Bolero

When Charles said, "Isn’t the notebook there?" a bad feeling arose in Ye Qingxuan instinctively. When he looked in that direction, his heart sank and he fell into silence.

Charles had pointed to the corner of the living room. There was a painting on the wall; a cupboard; two chairs; and a finely-decorated, well-made, high-grade, amazingly warm and comfortable…dog bed!

The long-missed Old Phil was sprawled out on its bed, side-eyeing its first and third servants. Its eyes were arrogant as if he were the emperor in his palace. As it enjoyed the stupidity of mankind, it chewed on its breakfast—a leather-bound, beautifully made, and familiar…notebook?

"Senior, am I seeing things?" Ye Qingxuan asked after a long time. "Why am I seeing Old Phil eating my notebook?"