Chapter 335

"Anna..."

Just as in his memories, after calling out the girl's name, Emma felt all her exhaustion vanish like a receding tide, and the heavy burden pressing down on her shoulders suddenly lifted.

But what replaced it was not genuine joy or delight, but a lingering ache of regret and shame.

"I lost my job..."

After muttering those words dejectedly, Emma—or rather, the former Leon—looked utterly crestfallen and explained:

"I didn't slack off, but I could still only carry about half what others could. The foreman only paid me for half a month's work and told me not to come to the docks tomorrow. I..."

"You've done well enough."

The dim yellow oil lamp and the girl's soft footsteps drew near, and after a warm embrace, a comforting voice, devoid of any blame, whispered in Emma's ear:

"Brother, it's not your fault. I know you've done your best. I saved dinner for you—come inside, eat, and rest well..."

"I..."

"Senior Emma?"

The puzzled whisper beside her ear and the warmth in her palm pulled Emma out of this memory that wasn't her own.

After shaking her head slightly in confusion, she looked at Leon, whose eyes held mild curiosity, and apologized:

"I'm sorry—I just... uh... I think I saw one of your memories."

Looking down at the faintly glowing white bricks beneath her feet, Emma whispered:

"If I'm right, when two people step on the same brick, the one who steps later seems to see the previous person's memories."

"Leon, if you're uncomfortable with it, I could..."

"It's fine. Look."

Recalling how he'd first lost his dockwork job, secretly found a corner to cry, and then been comforted gently by Anna, Leon gave a slightly embarrassed smile.

"There's nothing too shameful in my memories. And if you hadn't saved Anna back in the hospital, these memories would've... uh... anyway, if seeing them helps you cross the Black-and-White Bridge, I don't mind."

"Thank you..."

Holding Leon's warm, strong hand, Emma felt his candid, fervent emotion warm her from her palm all the way to her heart. Her hand no longer felt cold, and a faint flush returned to her pale face.

After confirming she was ready, Leon, one foot still outside the bridge, clenched his fist, then lifted his other foot and fully stepped onto the Black-and-White Bridge.

The white brick—also a brick of happiness.

Emma, having received Leon's assurance, gathered her courage once more and stepped fully onto the bridge with both feet.

"Big brother!"

This time, before Emma appeared was Leon's younger brother—round-faced, adorable, always stern, and acting like a miniature adult.

At this moment, Emma—or rather, the memory of Leon—stood beside a wall, staring blankly at a nail. Beside him, William, head tilted up, asked with solemn seriousness:

"Big brother, are you sick?"

Was Leon sick this time?

Hearing his brother's question, Emma froze slightly.

That didn't make sense. Leon stepped on a white brick—this should be a happy memory, shouldn't it?

The memory of Leon seemed to share Emma's confusion; after a slight shiver, he frowned and said:

"No, I'm not sick. I've been tired lately, but my body's fine."

"Don't lie to me!"

William studied Leon carefully, then glanced down at himself, shivered, and frowned with the gravity of a small judge:

"If you're not sick, why's it swollen so..."

"Cough! Cough cough! Cough cough cough!"

Leon burst into the loudest coughing fit of his life, forcibly dragging Emma out of her memory—only to realize the Black-and-White Bridge had captured the memory of him and his brother "letting water" by the wall. Flushed with embarrassment, he stammered to the dazed Emma:

"Uh... I just thought—while I don't mind sharing my memories with you, some... uh... some situations are... special. So... uh... could I screen the content first, then you step on?"

Through their still-clasped hands, Emma felt the sheer, toe-curling embarrassment surging through Leon's heart. She snapped back to reality and understood exactly what she'd just witnessed.

Recalling the strange yet unnervingly vivid sensation, Emma's fair face flushed crimson, even her delicate earlobes turning pink. She quickly turned her head away.

"O-okay..."

"..."

Damn it! I knew my luck was too good—two white bricks in a row. Turns out it was a trap!

Swearing under his breath about his rotten luck, Leon took a deep breath and stepped forward for the third time.

White brick. Still a white brick.

This time, Melanie appeared. Though mischievous and trouble-prone, she was often a warm little blanket.

The happy memory tied to her: he'd gotten soaked in a freezing rain while selling newspapers, developed a high fever the next day. Anna went out to buy medicine, while Melanie took William to steal several crow's nests, hoping to give him some nourishment.

Hmm... up to this point, it was still nice. But the following week, his house was viciously attacked by an enraged flock of crows—every door, every windowsill, drenched in half-dried bird droppings.

When he recovered and picked up a shovel to clean, the gray-white dried droppings had piled up over two fingers thick. He had to hammer them first to break them loose, then spent three or four days scraping them off.

All he could say was... this little blanket warmed you well enough—but when it came time to stop leaking, it leaked badly.

After watching this warm yet absurd memory, Leon sighed helplessly, then squeezed Emma's hand firmly, signaling there was nothing to hide—she could step forward.

But despite Leon squeezing her hand several times, Emma remained motionless behind him, silent. A wave of grief, nearly overflowing, surged through their clasped hands and crashed into Leon's heart.

"Emma, my daughter..."

With grief so sharp it felt like splitting his heart in two, Leon felt his ears throb. A trembling voice—filled with sorrow, faint resentment, yet overwhelming worry and reluctance—drifted into his eardrums:

"Six years... have you been well?"