Now, he would stand by the sink, roll up his sleeves, wash them clean one by one, and place them in the drying rack.

Clara leaned against the doorframe of the kitchen and watched him.

"You never used to wash dishes."

"There were many things I didn't do back then."

"Why do you do them now?"

"Because I want you to rest more. Before, you cooked, washed dishes, cleaned the house, and worked every day; you were too tired. I didn't know back then."

"You know now?"

"I know now. But it's late."

"It's not late," she said.

His hands, washing the dishes, paused for a moment; he turned his head to look at her.

"What did you say?"

"I said it's not late."

He looked at her, his eyes reddening.

After dinner, he sat on the sofa, and Clara poured him a glass of water.

He held the cup, looking down at the water inside.

"Clara, thank you," he said, looking up at her.

"Thank you for pouring water for me for three years, thank you for cooking for me for three years. Thank you for waiting for me for three years, and thank you for waiting for me here in Anhe."

Clara sat opposite him, watching him.

"Julian, how did you learn to say these things?"

"I don't know," he said. "After you left, I suddenly knew how. Maybe I knew how before, but I just didn't want to say it; I only regretted it after you left."

"Regretted what?"

"Regretted not saying it before you left. If you had heard these words before you left, would you still have left?"

In the end, she did not answer that question.

When he left that day, he stood at the doorway for a long time.

On the day the new service center was completed, Julian came to pick up Clara.

He wore a long black overcoat over a white shirt, his hair neatly combed.

Standing downstairs waiting for her, he nervously shoved his hands into his pockets and took them out again.

"Why are you dressed so formally?" she asked.

"Today is an important day."

"What important day?"

"The day you move into your new office."

Clara looked at him and couldn't help but smile: "Does this count as an important day?"

"It does," he said. "Your affairs are all important affairs."

The car drove to the entrance of the new service center; she got out and stood there looking at the building.

A gray facade, large glass windows, and a row of white roses planted at the entrance.

They weren't in bloom yet, but the branches and leaves were already lush.

"They will bloom in the spring."

Julian stood beside her: "You will be able to see them every day then."

Clara walked into the lobby and saw the plaque—

"The gatekeeper of the living, the ferryman of the dead."

She stood under the plaque, looking up at the line of text.

The makeup room was on the second floor, facing south with large windows; sunlight shone in, filling the room with light.

The workbench was new, with tools neatly arranged on it.

"Do you like it?" he asked, standing at the door.

Clara turned to look at him.

Sunlight fell on him, half of his face in the light, half in shadow.

There was something in his eyes she had never seen before—

Not guilt, not regret, but anticipation.

He was anticipating her answer.

"I like it," she said.

He smiled; this time he smiled hard, his eyes crinkling, the corners of his mouth lifting—he was a different person from the Julian who used to stand in their wedding photo with tight lips.

"Julian, you can smile now."

"Yes, you taught me."

Chapter 18

Spring arrived, and the white roses at the entrance of the service center bloomed.

Every morning, when Julian dropped Clara off for work, he would pause in front of that row of white roses.

He would look at the flowers, and Clara would look at his profile.

In the past, he didn't smile at anything; now, he smiles when looking at the flowers and smiles when looking at her.

"Julian, why didn't you like to smile before?"

"There wasn't anything worth smiling about."

"And now?"

"Now there is something every day," he turned his head to look at her. "Every time I see you, I want to smile."

When he said this, the sunlight happened to fall on her face.

There was light in his eyes, bright and steady.

Clara suddenly realized that he hadn't frowned in a long time.

Back in Qiyan, he was always that indifferent person—no smile, no anger, no joy, no sorrow.

Like a pool of stagnant water. Now, the stagnant water was alive.

"Julian, how long have you been in Anhe?"

"Almost a year."

"A year," she repeated. "Do you regret it?"

"Regret what?"

"Regret leaving Qiyan, regret selling the house, regret coming here to work."

He thought for a moment: "Regret that I didn't come sooner."

Clara looked at him, saying nothing.

"Clara, back when I was in Qiyan, I felt I possessed many things: a house, a career, a professional title, the trust of patients."

"After you left, those things suddenly didn't matter anymore. The house was empty, the work was tiring, the title was superficial; the patients trusted Dr. Julian, not Julian himself. Only you knew Julian."

"I also knew Dr. Julian."

"You didn't," he said. "The Julian you knew was a Julian who would dislike you for being 'dirty,' a Julian who would tell you to wash your hands, a Julian who would say at a wedding banquet that you worked at another hospital."

"That wasn't the real me. The real me was the Julian who said 'we are a good match' on our blind date. You saw him once, and then he disappeared. Now he is back."

Clara lowered her head, looking at the row of white roses.

"Julian, you disappeared for three years."

"I know."

"For three years, I waited for you to return every day."

"I know."

"You returned a bit late."

"I know," his voice was a bit hoarse. "But I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you. Not because you waited for me for three years, but because you are worthy of me making it up to you for a lifetime."

Clara looked up at him, his eyes reddened.

That night, he walked her home.

Downstairs, he didn't leave immediately.

"Clara."

"Yes."

"Can I go up and sit for a while?"

"You sit upstairs every day."

"Today is different."

Clara looked at him and smiled: "Come on up."

That night, Julian did not leave; he slept on the sofa.

Clara lay on the bed in the bedroom.

Separated by a door, she knew he was outside.

In the past, in Qiyan, they slept in the same bed, yet it was as if they were separated by thousands of mountains and rivers—not to be pushed aside, not to be crossed.

Now the door was open.

He didn't come in, and she didn't go out, but the door was open.

"Clara," his voice came from the living room.

She said "Mm."

"When you used to be at home, you slept with your back to me; do you know what I was thinking?"

"What?"

"I was thinking, when will this person turn over and look at me?"

Silence reigned for a long time, so long that Clara thought he had fallen asleep.

Then, she heard footsteps.

He got up from the sofa and walked to the doorway of the bedroom.

He didn't come in; he just stood at the door.

"Clara."

"Yes."

"I am looking at you now. And I will look at you forever."

Clara closed her eyes, tears sliding down from the corners of her eyes and landing on the pillow.

She couldn't see him, but she knew he was there.

Chapter 19

When Clara woke up the next morning, there was no one in the living room.

A neatly folded blanket sat on the sofa, and a breakfast was laid out on the coffee table—

Century egg and lean meat porridge, a fried egg, and a glass of soy milk.

The porridge was warm; the fried egg had just been made.

A sticky note was pressed down beside it.

【I've gone to the hospital; I’ll come to pick you up tonight.】

Clara stared at this sticky note for a long time.

When he came to pursue her, he had taken a long leave of absence.

When he was hospitalized for his leg injury, he took sick leave.

Later, he returned to the hospital before his leg was fully recovered because the department was short-staffed and he felt embarrassed to take more time off.

Now he worked in the Cardiothoracic Surgery Department at the Anhe People's Hospital.

A regular attending physician, starting from scratch.

Performing surgeries while standing, sometimes for hours on end.

Clara finished the porridge, changed her clothes, and went out to work.