Upon hearing the voice, Henry Ronan lazily lifted his eyelids, his eyes deep like a dark pool, "Have you made contact?"
"Not yet." Thomas Chapman shook his head ruefully, then remembered something and added with a slightly joyful tone, "But we can confirm that those codes are exactly what we want."
Henry Ronan slightly curled his lips and looked at the distant greenery, speaking in a low voice, "Get it done as soon as possible."
"Yes, Master Henry."
After Thomas Chapman left, Finn Bennett still leaned lazily against the stone platform; compared to the streaming code incident they discussed, he was more concerned about Henry's attitude towards arranged marriage.
"Henry, if the old lady insists on setting you up for a marriage, what are you going to do?"
Henry Ronan casually grabbed the silk robe by the pool and draped it over his shoulders, glancing at Finn Bennett as he stood up, "Let's talk about it later. You should head back first."
Finn Bennett made fun of himself, laughed and cursed before turning around and leaving the Cloud Summit villa.
Anyway, there would eventually be results; he was eagerly looking forward to seeing Henry in the famous scene of him being set up for a marriage meeting.
...
After the weekend, Lucy Ansley received the notification of commencing treatment from the mental health center.
Tuesday, the sun was bright and clear.
In the sunroom on the top floor of the health center, light music surrounded the space as Lucy Ansley and Henry Ronan sat on opposite sides of a glass table.
The man scrutinized the quiet girl across from him; her condition today was slightly better than the past few days.
Although she still wore her long hair and a fisherman's hat, at least there was some warmth in her eyes.
Henry Ronan rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt above his forearms, raised his eyes to look at Lucy Ansley, and straightforwardly asked, "When did the feeling of existential dread begin?"
While speaking, the man picked up a purple clay teapot and poured two cups of tea, his graceful and poised demeanor was pleasing to the eye, easily making people lower their guard.
Lucy Ansley took the teacup, "Three years ago."
The man lowered his eyes and sipped the tea, continuing to ask, "Reason?"
Lucy Ansley lowered her head, the brim of the hat casting a shadow, concealing her expression, "Parting in life, separation in death."
Perhaps there was some hidden difficulty, for such a brief phrase, she deliberately paused halfway through.
As she finished speaking, the light music coincidentally stopped, leaving the room in a momentary silence.
Henry Ronan studied her features with his usual composure, "If you don't mind, please take off your hat."
Lucy Ansley hesitated for two seconds but eventually complied.
Thus, the young girl finally revealed herself fully, allowing Henry Ronan to observe her condition and expressions more comprehensively.
The man was watching her, while Lucy Ansley calmly met his gaze.
Perhaps she didn't even realize that because of frequently wearing a hat, the hair on her head formed a noticeable pressure line, along with several strands standing up due to static, giving her a somewhat pitiful appearance the more one looked.
It was indeed quite pitiful, yet truly distinctive.
Decisive in actions, melancholy in temperament, and outstanding in appearance.
Combining these traits, Lucy Ansley could be considered unique.
The only flaw was that she was too young, her perspective somewhat shallow.
Henry Ronan toyed with a rosewood piece, casting a meaningful gaze at Lucy Ansley, "You waited three years before seeking treatment?"
Lucy Ansley shrugged slightly, "You still have to live, right?"
If it weren't for the parting in life and separation in death, if it weren't for the struggle with emotional detachment disorder, she might not have turned into such a lifeless figure.
The desire to survive is instinctive; aside from undergoing treatment, she had no other choice.
"Parting and separation in death are common in life." Henry Ronan leaned casually against the chair back, advising gently, "If you yourself are unwilling to let go, no amount of guidance will help."
These words, inevitably stirred Lucy Ansley's emotions.
Lucy Ansley stared intently at Henry Ronan for a long time and asked, "What if it's because of me..."
The man gradually curled his thin lips, his voice steady and reassuring, "Self-recrimination only adds to guilt, ultimately serving no purpose. Regardless of who experiences parting or separation, Miss Ansley, we must believe... life and death are destined."
This logic was almost flawless.
Yet upon close examination, it seemingly defies morality and lacks empathy.
The guilt burdening Lucy Ansley's psyche for over three years was deemed worthless by him.
Ironically, she couldn't even find a reason to argue against him.
Before her was a mature man whose age seemed uncertain, yet undeniably, with each word spoken, he conveyed wisdom.
Lucy Ansley turned her head to gaze outside the window, not speaking for a long time.
Perhaps enveloped in negative emotions too long and unable to bear the burden, Henry Ronan's few brief words planted a seed of renewed hope in her heart.
"Maybe…" Lucy Ansley pursed her lips and eventually spoke, "You're right."
...
The first psychological guidance session did not last long, ending haphazardly in less than twenty minutes.
Lucy Ansley prepared to say goodbye and leave, but as she reached the door, the man's deep and magnetic voice sounded behind her, "Tie your hair up next time for the treatment."
"Will not tying it affect the treatment's effectiveness?"
Henry Ronan gracefully adjusted his posture, with brows slightly raised, "Yes."
The earlier conversation had already started establishing trust; Lucy Ansley did not hesitate and nodded in acknowledgment.
The man said nothing more, watching Lucy Ansley's departing figure, his deep, long eyes suddenly gleaming with a sharp light.
Born ordinary without any background, without entanglements in any aristocratic interests, straightforward and decisive in style, and afflicted with emotional disorders, apart from her age, in every aspect there was no one more suitable than her.
Henry Ronan tapped his slender fingers on the corner of the table, then dialed a phone call, "Give me a copy of the list chosen by the old lady."