Though unrefined and naive, she had finished it.

From the first note to the last.

Summer stopped her fingers, staring blankly at the black and white keys, then looked at her own hands still bearing scars, as if unable to believe that the disjointed melody just now had come from these hands.

Clap, clap, clap.

Soft applause came from behind.

Summer turned back to see Ethan standing at the conservatory door at some point.

He was wearing deep gray loungewear, leaning against the doorframe, looking at her with slightly red eyes, but his mouth was pulled up into a smile, and he was clapping for her forcefully and silently.

Caleb also smiled—a very slight smile, yet like sunlight breaking through ice, the warmth reaching his eyes. He also raised his hands and followed Ethan, clapping seriously, one beat at a time.

The applause wasn't thunderous, yet it carried a heavy, silent power.

Summer looked at her brother, then at Caleb, and then her gaze fell back to her hands spread across the piano keys.

After a long while, she said in an extremely light, almost whispered voice:

"Brother, Caleb,"

"I want to... start learning music again."

Her voice was still very light, but it carried an unprecedented, clear determination.

"I won't play the violin anymore," she paused, her gaze sweeping over the piano. "Maybe I can learn composition, or... the piano."

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Ethan strode over and rubbed her hair vigorously, his voice slightly choked. "Good! Then learn! You can learn anything you want! I’ll hire the best teachers for you! I’ll even buy the Golden Hall just to hold a concert for you!"

Caleb stood up as well and walked over to her. He naturally reached out and gently held those scarred hands that had just created a tiny miracle.

His hands were warm and dry, steadily enveloping her cool fingertips.

"Okay," he said, looking into her eyes. His voice was steady and powerful, carrying a reassuring promise. "I’ll be with you."

The sunlight was perfect, filtering through the glass conservatory and bathing the three of them in a warm glow. In the air, tiny specks of dust seemed to dance within the shafts of light. Everything was filled with a quiet, newborn hope.

Meanwhile, along the secluded, tree-lined road leading to the rehabilitation center on the outskirts of the Sterling manor, a "regular" appeared on an inconspicuous wooden bench.

After Julian was discharged from the hospital, he did not return home.

He rented a humble apartment in a small town several kilometers away from the manor.

Every day, he would walk to this road and sit on that fixed bench, staying there for the entire day.

He did not dare approach the manor, did not dare disturb anyone, and did not even dare let Summer see him.

He was like a silent shadow, stubbornly standing guard here. On the path she took to the rehabilitation center and back every day, he would look at her once from a great distance.

He watched Caleb carefully assist her in and out of the car.

He watched her squint slightly in the sunlight.

He watched the faint, almost invisible softness on her profile when she occasionally spoke in low tones with Caleb.

Her complexion seemed better than before. Though she was still thin, that heavy air of death seemed to be slowly dissipating.

This was enough, Julian thought.

This seemed to be all he could do.

Like an atoning ghost, a humble shadow, he watched her improve bit by bit from afar, watched her being properly cared for by another person, and watched her slowly walk toward a bright future without him.

Then, in the dead of night, he would lick his own unhealable wounds alone, replaying over and over the past he had shattered with his own hands.

Summer knew he was there.

Once, as her car passed by, she seemed to inadvertently glance toward the bench.

Her gaze was calm, devoid of any emotion, as if she were looking at a tree by the road or the bench itself.

Caleb noticed as well and once asked her in a low voice, "Do you need me to have someone ask him to leave?"

Summer shook her head, her gaze fixed on the scenery flying past the window. Her voice was flat and rippleless. "If he wants to be a shadow, that is his business. It has nothing to do with me."

She truly no longer cared.

Hatred is a strong emotion; indifference is the true ending.

In the late autumn of Switzerland, the weather changed on a whim.

That afternoon, the originally clear sky suddenly turned overcast, and before long, a drizzling cold rain began to fall.

Julian had not brought an umbrella, yet he did not leave.

He just sat there on the bench, letting the freezing rain soak his hair and coat. Soon, his entire body was drenched. His face turned blue from the cold and his lips went pale, but he remained sitting stubbornly, his eyes fixed on the direction of the manor as if performing some ritual of self-punishment.

The rain grew heavier.

Summer’s car, returning from the rehabilitation center, passed this road once again.

The driver saw Julian in the rain and slowed down slightly.

In the back seat, Summer saw him too.

Caleb glanced at her but said nothing.

The car drove past slowly.

Julian saw the familiar vehicle. His heart clenched sharply, followed by an all-consuming bitterness. He lowered his head, not wanting her to see him in such a wretched state, even though she likely wouldn't look at all.

However, after driving about a dozen meters, the car slowly came to a stop.

Julian froze and looked up.

The rear window rolled down slowly.

Summer’s face appeared behind the glass through the curtain of rain. Her expression remained unchanged, her eyes looking at him calmly, as if looking at a stranger.

Then, she turned slightly and took a long-handled black umbrella from the car, extending her arm out the window toward him.

The rain immediately soaked a small portion of her wrist.

"Take it." Her voice came through the sound of the rain—clear, flat, and devoid of emotion.

Julian stared at her blankly, then at the umbrella, as if unable to comprehend what was happening.

The driver honked the horn once.

Julian snapped back to reality and practically stumbled off the bench. Because he had been sitting for too long, his legs were numb and he nearly fell, but he struggled forward through the rain to the side of the car. With trembling hands, he took the umbrella.

The handle still held the faint, cool temperature of her fingertips.

"Don't die here," Summer said, looking at him as rain slid down her pale, delicate face. Her voice seemed a bit ethereal in the rain, yet every word was distinct. "It’s bad luck."

With that, she withdrew her hand, and the window rolled up slowly, separating the inside from the out.

The car restarted and drove into the vast rain, quickly disappearing from sight.

Julian stood there, clutching the umbrella tightly. The rain on the canopy gathered into rivulets, dripping down continuously. He was soaked to the bone and freezing, but his hand gripping the handle was frighteningly hot.

He watched the direction where the car had vanished, then looked down at the plain black umbrella in his hand.

Then, he suddenly bent over, using the hand not holding the umbrella to cover his face tightly.

Scalding liquid, mixed with the freezing rain, surged out from between his fingers.

Like a lost child, like a beggar who had lost everything, he crouched by the roadside in the cold autumn rain of this foreign land, clutching that single umbrella that carried a trace of her scent, and wailed.

His cries were swallowed by the rain—broken and hopeless.

Chapter Thirty

In the country, the Sterling Group officially announced bankruptcy and liquidation.

The older brother sold off the remaining real estate and everything of value under his personal name. He paid off a portion of the debts and used the remaining modest sum to establish a foundation called "Summer."

The primary goal of the foundation was to fund those who had been exonerated after being wrongfully imprisoned to restart their lives, and to help young people who could no longer pursue their musical dreams due to hand injuries from accidents or illness.

He moved out of the vast, cold manor and rented a simple one-bedroom apartment in the city.

In the room, he kept only one thing brought from the manor—a faded, old rabbit plushie with frayed ears.

It was a gift Summer had given him when she was six. She had used her pocket money saved for a long time to secretly tuck it under his pillow on his birthday.

On the plushie’s belly, a line of small words was embroidered with crooked stitches:

"Brother, Happy Birthday! Love you forever, Summer."

At that time, Summer was still a soft little girl who always followed behind him, calling him "Brother" in a crisp voice and treating him as the most incredible person in the world.