Chapter 2

When Ethan stepped through the doors of Jiang's Apothecary, I was behind the counter checking the books.

He wore a custom-tailored dark grey suit and a luxury Swiss watch on his wrist that I couldn't even name.

He was no longer the intern who wore a dusty lab coat and smelled of herbal smoke.

Beside him stood a slender woman wearing designer sunglasses.

She drifted in with the faint, expensive scent of Chanel No. 5, which clashed horribly with the bitter smell of herbs in the shop.

"Ethan..." I stood up, my voice trembling slightly.

He didn't look at me. His cold gaze swept across the apothecary where he had lived for ten years.

As if he were looking at a dusty old warehouse that had nothing to do with him.

"Miss Jiang," he spoke, his tone as distant as if he were addressing a stranger.

Miss Jiang. Not Ivy.

My chest tightened, as if pierced by an invisible needle.

"Bring out the centuries-old wild ginseng of the Jiang family," he said in a stiff, commanding tone. "Chloe’s body is weak. She needs it to restore her vitality."

I froze.

That centuries-old wild ginseng was the treasure of the Jiang family. More importantly, it was what my father had desperately commanded me to keep to save Ethan's life.

Ethan was born prematurely, carrying a congenital weakness in his system. Every time the seasons changed, his joints would ache terribly.

My father said that by the time Ethan turned twenty-five, the illness would attack his heart and lungs.

Only this specific ginseng, combined with our family's unique acupuncture technique, could root it out.

I had guarded this ginseng as if I were guarding his life.

"Do you know who this ginseng was kept for?" I stared into his eyes, trying to find a trace of the past.

Ethan let out a cold laugh, pulled a sleek black card from his wallet, and slammed it onto the counter.

"Besides Chloe, who else deserves such a rare treasure? Ivy, I know you're greedy. The money on this card is enough to buy ten of your little apothecaries. Don't be ungrateful."

The black credit card gleamed sharply in the dim light of the shop.

The woman behind the sunglasses coughed twice, her voice delicate and soft. "Ethan, if Miss Jiang is unwilling to part with it, then forget it. My health doesn't matter."

"Chloe, don't worry about it. There is no medicine in this world that I, Ethan Vance, cannot get."

When he turned to look at Chloe, his tone was so gentle it could melt.

That kind of gentleness was something he had never given to me.

For ten years, all he gave me was sarcasm and impatience.

Looking at him, I suddenly found it incredibly hilarious.

I burst out laughing, laughing so hard that tears almost came to my eyes.

"Fine. I'll sell it."

I turned around, went into the back room, and retrieved the redwood box containing the ginseng from the safe.

The box was carved with intricate patterns. I had wiped it clean every day to keep it shining.

I walked back out, pushed the box in front of him, and then slid his black card back.

"Dr. Vance, I only take cash or wire transfer. Once the payment clears, we are done. From now on, the Jiang family has nothing to do with you."

Ethan’s brow furrowed slightly, as if he hadn't expected me to agree so easily.

He opened his mouth, seeming to want to say something, but in the end, he just let out a cold snort, picked up the box, and supported Chloe as they turned to leave.

As he reached the door, he stopped. Without turning around, he said, "Ivy, you're still as gold-digging as ever. You only care about money."

I watched their figures disappear at the end of the street.

Ten years. He ate my family's food, used my family's money, and learned my family's medicine.

My father supported him to help him succeed, and I waited for him to come back and marry me.

And before leaving, all he had for me was the word "gold-digger."

That night, I set up a fire pit in the backyard and threw the half-made wedding dress I had been sewing into the flames.

The fire flared up high. The white silk curled, turned black, and dissolved into ashes.

Leo, the young apprentice, peeked from the doorway and whispered, "Ivy, what are you..."

"I don't need it anymore."

The words squeezed out of my throat, dry and hollow, like I had swallowed a handful of sand.

I didn't cry. Not a single tear fell.

But my throat felt like it was being squeezed tightly, making it hard to breathe.

I stood up, my legs a bit weak. I held onto the edge of the table for a moment, then walked behind the counter and started tapping on the iPad register.

*Tap, tap, tap.* As the numbers flashed, my hands stopped shaking.

That was the method my dad taught me. He said when your mind is messy, just do the math. Once the numbers are clear, your mind will be at peace.

I calculated the apothecary’s accounts from beginning to end. Once wasn't enough, so I did it again.

By the third time, my fingers stopped cooperating. I pressed the wrong button, then another.

I stopped and pushed the iPad aside.

I went back to my room, lay down, and reached under my pillow out of habit.

It was empty. The medical log notebook had already been taken by him.

I had been reaching for it for over six months, and every time I found nothing, my heart felt a little emptier.

I rolled over and pulled the blanket over my head.

Forget it.

The man was gone, the book was gone, and the ginseng was sold.

What was the point of thinking about it?

He didn't even care about his own life anymore, so why should I worry for him?