"The story of a girl named Clara, and the boy she grew up with."

Her voice lowered gradually, as if recollecting a distant and long-drawn dream.

"The story begins fifteen years ago."

Beside her, Julian slowly lowered his head, his hands clenched into tight fists.

Clara, however, simply watched the monitor, looking at the rapidly scrolling comments:

[Finally! Last night's story was such a cliffhanger!]

[The host’s voice is so immersive, it feels like she lived it...]

[So the anonymous caller last night was the male lead, right?]

[What exactly did the female lead go through? Tell us, Host!]

She took a deep breath and spoke slowly:

"That year, Clara was fifteen and Julian was sixteen. They lived in the same old residential district."

"Their first meeting was in a narrow alleyway..."

Chapter 4

That autumn, sycamore leaves blanketed the entire street.

When Julian moved to the old district with his mother, he became the center of attention for the whole neighborhood.

His mother was as graceful as a woman from a traditional painting, her voice soft and her eyes always tinged with an indelible sorrow.

Julian had inherited his mother’s good looks—chiseled, cold features that gave him an air of detachment, making him seem entirely out of place in such a noisy environment.

But that distinction was quickly tarnished by local gossip.

Some said his mother was a mistress who had come to lay low with an illegitimate child; others said his father was a criminal and they were hiding from debts.

Clara never believed any of it.

In her eyes, a mistress should be as seductive and calculating as those on TV, and an illegitimate child wouldn't have Julian's clean, upright aura.

So, whenever she crossed paths with Julian's mother, she would always stop and politely say, "Hello, ma'am."

When she saw Julian cornered in an alley being kicked by a few thugs, she would rush forward, using her father—a boxing coach—as a shield to scare them off.

Even now, Clara could clearly recall the scene of that day.

The setting sun painted the narrow alley in a warm yellow. Julian leaned against a mottled wall, his white shirt stained with dust, blood seeping from the corner of his mouth, yet his eyes were as stubborn as a pine tree in winter.

She squatted in front of him and reached out cautiously.

"Are you okay? From now on, you come with me. I'll look out for you!"

The youth looked up. He didn't speak, but simply watched her. In those deep eyes, something hard was quietly melting.

From then on, they became inseparable.

Julian would bring out his treasured violin and teach her the simplest melodies hand-in-hand.

Clara would drag him to the empty lot behind the abandoned factory to practice boxing. She taught him how to punch and how to defend, laughing until she couldn't stand straight as she watched his clumsy yet earnest efforts.

A youthful affection quietly budded through their daily companionship, though neither dared to break that thin veil of friendship.

Ding—

The connection alert in the studio suddenly rang out, interrupting Clara’s memories.

She looked at the monitor. Jane was walking in quickly with some documents, giving her a "soaring data" gesture.

Clara understood. She pressed the pause button, played some soothing background music, and turned off her microphone.

"Clara, it’s exploding!"

Jane handed her the documents, her voice thick with excitement. "The ratings are even higher than last night! The backend is flooded with messages demanding updates, and so many listeners are applying to call in."

"Everyone is asking why the boy changed his mind, and how the girl could be betrayed after giving so much!"

Clara’s gaze swept across the screen where comments were scrolling rapidly:

[The foundation of a childhood friendship is so deep; it shouldn't have come to that!]

[Host, don't stop! What was the turning point?]

[I bet fifty cents the male lead had his reasons!]

She instinctively glanced at Julian beside her.

He was staring intently at the scrolling words on the screen, his expression dark and unreadable.

Perhaps sensing her gaze, Julian suddenly looked up.

In the depths of those pitch-black eyes surged a heavy tide of guilt, pain, and many other emotions she no longer wished to decipher.

Clara calmly looked away and said nothing.

"We can randomly select a few listeners to connect with. We can answer questions while telling the story; the interaction will be stronger, and the data will definitely peak again!"

Jane didn't notice the undercurrent between them and made the suggestion enthusiastically.

Clara nodded, offering no objection.

After Jane left, silence returned to the studio.

Clara leaned back in her chair to rest for a moment, and that was when she felt the familiar, heavy ache in her lower abdomen.

Her period had arrived.

During those years of underground boxing, her body had sustained significant damage, leaving her womb exceptionally fragile. Whenever this time came, the pain felt as if her internal organs were being wrenched apart.

Just as she was about to get up to pour a glass of hot water, a thermos was handed to her.

"When it’s that time of the month, your stomach always hurts easily. It’s worse after staying up late."

Julian’s voice was very low. "This is the medicine you used to drink. I... brewed it according to the old recipe."

Clara’s movements paused. Looking at the steam rising from the mouth of the cup, a surge of complex emotions hit her heart.

She hadn't expected that after all these years, he would still remember these details.

Once, seeing her curled up in bed in pain, Julian’s eyes had reddened with heartache. He had sought out an old doctor of traditional medicine, learned an ancient recipe, and personally brewed the medicine for her every day, feeding it to her spoonful by spoonful.

But later, it was this same man—the one who once cherished her above all else—who personally signed the papers to let the doctor take away their child.

"If this doesn't work," Julian pulled a pack of pills from his pocket and placed them by her hand, "I have Ibuprofen here as well."

Clara’s gaze fell upon the wedding ring on his finger. The glint of light from the ring instantly stung her back to reality.

She met his expectant eyes, her tone distant. "Thank you, but I don't need it anymore."

During the three years of her rebirth, Elias Thorne had stayed by her side, helping her nurse her body back to health day after day, without fail.

He would soak her feet in dried mugwort, cook gentle medicinal congee, and use his warm palms to softly rub her abdomen when she broke into a cold sweat from the pain.

That soul-crushing pain had long since lessened. This current discomfort was nothing more than a normal physiological reaction.

Julian’s hand froze in mid-air, the light in his eyes dimming bit by bit.

"Clara, actually, I regr—"

He opened his mouth, seeming to want to explain something.

But before the words could come out, the phone in his pocket suddenly rang.

Julian’s gaze darkened. He shot a quick look at the screen and then rapidly declined the call.

But a second later, the phone rang again persistently. The name "Melody Sterling" jumping on the screen was exceptionally clear in the dim studio.

Clara looked away and said flatly, "Maybe there’s an emergency."

"Take it. Don't let it affect the rest of the broadcast."

Julian gave her a complicated look, said nothing more, and walked quickly out of the studio with his phone.

The soundproofing of the glass door was average; Clara could faintly hear his suppressed voice.

At first, it was a low response, then his tone gradually became impatient, finally ending in a low growl that was almost a roar:

"Can you stop being so suspicious all the time? If you can't stand it, then get a divorce!"

Clara silently withdrew her gaze, a fragment of memory flashing through her mind.

It seemed that a long time ago, on a rainy night just like this, she had discovered ambiguous messages between Julian and Melody on his phone. When she had questioned him in tears, he had roared at her with that same impatience:

"Can you stop being so unreasonable? She and I are just friends!"

Back then, she had been foolish enough to believe him.

A short while later, Julian pushed the door open and came back in, explaining with an embarrassed expression:

"Over these years, her emotional state hasn't been very stable, I..."

"Break time is over. Let’s get ready to start," Clara interrupted him coldly. "Please put your phone on silent, Mr. Vance."

Julian’s eyes dimmed once more. He silently put his phone on silent and tucked it into his pocket.

The music faded out, and Clara’s voice was once again transmitted throughout the studio via the microphone:

"Welcome back, listeners. Next, we will continue the story of Clara and the boy."