"Senior, didn't you say earlier that you were having your wife come to work at the hospital? Has she not arrived yet?"

"Yes," Julian replied indifferently.

Stephanie asked with a smile: "How did it end up being your department? Didn't you say earlier she was going to the nursing station on my side?"

Julian flipped his phone over, face-down on the table, his tone flat.

"It's more reassuring to have her nearby."

Stephanie’s smile faltered for a moment before returning to normal.

"True, that job of hers is indeed unsettling."

Julian looked at her with heavy eyes, his tone calm but leaving no room for negotiation.

"Stephanie, from now on, aside from surgeries and departmental matters, let’s keep our distance."

"When Clara arrives to work, I don't want her hearing any idle gossip."

Stephanie was stunned for a second, then forced a smile.

"Okay, I understand."

She turned and left, her footsteps faster than usual.

Just then, the head nurse knocked on the door, holding a manila envelope.

"Dr. Julian, this was just delivered by courier; they said it's documents sent by your family member."

Julian took it and saw the name Clara written in the sender's field.

Stephanie hadn't gone far and turned back to glance at the envelope: "Is that her onboarding material? It’s quite formal to have it mailed over."

Several nurses nearby gathered around: "Dr. Julian is too good to his wife, arranging for her to be right by his side."

"Exactly, Dr. Julian is usually such a serious person, but he’s so meticulous with his wife."

Julian listened, a thin smile tugging at his lips.

He tore open the envelope and saw only one sheet of paper inside.

Pulling it out, he saw five bold, black-bodied characters printed at the very top of the first page—

Divorce Agreement.

In the signature line at the bottom were two delicate characters written: Clara.

Chapter 8

The office went silent instantly.

The smiles on the nurses' faces didn't have time to fade before they froze.

The medical record folder in Stephanie’s hand tilted slightly, and two pages slid out; she didn't bother to pick them up.

Julian kept his head down, his fingers pressing against the edge of the paper as he folded it and tucked it back into the envelope.

"It's not onboarding material." His voice was flat, identical to how he sounded when discussing nurse scheduling moments ago.

The nurses looked at each other and quietly backed out.

Stephanie stood where she was, hesitating as she spoke: "Senior..."

Julian kept his eyes lowered, his jawline tense and cold.

"You get out, too."

Stephanie was stunned; Julian had never spoken to her in that tone.

She hesitated, then turned and closed the door behind her.

Julian was left alone in the office.

He took out the divorce agreement from the envelope again.

In the signature line at the bottom, the two characters "Clara" were written squarely, without even a tremor in the strokes.

Just like her—quiet, proper, and leaving without a fuss.

He set the agreement down and picked up his phone to dial her number.

Powered off.

He dialed again. Powered off.

Julian grabbed his coat and walked out, bumping into the door frame as he exited the office.

When he pushed open the door to his home, the living room was very quiet.

Clara was not in the living room.

Julian instinctively walked into the bedroom, but she wasn't there either.

Only the wardrobe was open.

Her half was empty, with only a few crooked hangers left.

All of her belongings were gone.

Her socks, her scarf, even the old hair tie she had used for three years were gone.

She had lived in this house for three years, and now there was nothing left.

Julian took out his phone, opened WeChat, and sent a message to Clara.

【Where did you go? What is the meaning of the divorce agreement?】

As soon as he sent it, a red exclamation point popped up in front of the message.

Clara had deleted him too.

Julian stared at that red exclamation point for a long time, then scrolled up through their chat history.

Three years.

Their chat history was ridiculously short.

Most of it consisted of her saying, "I'm off work," "What's for dinner," or "What time are you coming back," and him replying, "Mm," "Okay," or "Late."

Not a single word of nonsense.

Not a single word of concern.

He scrolled to a message she had sent last year; she seemed to be in a very good mood that day, sending three messages in a row.

【Today I performed services on an old lady; her daughter said she loved red when she was alive, so I applied red lipstick for her. The daughter cried and said her mother looked so beautiful.】

【Julian, did you see it?】

【Never mind, you must be busy.】

He hadn't replied.

What was he doing back then?

Julian couldn't remember.

Maybe he was in surgery, maybe in a meeting, maybe—just doing nothing, simply not wanting to reply.

He felt those work matters of hers were "unnecessary to talk about."

Julian walked out of the bedroom; on the coffee table in the living room were the keys to the house and a box of wedding candies.

He picked them up to look; there was a sticky note on the candy box in Clara's handwriting.

"The director gave these; I’m leaving them for you to eat."

Julian put the candy box down, grabbed his car keys, and went out.

He went to the funeral home. When the director saw him, he took off his reading glasses and was silent for a long time.

"Where did she go?" Julian asked.

The director didn't answer, but instead asked him a question.

"Do you know what she told me on her first day working here?"

Julian was stunned.

"She said her husband called her a 'ferryman of death,' and she felt this job was very meaningful."

The director stood up and walked to the window: "That husband she spoke of, is that you?"

Julian didn't speak.

"She was here for five years. She’s had people spit in her face, had people curse her for being bad luck, and had people demand she kneel to apply makeup to the deceased—yet she never cried."

The director turned around to look at him: "But the day she resigned, I gave her a box of wedding candies and said, 'You are an angel too,' and she cried."

"She said that was the first time in her life anyone had called her an angel."

Julian stood where he was, his throat feeling as if someone were choking him.

His voice was so hoarse it was almost inaudible: "Where did she go?"

The director looked at him: "I’m not telling you."

Julian came out of the funeral home and sat in his car, but didn't start the engine.

He opened his phone and found Clara's college friend, Lin Wei.

Lin Wei only replied with one sentence: "Julian, you aren't worthy of her. Stop looking."

He threw his phone onto the passenger seat, leaned his head back against the seat, and closed his eyes.

Julian couldn't think of anywhere else she might go.

He suddenly remembered that she had once exchanged at Peace [Funeral Center]. After returning, she had talked to him about it for many days, saying the porridge at Peace was good, the roads were wide, and the people at Peace were very respectful to morticians.

He had just "Mm-ed" at the time and didn't continue the conversation.

That was one of the few times she had spoken so much to him.

Julian hadn't listened.

Now, he was going to go and see.

What that place she liked so much was actually like.

Chapter 9

Julian arrived in Anhe in the middle of the night.

He sat at the train station for the entire night, and when dawn broke, he took a taxi to the funeral service center.

He stood across the street and saw the building.

It was gray, not very large, with a bus stop right at the entrance where the sign read "Anhe Funeral Service Center."

It was different from Qiyan.

The funeral home here was in the city center, and no one felt that it shouldn't be.

Julian found a small inn across the street and checked in; the window of his room faced the main entrance of the service center.

He stood there and waited.

At seven o'clock sharp, Clara walked over from the corner of the street.

She was wearing a dark coat, her hair tied in a low ponytail, carrying a cup of soy milk in her hand.

She had lost some weight.

But her entire state of being was different.

When she was in Qiyan, she always walked with her head slightly bowed, as if afraid of blocking someone’s path.

Now she held her head high, her gaze fixed straight ahead, her steps steady as if her feet were rooted to the ground.