On the sofa outside, Mrs. Carter was crying so hard her eyes were swollen and red, her long hair falling over her chest. Her daughter, Alice Carter, supported her, but her expression was much more indifferent.

A middle-aged man came forward, around fifty, well-maintained. He was the chief operating officer who truly took charge of Yisi after Eric Carter's death—David Thompson. Another young man stood by Alice Carter's side; he was David Thompson's only son, Edward Thompson.

Although Samuel Bennett was only thirty-three, David Thompson spoke first: "President Xiang, you're here. Please come in. Sorry to trouble you so late."

Samuel Bennett said, "I came to see if there's anything I can help with."

Mrs. Carter, belatedly aware, looked at him through tear-filled eyes: "Mingzhang..."

Samuel Bennett comforted her, "Auntie, you need to take care of your health."

Mrs. Carter shook her head. "I just want Little Brian to wake up..." She couldn't finish before she broke down, sobbing uncontrollably, collapsing into Alice Carter's arms.

David Thompson quietly informed them, "He was rescued too late. The doctor says the chances of waking up are very slim. The family should prepare themselves mentally."

Alice Carter was a bit irritated. "Mom, did you hear that? What's the use of crying?"

Mrs. Carter cried out, "Prepare for what? Little Brian will wake up soon, what am I supposed to prepare for?!"

Seeing this, David Thompson took charge and turned to his son: "Edward Thompson, go take care of it."

It was time to prepare for the end.

As soon as Edward Thompson left, people outside began to file into the ward, waiting to say their final goodbyes. Mrs. Carter completely broke down, crying endlessly.

Samuel Bennett was stuck in the ward and couldn't leave for the moment. After watching the crowd put on their show of grief, he turned toward the inner treatment room.

A whole pane of glass separated them, facing the bed for easy observation, but the lowered blinds blocked Brian Carter's face.

Mrs. Carter cried herself to exhaustion, covering her mouth as her wailing turned to sobs. She noticed Samuel Bennett standing alone facing the treatment room and said, "Mingzhang, if you want to see him, you can go in."

Samuel Bennett had no such intention and found it inauspicious. "I'm afraid I'll disturb him."

Mrs. Carter choked out, "It's okay, maybe this is the last time. Go say goodbye to Little Brian."

Samuel Bennett had no choice but to agree. "...Alright then."

He entered the treatment room, closing the door behind him to shut out the noise. With his hands in his coat pockets, Samuel Bennett slowly walked toward the bed.

In fact, his impression of Brian Carter was very vague—he'd only met him a few times. The earliest was when Brian Carter was in his teens, not yet fully grown, but you could tell he had good features.

The last time was four years ago at Eric Carter's funeral—Brian Carter had dyed, shoulder-length purplish-red hair, extremely flashy, standing out among the sea of black-clad guests like a dragon fruit growing in black soil. Up close, Brian Carter's complexion looked dull and unhealthy, nothing like a young man should.

As for his clothes, Brian Carter had always dressed so outrageously that if he died, they wouldn't even be able to find a suitable outfit for burial.

In short, years of decadent living, terrible taste, and an air of ignorance had long since ruined his natural good looks.

Tonight, after who knows how long in the sea... Samuel Bennett really didn't want to look at him directly.

But as he reached the bedside and looked up, he stopped in his tracks.

"Brian Carter" lay quietly on the hospital bed, his face clean and neat, black hair like a cloud over his forehead, shading his well-shaped brows. His eyes were closed, long lashes resting quietly, his skin pale as if washed in cold water, looking icy yet smooth, with only faintly reddened eye sockets from the irritation of seawater.

The hospital gown was slightly open at the collar, and there was a scrape on "Brian Carter"'s neck, covered with gauze. His left hand rested on his chest, as if praying with his hand over his heart.

That hand was beautiful, with an antique signet ring on the index finger—silver set with blue agate, engraved with a relief of an eagle holding a laurel leaf.

This person looked so familiar, yet as if they'd never met.

Samuel Bennett was caught off guard and stared for a moment. When he came back to himself, the hospital bed was still so quiet, not even the sound of breathing. He didn't know if the other could make it till dawn.

When a person is dying, there should be a farewell.

Hearing the faint sobbing outside and thinking of the Chu family's fortunes in recent years, Samuel Bennett thought of a very fitting elegiac couplet. Using it as a eulogy for Brian Carter was almost a compliment.

"Who can blame others? Pity the white-haired parents, raising a clever son only to meet misfortune;" Samuel Bennett recited coldly, "Since ancient times, death comes to all; alas, glory is fleeting, and your fall is all the more tragic."

Dawn was approaching.

That handsome face twitched slightly, and slowly opened its eyes.

Author's note:

Hello everyone! The elegiac couplet is from "Yinglian Conghua"

Chapter 2

Spring, 1945. At the harbor dock, a steamship weighed anchor and set sail under the moonlight.

The crowd seeing them off on shore blurred into a mass. In a second-class cabin, Grace Sullivan took off his suit jacket and relaxed as the whistle sounded.

War is merciless. His mother and younger sister had long since been sent abroad for refuge, and many relatives had also found safe arrangements thanks to the Shen family. Last autumn, his father died suddenly of illness; the funeral was simple, and afterward the old butler escorted the body back to Ningbo for burial.

The once-grand Shen residence was now empty. Grace Sullivan claimed he was returning home to mourn his father, but in truth, it was a safe retreat. Loyalty and filial piety could not both be fulfilled; he had made his choice the moment he took over as bank president.