“She’s not suited to know these things, and she never will.” Ian Mitchell said calmly. He had decided long ago that even if they didn’t end up together, he would never tell her about these matters. He would bear all of it alone.

“Actually, what happened back then was just an accident—no one expected it to end up like this.” Pamela Ford’s tone softened. After all, someone had died in the end, so Pamela Ford had a deep impression of the He family from back then. More than ten years later, when Mason Scott mentioned the name Ian Mitchell, Pamela Ford felt it sounded familiar. After seeing his face, she became even more suspicious, and, feeling uneasy, did some investigating. Sure enough, he was the ten-year-old son of the He family from back then. But she didn’t know whether he, as a child, was aware of those past events, which was why she was probing today.

Her words lacked confidence, and Ian Mitchell no longer bothered to argue. He stood up and opened the window, letting the fresh air rush in. Looking out from the tenth floor, the sky was high and the clouds were light, the view wide open, and Ian Mitchell’s frustration eased a little.

When his father died, Ian Mitchell was only ten. Though he was clever, he was too young to understand the complexities of the adult world. He only remembered coming home from school one day to find his father, who had been fine that morning, lying in the hospital covered in blood, no longer breathing. Soon after, his already frail mother passed away, and he suddenly became an orphan. Fortunately, his father’s neighbor and comrade adopted him, and it was only as he grew up that he gradually understood the reasons behind everything.

In the late 1980s, Ian Mitchell’s father took out a bank loan to invest in real estate. However, halfway through construction, the bank, due to changes in credit policy, demanded early repayment. At that time, Quentin Morgan was the bank manager in Y City, and local bank managers had the authority to decide whether to recall loans early. Father Mitchell tried everything, and Quentin Morgan finally agreed to extend the loan. But soon after, there was no further news about the money, and the funds Father Mitchell had spent on lobbying were wasted. The half-built building became an abandoned project. Then, construction workers and suppliers came to collect debts, and while evading them, Father Mitchell accidentally fell from the unfinished building and died on the spot.

Meanwhile, Manager Zhao, who only took but never gave, rose steadily through the ranks and eventually became mayor. Although he didn’t directly cause Ian Mitchell’s father’s death, he was undoubtedly the source of a chain of tragedies. Auntie would often watch Quentin Morgan speaking on TV and say to him, “Ian Mitchell, just wait, bad people will get what they deserve.”

Ian Mitchell could never forget the complicated feelings he had when he learned that Mason Scott was actually Quentin Morgan’s daughter—absurdity, anger, ridicule, countless surging negative emotions that he could no longer control and vented on Mason Scott when he saw her. Maybe there was also some self-loathing mixed in, because even then, he still didn’t want to break up.

Those harsh words he said in the heat of the moment hurt him deeply as well. And Mason Scott?

And he had almost… regretted it immediately.

Ian Mitchell’s brows furrowed slightly; the past was hard to look back on. He was still young then—no matter how mature, he was only twenty, and didn’t yet know how to control or hide his emotions. Now, he would never make the same mistake again.

The owner of the room was clearly sending signals for her to leave. Pamela Ford realized that coming here had been a mistake. If he had no intention of revenge, her presence was unnecessary; if he did want revenge, what could she possibly stop now?

But she was unwilling to leave empty-handed. Lowering her voice, she said gently, “I hope you can give me a promise. I may not be close to Mason Jr., but I am still her mother.”

There was no reply for a long time.

Pamela Ford had always been proud; bowing her head for Mason Scott was already her limit. She stood up and said, “In that case, I’ll go.”

She got up and walked to the door. Just as her hand was about to grasp the handle, she heard the young man, who had been so aggressive, speak in a calm, even tone.

“They gave me ten years, but I want Mason Scott for a lifetime.” His voice was filled with an indescribable weariness. He paused, then added, “I have yielded to the warmth of reality.”

Pamela Ford was stunned at first, then realized this was the promise she wanted. She turned back. The young man standing by the floor-to-ceiling window was bathed in a layer of pale golden sunlight, showing her only a desolate silhouette. Before she could say anything, she heard his quiet request again.

“Mason Scott tends to overthink. Please don’t let her sense any of this.”

The office had returned to calm, but Ian Mitchell couldn’t focus on work for a while. Seeing that it was almost time to get off work, he simply closed the files and left them for tomorrow.

His phone beeped in his pocket—the sound of a text message.

