Grace Miller is about 1.7 meters tall, with a slender and graceful figure—especially those beautiful, long, straight legs. She’s the very image of a nine-heads-tall beauty. Even though she’s just wearing casual clothes and a pair of jeans, countless men and women around her can’t help but follow her legs with their eyes as she walks by. As for her face, it’s certainly striking as well: an oval face with a gentle smile. But this smile isn’t the sweet kind you’d expect from a young girl; it’s a confident, determined smile, giving her the cool, proud beauty of a female professional.

After calling out, Grace Miller ran over to Eric Turner. She ignored the stares from those around her and said to Eric Turner, “Hey, could you please be a bit more professional? You never bring your books to class. Do you really think you can just coast through life on your little bit of cleverness? Do you know what Ethan Brooks has been up to lately? He’s already started partnering with others to trade stocks. And you?”

Eric Turner rubbed his temples and muttered, “It’s so early in the morning—do you have to keep chattering like this? Do you really think a law student who hasn’t even graduated can take on cases as a lawyer? Finance majors can intern early; these are two different departments, okay?”

“But you could at least look up some classic cases to study from time to time. Wouldn’t that help you more—”

Grace Miller had just said this when a loud bang suddenly erupted behind them. Both of them were startled and turned around at the same time. They weren’t far from the school gate, and many other students were also looking outside. Almost everyone started running toward the gate, eager to see what had happened. Eric Turner and Grace Miller exchanged a glance and ran outside as well. But as they ran, a strange thought suddenly flashed through Eric Turner’s mind—so quickly that it vanished in an instant, leaving him unable to recall what it was.

(…We’ll never return to this beautiful moment again, never…)

Outside the school gate, a sedan had collided head-on with a truck. The sedan was smashed to pieces, the driver’s seat a bloody mess. Behind it, two other sedans of different models had rear-ended it, crashing together as well. On both sides of the street, several cars had swerved to avoid the accident, and a few pedestrians, unable to dodge in time, were hit and killed. It was a massive chain-reaction accident. Most of the people in the cars and the truck died instantly. Only in the last car, a girl of about seven or eight was tightly shielded in her mother’s arms and didn’t seem badly hurt. But her mother’s head had smashed against the window and was now a bloody pulp—she was unmistakably dead. The little girl was crying, shaking her mother’s body as if trying to bring her back to life.

This was what Eric Turner saw the moment he arrived at the scene: a chain-reaction car crash, more than a dozen dead, with severed limbs even thrown outside the vehicles. When Grace Miller arrived, she immediately gagged, nearly throwing up everything in her stomach. She didn’t dare look any longer, quickly turning away and taking deep breaths, one hand clutching Eric Turner’s sleeve in terror. This girl, who usually seemed a bit proud, was now trembling all over with fear.

(Has she still not forgotten that fire from all those years ago?)

Eric Turner gave a bitter smile. He didn’t bother looking at the wreckage or thinking about the torn newspaper in his bag. He just gently patted Grace Miller’s back, trying to help her calm down. But when he saw the little girl still alive in the last car, his mind suddenly buzzed, as if he’d been transported back to that great fire when he was ten, with faint cries echoing in his ears.

“Big brother… Big brother, come save me…”

By now, the first and second sedans were already on fire, the flames spreading toward the third car. The front of the car was completely smashed, gasoline spilling everywhere. If the fire reached it—or even if the flames just grew hotter—the gasoline would ignite, and the last car would be instantly engulfed. The little girl inside would have no chance. The people around seemed wary of the fierce flames from the first two cars and didn’t dare approach. Only a dozen or so well-meaning people were shouting at the girl, urging her to crawl out on her own. But was that possible? Never mind how badly she was hurt—she was so young, and her mother had just died horribly before her eyes. How could she possibly save herself like an adult?