"Did Elena come by?"

"Yes."

"What did she say?"

I looked up at him: "It's none of your business."

Ethan didn't leave; he watched me through the hazy night.

The words he wanted to say were stuck in his throat.

I set down the book in my hand and looked at him.

"Ethan, what exactly do you want to ask?"

Ethan opened his mouth, but the words remained lodged in his throat.

He wanted to ask:

Are you still blaming me? Will you never forgive me?

But he already knew the answer.

"It's nothing." He turned to leave.

"Wait a minute."

Ethan stopped immediately.

I picked up the thermos from the head of the bed.

The one he had left at my door that morning.

"Your cup."

Ethan looked at the thermos but didn't take it.

"You keep it and use it."

"I don't need it."

He took it, his fingers brushing against mine.

However, I quickly pulled my hand back—so detached.

Ethan remembered that the Clara of the past was someone who blushed easily.

Every time he touched her hand, she would blush to the roots of her ears, and she would say: "Ethan, what should I do? I think I have a physiological attraction to you. Even if you just walk near me, I feel my heartbeat quicken."

Now, she was so calm.

It made his heart ache.

Ethan walked out carrying the cup.

There was still water in it; it had gone cold.

He unscrewed the lid, stood outside the tent, and drank the cold water, mouthful by mouthful.

The water was cold—cold from his throat down into his stomach.

The water had turned cold.

Her love for him had also long since turned cold.

The next morning, I woke up and received a message.

It was from Ethan.

[Explanations are hollow, so I want to use my actions to prove it to you.]

Chapter 17

I put down my phone.

When I went outside.

Teacher Zhang was squatting by the water tanker brushing her teeth; seeing me come out, she called out inarticulately: "Teacher Clara, you have a letter!"

She pulled an envelope from her pocket and handed it to me.

I took it and tore it open.

Inside was a photograph.

Sunlight on the Golden Mountain.

Golden sunlight spilled over the snowy peak, and the sea of clouds churned—it was unrealistically beautiful.

Written on the back of the photo was a line of text:

Hope the Golden Mountain can bring you luck. — He Jingyun

I turned the photo over and stared at it for a long time.

Teacher Zhang leaned in to take a look: "Wow, so beautiful! Did Teacher He send this?"

"Yes."

"Teacher He is really good to you."

I didn't respond and tucked the photo into my pocket.

...

At the same time.

Ethan was changing the dressing for a wounded patient in the medical tent.

His hands were steady, but his mind was elsewhere.

The nurse called his name three times before he reacted.

"Dr. Ethan, your hand is bleeding."

He looked down and discovered that he had been digging his nails into his palm, drawing blood.

"It's nothing."

He wiped the blood away and continued changing the dressing.

The nurse beside him muttered quietly: "Dr. Ethan has been out of it these past two days."

He didn't explain.

After finishing the dressing, he walked out of the tent and glanced toward the direction of the village school.

The sound of reading aloud came from my classroom.

He listened for a while, then turned back.

The medical team was having a meeting.

The team leader said that a portion of the staff would be withdrawn to Kunming next week and asked who was willing to stay.

Ethan raised his hand: "I’ll stay."

The team leader looked at him: "You just transferred to the Yunnan branch and haven't reported for duty yet. Go back and report first."

"I've already reported." He lied.

The team leader didn't say anything further.

After the meeting adjourned, Ethan walked out of the tent and saw me standing not far away, holding a stack of homework books.

I glanced at him and walked over.

"You transferred here?"

"Yes."

"For what?"

Ethan looked at me: "You know why."

I was silent for a few seconds.

"Ethan, you don't need to do this. You're married, and I have my own new life now."

"I'm willing to."

I didn't respond again and walked past him.

The homework books brushed against his arm; the edges of the paper scratched him, not painfully.

But he felt the pain.

Then, he grabbed my wrist.

He said: "Clara, I truly knew nothing about what happened in the past."

"What my father did, what Elena did."

"And I have already divorced Elena. I married her only because I felt that since it wasn't you, it didn't matter who it was."

His eyelids were red, and his tone became choked.

"Clara, I truly regret it. I regret why I thought back then that you would betray me."

"I know I don't have any qualification to beg you to forgive me, or to beg you to give me another chance."

"But, I just want to be by your side—is that okay? Can you please not push me away?"

I looked at the man before me.

Once, he was arrogant and aloof; now, he stood before me so humbly, pleading with himself.

I suddenly felt it was ironic.

Not all misunderstandings can be resolved satisfactorily once they are cleared up.

A heart that has been hurt once will never fully heal again.

So, Ethan and I would never have a chance again.

I said in a cold voice.

"Ethan, we ended a long time ago."

"There will never be any possibility for us."

With that, I turned and walked away.

In the middle of the night, I was jolted awake by pain.

The fracture site on my arm was swollen and shiny; the pain made me break out in a cold sweat.

I bit my lip and didn't make a sound, but Teacher Zhang still woke up.

Teacher Zhang touched my forehead and exclaimed: "Teacher Clara, you have a high fever!"

Chapter 18

Teacher Zhang’s voice woke the nurse in the next tent.

The nurse ran over, felt my forehead, and her expression changed drastically: "Forty degrees. The arm is infected; we must send her to the hospital immediately."

Ethan had already rushed inside.

He crouched down to remove the splint. The skin under the bandage was swollen and shiny, with pus mixed with blood seeping out.

His hands paused for a moment before he proceeded to clean the wound efficiently.

"Arrange a vehicle, we're leaving now."

I was delirious with fever, my lips cracked. In my hazy state, I called out: "Sophie..."

Ethan’s fingers tightened sharply.

He heard me say: "Sophie, it’s big sister's fault... I’m so sorry..."

"Big sister didn't protect you well..."

He picked me up.

My body was as light as a piece of paper, my left arm hanging limp, my head resting on his shoulder with my burning hot forehead pressed against his neck.

She had leaned on him like this before.

Back then, her body temperature was on the lower side, and in the winter, she would always tuck her hands into his collar, smiling and calling him a space heater.

Now, her body temperature was scorching, but his heart felt as cold as if he had fallen into an ice cave.

The van bumped along through the night toward the town.

Ethan sat in the backseat while I leaned against him, unconscious.

His hand gently supported my right arm, not daring to use any force, afraid of hurting me.

"Clara, hold on." His voice was trembling.

I did not answer.

At the health center, the duty doctor checked me and said I needed intravenous anti-inflammatory treatment and to be hospitalized for at least three days.

Ethan went to handle the paperwork. His hands shook so much while filling out the forms that he ruined three sheets.

The nurse couldn't watch anymore: "What is your relationship to her?"

Ethan paused: "...A friend."

The nurse took the forms and didn't ask again.

At three in the morning, my body temperature finally began to drop.

Ethan sat on a plastic chair in the ward, his eyes bloodshot from exhaustion.

He stared at the liquid dripping drop by drop into the IV line, not daring to close his eyes.

When dawn broke, I woke up.

I opened my eyes and saw Ethan sitting by the bedside, his head resting against the wall as he slept.

His white coat was stained with blood and mud, a layer of blue stubble covered his chin, and his brows were tightly furrowed.

Even in sleep, he looked as if he were enduring some kind of pain.

I watched him for a few seconds, then looked away.

I lifted my right hand—the one without the IV—and reached for the phone on the bedside table.