the refined young ladies from ancient times living in large mansions.Being so beautiful and having grown up with constant praise, she naturally carried herself with a certain grace, but it wasn't out of arrogance; rather, it was about maintaining her poise. This made her well-liked by the neighbors, who would often envy her and say, "You must be a very blessed woman."Indeed, my mother was blessed. As a child, she was doted on by her grandparents, and before they passed away, she married my father, who then cherished and cared for her like a treasure. The greatest hardship of her early life, as my father put it, was when she insisted on natural childbirth with me, enduring a day and night of labor pains.I still remember the first day I started elementary school. My fa

Officer Wei Ming had cleared my father's name, and a cenotaph was set up in the family cemetery back home. I still decided to bury my mother there.Whether or not she should be there, I left it to them to decide.Legally, the marriage is automatically dissolved upon one party's death, without the need for divorce proceedings. This time, Randolph Wallace didn't say anything and even helped arrange the funeral.However, the farewell hall was sparsely attended, with only a few ‘mahjong friends’ who were there for money.I waited outside the crematorium for half an hour. The person in charge of the burial pushed out a pile of white bones and asked me and Stan Wallace to put on gloves and pick them into the urn, then seal it.From now on, all the love and hate tied to this person would have to end.The day after the burial, Stan Wallace had someone bring Yu Sisi over. She offered incense and bowed before her grandmother and grandfather's graves.It was the first time Yu Sisi truly en

Stan Wallace's eyes seemed to be veiled by a thin mist, a look he often had after drinking, but today there was something different about it. His tone was conciliatory, even with a hint of pleading and coaxing, making one feel sad for his cautiousness.I have never regretted my choice back then, but that doesn't mean I am without guilt. Every time I interact with Stan Wallace or the people around me, seeing the sadness and caution in their eyes, I feel as if I am being soaked in dampness, growing slowly, unable to escape. This is probably the price of lying, and I accept it willingly.In fact, if I kept my mouth shut, those four years would fade into the past, no longer stirring any ripples or affecting anyone's emotions. A brief silence followed, and I was pondering how to avoid lying to Stan Wallace while still sidestepping the issue, when his phone rang.Stan Wallace was taken aback, as if trying hard to pull himself out of a heavy mood. He let out a short breath, rubbing his bro