Ethan Carter pinched the bridge of his nose. “Mm.”

It was so cold that he felt uncomfortable all over. He wanted to rub his nose to ease it a bit, but his fingers were icy too, and in the end, he couldn’t tell which part was colder.

Mr. Carter’s voice continued, “This matter, well, it’s mainly because the Lu family really believes in this stuff—they insist on picking an auspicious date and time, so scheduling might be hard to coordinate. And the eldest son of the Lu family just took over as chairman, so he’s very busy right now. You know, Little Ethan, this is just something we can’t help, so in the end, we might have to go with their arrangements…”

“It’s fine, Dad.”

Ethan Carter lowered his head, his slightly long bangs falling down and covering his eyes.

“I’ll just follow the arrangements.”

“Alright, alright.” Mr. Carter let out a big sigh of relief. “If you really can’t make the exam, just ask for leave. Your grades have always been so good, the teachers will definitely be understanding.”

He asked worriedly, “Do you need a parent to talk to your teacher? Should I contact your teacher then?”

“No need,” Ethan Carter said softly. “You don’t have to worry, I can handle it myself.”

Mr. Carter replied repeatedly, “Alright, alright, Dad trusts you.”

He said with satisfaction, “Dad knows, our Little Ethan has always been sensible since childhood.”

Ethan Carter didn’t say anything.

He’d heard this phrase all his life, and by now he didn’t know if it was praise or a shackle.

“Oh, right,” Mr. Carter added, “I saw that the temperature in Yancheng has dropped these days, it’s pretty cold. How’s your trachea? You haven’t been feeling unwell again, have you?”

“It’s fine. I’ve already had the surgery, I’ve been fine for a long time,” Ethan Carter said. “You take care of yourself too.”

“Alright, alright.”

After a few more reminders, Mr. Carter finally hung up the phone.

Ethan Carter stood there for a while, his ears and fingers exposed to the air gradually turning pale and bloodless. It wasn’t the coldest time yet—his breath didn’t even turn white—but it was already hard for him to bear.

He moved his slightly stiff body and walked over to the bamboo by the flowerbed, reaching out to touch it.

His fingertips brushed the bamboo skin; it felt cold and rough, not quite the same as he remembered from long ago.

Maybe it was a different variety, Ethan Carter thought absently, but deep down he knew what was truly different was that carefree, happy time in the mountains.

Gone forever, never to return.

A gust of cold wind blew by, and Ethan Carter covered his mouth and coughed a few times. He took a long breath, suppressing the itch in his throat. When he lowered his hand, there was already a trace of blood on his knuckles.

His lips were so dry they’d cracked.

He thought.

This winter is really cold.

——

Taiping Building.

A business negotiation had just ended. A handsome, cold-faced man strode quickly out of the venue toward the private elevator.

The man was tall with long legs and walked so fast that the two assistants beside him had to almost jog to keep up.

Even though they were already in such a hurry, there was no idle moment on this short stretch of road. The assistants jogged alongside him, quietly reporting the key points of the next meeting.

The schedule was so tight that the next meeting, which required the chairman’s personal attendance, had already started. Fortunately, the opening remarks would take five minutes, giving them a buffer, so if they left now, they’d just make it.

But even in such a tense situation, someone suddenly stepped forward and blocked their way.

“Chairman Lu.”

The one who stopped Nathaniel Grant in front of the elevator was his special assistant, Samuel Ford.

As the special assistant, Samuel Ford knew better than anyone how tight the schedule was, but he had no choice but to come up and stop him.

With others present, Samuel Ford didn’t explain the reason, but he was holding an envelope, and on one corner of the envelope was a beautifully written “鹤” character.

Nathaniel Grant glanced at it expressionlessly and said, “Tell the host to extend the opening by three minutes.”

“Yes.”

The two assistants responded respectfully—one quickly ran to the elevator, while the other stayed put, waiting for Nathaniel Grant.

Samuel Ford had already found a small meeting room in advance. Seeing this, he immediately led the way there.

After locking the door, he finally spoke. “The main house is urging us. We need to confirm the engagement date.”

As he spoke, he pulled a thin sheet of paper from the envelope and handed it over with both hands.

But the paper didn’t contain anything about the engagement.

Samuel Ford said, “This is Young Master Carter’s class schedule.”

After Nathaniel Grant took the schedule, Samuel Ford quickly summarized the main points for him.

“Young Master Carter’s midterm exams are from the first Monday to Wednesday in November. On Thursday and Friday, he needs to go to the hospital for practical training, and his performance will count toward his usual grades.”

“On the weekend, Young Master Carter has double-degree classes—four periods on Saturday, a full day, with roll call and attendance taken. On Sunday, three periods, but the teacher doesn’t take roll and there won’t be any in-class quizzes.”