Chapter 180 The Final Chapter

Chapter 180 The Final Chapter

When Monica turned around, her eyelashes were still wet with tears. 

Sunlight streamed through the ornate window, scattering into stars in her eyes. "So, you've seen my grandpa's jasmine garden before?"

She pointed to the new buds sprouting from the withered branches in the corner of the yard. "Last winter, they almost died from disease, but now they're coming back to life."

Brandon suddenly remembered the report from his assistant, which mentioned that Eugene had coughed for three days in his cell after learning that Henry had taken over the house he had given to Kathie.

At this moment, he watched Monica gently caress the jasmine branches with her fingertips. His throat tightened, and he reached out to pull her gently into his arms.

In the distance, the sound of pigeons cooing reached them. He caught a faint scent of iodine from her hair, a remnant of her time in the lab, mixed with the musty smell of the house, which oddly comforted him.

In the study, the scent of incense lingered.

Monica unrolled an ancient, yellowed scroll, the candlelight casting her shadow onto the rice paper like a living ink painting.

Brandon leaned against the shelf, his gaze drifting from her slightly furrowed brow to the silver bracelet on her wrist. 

It was the bracelet Eugene had made with his first retirement check, engraved inside with "PRIMUM NON NOCERE."

"The proportions of the ingredients in this recipe are similar to the latest research results from Ethan's lab."

She circled the cinnabar characters with a wolf-hair brush. "But my grandpa added an extra ingredient in his notes, probably something he improved while practicing medicine in other states."

Brandon's fingers unconsciously rubbed the button on his cuff. Ethan's name pricked at his heart like a fine needle.

He recalled last week's board meeting, where the secretary reported that the Kennedy Group's Alzheimer's drug had entered Phase III clinical trials, while the petri dishes on Monica's desk nurtured her modern interpretation of her family's ancient remedies.

"We can collaborate, but we must hold the controlling stake."

His sudden words startled Monica, causing her brush to pause, and a drop of ink spread into a small cloud.

"It's not that I don't trust you, but," he walked around the desk and wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, "the business world is harsher than the lab. I need to make sure your hard work isn't exploited."

When Monica turned, her nose almost touched his chin. She smelled the cedar cologne on his tie, mixed with a faint hint of gunpowder from dealing with the Evans Company earlier that morning.

"Did you know?"

She carefully rolled up the scroll. "My grandpa used to say that the best medicine isn't made from expensive ingredients, but from the dollar cold medicine at the corner drugstore that can cure a cold."

Late at night in the study, Brandon frowned at the computer screen.

The Kennedy Group's pharmaceutical collaboration terms prominently featured the phrase "formula sharing."

He gripped his pen, drawing circles on the paper until it tore, only stopping when he heard Monica's footsteps on the stairs.

"Still up?"

She wore his white shirt, the hem reaching her knees, her hair tips scented with rose oil. "The doctor said pregnant women need plenty of sleep."

He pulled her onto his lap, resting his chin on her shoulder. "I'm thinking about the pharmaceutical deal. Why did Ethan suddenly agree? He never takes a loss."

Monica twisted the wedding ring on his finger. "Because he knows that only by working with me can my family's ancient remedies truly benefit the public."

She turned to look at him, her eyelashes casting a fan-shaped shadow under her eyes. 

"Just like you were willing to move out of the Robinson Mansion for me, some things are more important than profit."

Brandon suddenly remembered his mother's call that morning.

Angelina had cried, saying, "Your grandfather's blood pressure is up from anger."

But he had looked out at the sycamore tree, thinking of Monica eating instant noodles in the lab. 

"Mom," he had said, "I married a wife, not a decoration for the Robinson family."

Now, he kissed her forehead as the clock struck twelve. Monica pointed outside. "Look, the jasmine is blooming."

In the moonlight, the buds in the garden slowly opened, reminiscent of the way she had first smiled at him, with gentle resilience after surviving hardship.

In mid-March, Brandon took Monica to see famous landmarks in other countries.

She wore a loose cotton-linen dress, standing before a mural, her fingertips lightly brushing the flying figures' robes.

"Look," she turned, a strand of hair lifted by the wind, "these thousand-year-old pigments might contain the minerals from my grandpa's ancient remedies."

He knelt to tie her wind-blown shoelace. In the distance, camel bells rang, and her belly was already showing, like a small springtime.

"When the baby is born," he suddenly said, "we'll bring him here. We'll tell him that his parents made a wish here."

Monica smiled, fine lines appearing at the corners of her eyes.

She remembered finding Eugene's century-old medicine cabinet in the basement of the Mellon Villa, with a half-dried jasmine candy still in the drawer, her childhood favorite.

"Do you think," she touched her slightly rounded belly, "he'll want to be a little pharmacist?"

Brandon stood, adjusting her shawl.

The distant dunes glowed golden in the sunset, much like the gold-leaf bookmark he had first given her.

"If he dares to bully you," he said, holding her as they walked toward the camel caravan, "you can make him memorize medical books. If he doesn't learn them well, I won't let him eat."

Monica looked up at him, noticing his ears were redder than the evening sky.

The wind lifted the yellow sand, but it couldn't disturb the peace of the moment.

She suddenly understood that love wasn't about the entanglements of wealthy families, but about the hot porridge he quietly brought her when she worked late in the lab; the handkerchief he handed her when she cried in front of the Mellon Villa; the steps they took together, filled with mutual support and respect.

As night fell, they watched the stars on the Singing Sand Mountain.

Monica leaned on Brandon's shoulder, listening to him point out constellations.

The distant campfire crackled, and she remembered her grandpa's words: "The most precious thing in life isn't the ingredients in a recipe, but having someone to share the world's wonders with."

At that moment, the Milky Way poured out, and a shooting star streaked across the sky.

She gently pressed Brandon's hand on her belly, feeling the two heartbeats resonate.

The best remedy was never the mysterious combinations in ancient texts, but the years and years of love this person beside her had brewed.

Six months later, the first Mellon Company pharmaceutical plant opened on the outskirts of Maplewood City.

Monica, in a white lab coat, stood in front of the production line, while Brandon held their swaddled son behind her. 

The little guy waved his fists, as if cheering for his mother's career.

Ethan sent a video as the first batch of medicine was being boxed.

"The formula adjustments are good."

He adjusted his glasses, with petri dishes from the Kennedy Biological Research Institute behind him.

"But if Brandon puts brown sugar in my coffee again, I'll add Bitter Melon to your medicine."

Monica laughed, shaking her head as she watched Brandon play with their son.

Sunlight streamed through the factory windows, casting bright squares on the floor.

She suddenly thought of the jasmine at the Mellon Villa, which should be sprouting new branches by now.

Life might be like this, with shadows and betrayals, but there would always be a beam of light piercing through the fog, illuminating the path ahead.

And she was grateful that in this light, she had her lover's companionship, her dreams' support, and a brand-new beginning.

The wind blew in from the window, carrying the scent of grass and medicine.

Monica took a deep breath, picked up her son, and walked toward the sunlit factory.

There, a broader world awaited them to write their own legend.