A clear, laughing girl’s voice echoed in his mind, as if drifting from a distant time and space. “Ian Mitchell, you still don’t know my name, do you! My name is Mason Morgan—Zhao as in that Zhao, Mo as in silence, and Sheng is a kind of musical instrument. My name has a literary origin, you know, from a poem by Xu Zhimo…”

Quietly, it is the sheng and xiao of parting;

Silence, is tonight’s Cambridge.

“When we were little, Ian Mitchell’s mother often held me and said she wished she had a daughter, and my mom would joke that maybe we should swap kids. Ian Mitchell was always smart and sensible, and I think my mom liked him even more than me.” On the way back to the hospital, Amy Mitchell reminisced, “I can still clearly remember Auntie’s face, but it’s a pity…”

“…How did his parents die?”

Amy Mitchell shook her head. “I’m not really sure, I was only nine at the time. I think it was an accident—Uncle fell from the fourth floor, and Auntie was already in poor health. She was so heartbroken that she passed away not long after.” Amy Mitchell seemed to recall something, paused, and added, “I once overheard my mom mention that after Auntie died, they found all her medicine untouched in the drawer. In a way, you could call it suicide.”

“Suicide?!” Mason Scott was stunned. Ian Mitchell was only ten then, wasn’t he? How could she bear to do that!

Amy Mitchell nodded. “Auntie must have loved Uncle very much.” She mused softly, “Actually, Ian Mitchell is a lot like Auntie…”

As they spoke, the two arrived at the hospital and ran into a nurse who knew Amy Mitchell in the corridor. The nurse greeted her kindly, “Your boyfriend just had his IV changed and is sleeping again.”

Amy Mitchell thanked her and explained with a smile, “He’s my brother.”

At the door, Amy Mitchell suddenly shoved everything she was carrying into Mason Scott’s hands. “You take these in. I won’t go in.”

There wasn’t much, but Mason Scott felt as if what she held was a burden too heavy for her to bear.

“Mason Scott.” Amy Mitchell said quietly, “I didn’t lose to you. I lost to him.”

Mason Scott watched her walk away, unable to say a word to make her stay.

The door wasn’t locked; a gentle push opened it. It was a double room, one bed empty, Ian Mitchell’s bed by the window. The sound of the door didn’t wake him. He was still asleep, IV attached.

It felt as if her heart was being wound tighter and tighter by an invisible thread as she stepped closer to him.

He lay on the bed, face pale and thin, frowning even in his sleep. After their reunion, she hadn’t really looked at him properly until now. Her fingers unconsciously traced his furrowed brow, then brushed his eyelashes, imagining that if he were awake, those eyes would be sharp and cold, sometimes tinged with a hint of mockery.

Finally, her gaze lingered on his slightly pale lips. It’s said that people with lips like these are often heartless. Ian Mitchell, Ian Mitchell, why aren’t you? Don’t you understand? We can never go back to the past. Seven years have changed everything…

Then, before she realized what she was doing, her lips replaced her fingers. Her lips were still cold from outside, but his were unexpectedly warm. Yet that warmth made her heart ache, and tears began to fall, one after another, unstoppable.

Until her wrist was suddenly gripped tightly.

Ian Mitchell!

He was awake?

Mason Scott’s mind went blank, her vision blurred with tears so she couldn’t see his face, but she could hear the fury in his voice.

“What are you doing?” Ian Mitchell said through gritted teeth. “Mason Morgan, what exactly do you mean by this!”

“I…” She was tongue-tied, all thoughts flying from her mind. For a while, she could only stare helplessly at his blurred figure, feeling his grip on her wrist tighten as if he wanted to crush it. She tried to stop her tears, but they wouldn’t obey, only falling faster.

How did it come to this? She could clearly hear something once strong inside her breaking, the sound of it shattering filling her with fear and panic. Ian Mitchell’s aggressive, harsh tone made her shrink back. She didn’t know what she was doing—wasn’t she determined to cut off the past, to exclude him from her life? Then what was she doing just now? She was completely lost.

Run! The thought seized her, and instantly she acted. She didn’t know where the strength came from, but she broke free from his grasp and ran for the door.

Ian Mitchell shouted, “Mason Morgan, don’t you dare leave!”

Damn it!

Ian Mitchell watched her pull open the door, yanked the IV from his left hand, and got out of bed to stop her. But he was still ill, had been lying down for so long, and in his haste, he stumbled and fell awkwardly beside the bed.

