"It would be such a pity if two people who genuinely love each other missed so many years together." Trevor thought of this long stretch of time and inexplicably felt a bit sad, "I feel your dad holds a very important place for your mom in his heart."

"My mom’s just stubborn occasionally, otherwise, she wouldn’t have divorced. In other aspects, she’s actually quite good." The girl affirmed.

At this moment, Janelle’s hand was still tightly held by Trevor.

She looked ahead, feeling the warmth from his palm, and spoke to him openly, "But over all these years, I haven’t quite understood her true feelings because she never talks to me about dad, nor does she allow me to bring him up."

"That’s because she cares." Trevor said, "It’s because she cares that there’s still resentment."

She thought, maybe... if that’s true, then it’s a good thing.

"So, should we help them?" Trevor turned his gaze, full of expectation, and asked.

"How can we help?"

"They’ve awkwardly interacted for so many years, now they need a way out." Trevor spoke with maturity, "This needs to be handled slowly, each step carefully thought out, or we might make things worse."

"So once we’re back, should we create opportunities for them?" Janelle asked excitedly.

"We can."

"How do we do it exactly?"

He turned his gaze, "Let me think it over."

She looked at him, her eyes filled with trust.

While chatting, with their hands still in each other’s, the girl pulled her thoughts back to herself and felt inexplicably embarrassed.

What did this mean?

By directly holding her hand, did it mean he liked her?

And the fact she didn’t pull away, did it count as a response?

Trevor was quite confident that this girl liked him.

Throughout the journey, Janelle thought a lot, her cheeks slightly flushed as she felt her palm hot and sweaty, mixed with a bit of joy and tension.

Trevor noticed her discomfort, so he let go of her hand, easing the girl’s tense nerves.

Sitting in his car, she felt uneasy, but undoubtedly happy.

This strange feeling was the feeling of love.

In the relatively secluded cultural town, the stilted houses along the river became its biggest feature, rich in ethnic characteristics and temperament. Through the years and changes, they retained the architectural style of the Ming and Qing dynasties.

Because it’s not fully developed, there aren’t many tourists here; half come for the scenery, and the other half for the cultural experience.

This is a place rich in cultural heritage.

In the morning, amidst the hazy mist.

On the opposite riverbank, deep alleys that twist and turn become faintly visible, beside them stand rows of green tile wooden buildings, as if telling the tale of the small cultural town’s prosperity and glory a hundred years ago.

On this side, inside the stilted guesthouse, a room with two beds, bright yellow bedding and sheets, a fully wooden room with heating ensured no coldness even in winter.

Jocelyn Morgan stretched lazily; she drowsily opened her eyes, suddenly feeling wide awake, having truly slept well.

The curtain on the glass sliding door wasn’t very effective at blocking the sun.

So there’s still a bit of light inside, knowing that it’s already daylight.

She tilted her head to the right, and caught sight of Ian Shelby on the neighboring bed, lying flat with both hands behind his head.

Did he also wake up?

Jocelyn Morgan just watched him, observing that he was blinking, seemingly in a trance, not realizing she was awake.

"Hey, Dr. Shelby~" she gently called.

Ian Shelby heard her, turned his gaze, meeting the girl’s smiling eyes.

She said to him, "Good morning."

"Good morning."

Then the two exchanged smiles and got up to wash up.

The thoughtful innkeeper brought breakfast to them; they were staying on the third floor.