It must be Mason Scott.

Sure enough, it was her.

—“Ian Mitchell, I got my bonus today. Let me treat you to dinner. I’ll be downstairs soon.”

Ian Mitchell smiled slightly, as if he could see her smug expression right in front of him. Just as he was about to reply, the phone rang. After he finished the call, there were two more messages.

—“You’re not replying. Don’t tell me you’re not there…”

—“Poor phone, Ian Mitchell must have tossed you somewhere again?”

So impatient.

Ian Mitchell couldn’t help but shake his head. He’d only been on the phone for about ten minutes. He quickly replied—“No need to come up, wait for me downstairs.”

Ian Mitchell stood by the window, waiting for Mason Scott to appear in his line of sight.

It seemed that Amy Mitchell had once asked him why he could wait so patiently.

Actually, waiting has nothing to do with time. It’s a habit, it grows freely, and he can’t suppress it.

Mason Scott had already appeared in his view, swaying with her camera on her back. She stood under the shade of a tree across the street, head down, typing on her phone.

Soon, a new message appeared on Ian Mitchell’s phone.

—“Ian Mitchell, I’m here. Hurry down. As usual, I’ll count to a thousand…”

(The End)

Extra: Amy Mitchell’s Story

A Flower Blooms Alone

1

When I was nine, the boy next door, Ian Mitchell gege, became my brother.

I was overjoyed and leaned in my mother’s arms to ask, “Mom, will Ian Mitchell gege live with us from now on and never go back?”

Mom hugged me and said, “Yes, Amy Mitchell, do you like that?”

“I do.” I nodded hard to show my happiness, not understanding why Mom looked so sad.

Having a brother like Ian Mitchell was something to be proud of. My classmates envied me, and sometimes even the teachers treated me differently. When I started middle school, the teacher looked at the roster and asked, “Do you know Ian Mitchell?”

I nodded, “He’s my brother.”

“Oh, I taught him in his first year too. I guess I have a connection with you siblings.” The teacher smiled. “So, for now, you’ll be the class monitor. If your brother is capable, I’m sure you won’t be any worse.”

Gradually, my classmates learned that I was “Ian Mitchell’s” sister, and soon some girls started to ask me, “Amy Mitchell, has your brother ever mentioned any girls in front of you?”

“No.” That was always my answer.

“Oh, do you know? That girl Lynn Miller from Class Three likes your brother…”

At this age, girls seemed especially interested in “who likes whom.” Several girls had already told me secrets like “so-and-so likes your brother,” and every time, it was a different girl.

There really were a lot of girls at school who liked Ian Mitchell, but he didn’t seem to notice at all.

Once, when I was asking him a question, I casually asked, “Brother, do you like any girls? There are so many girls in my class who like you.”

“No.” He answered indifferently, head down, focused on helping me with my homework, not the least bit curious.

That afternoon, as I looked at his handsome, refined profile, a happiness I couldn’t explain welled up inside me.

At the end of my sophomore year in high school, Ian Mitchell was admitted to C University and went to A City, which seemed so far away to me at the time.

I wasn’t used to having one less person at home. It suddenly felt empty. At dinner, Mom would serve four bowls of rice out of habit, then remember Ian Mitchell wasn’t there and put one back.

I don’t know why, but I felt a surge of determination and declared at the dinner table, “I’m going to get into C University too.”

Dad laughed, “Great, Amy Mitchell, you have ambition.”

But what’s the use of ambition alone? My grades were good, but not good enough for C University. After a year of hard work, it still wasn’t enough. When it came time to fill out college applications, I applied to N University.

When Ian Mitchell heard on the phone that I’d chosen N University, he paused and said, Amy Mitchell, you could have applied to a better university.

But none would be closer to you, I thought silently.

But when I arrived at university in September, I realized that things don’t always go as planned. My college was actually in a suburban campus, two hours away from C University in the city.

So we could only see each other during winter and summer breaks.

During my first winter break, I met Mason Morgan.

I remember that day, I went shopping for New Year’s goods with Ian Mitchell.

It was almost New Year’s, the streets were crowded and noisy, but I clearly heard someone calling Ian Mitchell’s name. I turned and saw a girl running across the street.

That was the first time I met Mason Morgan. The girl who would later be entangled with Ian Mitchell for a lifetime.

My first impression of her was: fuzzy.

A fuzzy girl.