All of this, Mason Scott didn’t know.

She numbly followed a crowd into the elevator. The people inside glanced at her, then, used to such scenes, lowered their heads and returned to their own thoughts. In this hospital, scenes of life and death played out every day; a tear-streaked face or two was nothing unusual.

Stepping out of the elevator, the noisy lobby sounds filled her ears. Amid the coming and going, Mason Scott suddenly didn’t know where to go.

Where could she go?

Hadn’t she always known? In this vast world, there wasn’t a single place without Ian Mitchell.

Chapter Six: Separation and Reunion

“He—Hello, Lawyer He?” Beth stared in surprise at the person at the door. “Lawyer He, weren’t you in the hospital?”

“I was discharged this morning. Beth, bring the files for the ANAS case to my office in a bit.” Ian Mitchell said as he walked, “Any important messages these past few days?”

“Yes.” Beth immediately pulled out her notes and reported several important messages, then hesitated and added, “Lawyer He, a female reporter from ‘Belle’ called several times, wanting to do a special interview with you. She even came in person once. She said she’s your schoolmate. Do you want to call her back?”

At the mention of ‘Belle’, Ian Mitchell’s eyes flickered, but quickly returned to calm. “No need. If she calls again, just turn her down.”

“Okay.” Beth nodded, finally feeling like Lawyer He was truly back—decisive and efficient, never dragging things out.

Henry Wilson came straight from the prosecutor’s office and pushed open Ian Mitchell’s office door, finding him buried in paperwork as expected. He didn’t even know what to say.

“I heard from Beth and didn’t believe it. Can you explain what’s going on?”

“What do you mean?” Ian Mitchell looked up from his files, his face still a bit pale, but his eyes clear and bright.

“Don’t play dumb. I remember you weren’t supposed to be discharged until the day after tomorrow. Why are you here now?”

“I left the hospital early.”

Henry Wilson rubbed his forehead. Even as a lawyer himself, he had to admit talking to another lawyer was a pain—his answer was as good as no answer. “Are you trying to kill yourself? The firm won’t collapse without you.”

“Not necessarily.” Ian Mitchell waved the files in his hand. “As I recall, you and Old Wilson aren’t very good at this.”

Henry Wilson snorted, “Even so, we wouldn’t collapse at the negotiating table.”

“Henry Wilson,” Ian Mitchell leaned back in his chair, looking at his old friend with a hint of helplessness, “I wouldn’t joke about my own life.”

“Normally you wouldn’t…” Henry Wilson looked at him, then asked bluntly, “Did she come?”

Ian Mitchell’s eyes darkened. Instead of answering, he asked, “Were you looking for her?”

Henry Wilson nodded, glanced at Ian Mitchell’s expression, and sighed, “Looks like I made things worse.”

“No, I should thank you.” Ian Mitchell said calmly. “If she hadn’t given me such a blow, I wouldn’t be so completely awake now.”

“You…” Henry Wilson opened his mouth, but didn’t know what to say.

“Don’t worry.” Ian Mitchell looked at him, face calm. “It’s over between us. No, I should say, my one-sided feelings are completely over.”

At eleven that night, Ian Mitchell parked his car and entered the elevator, still thinking about the details of the negotiation two days later. He hadn’t come home before ten in ages, with several cases going on at once, keeping him busy day and night. Henry Wilson had long since given up trying to persuade him, while Old Wilson cheerfully calculated how much the firm’s income would increase this quarter, joking that he’d prepare the best coffin for him.

In truth, he was exhausted, but he needed this busyness.

The elevator dinged—twelfth floor. Ian Mitchell stepped out, pulling out his keys to open the door. All his movements froze the moment he saw the person at his door.

She was wearing a thin sweater, sitting at his doorstep with her knees hugged to her chest, chin resting on her knees, staring blankly at the floor ahead.

Hearing footsteps, she looked up. She looked even more haggard than he did, her face thinner, her chin sharper, and her large eyes flashed with panic the moment she saw him. She seemed trapped, with nowhere to go.

Neither spoke. Ian Mitchell paused for three seconds, then walked past her as if he hadn’t seen her.

He opened the door calmly, went inside, and then closed the door behind him.

But the sound of the door closing never came—his sleeve was gripped tightly by a hand.