Ethan lowered his head and glanced at the divorce certificate in his hand.
In the photo, two people sat side by side. The image was grainy due to the technological limitations of that time. The man had a faint smile, while the woman looked calm and distant.
Ethan took one last look at the photo before raising his hand, to throw the certificate away in the bin.
Anyway, he had no intention of remarrying that heartless woman. Not just her—he didn't plan to marry anyone at all. He would never believe in love again.
This time, he would use the second chance he'd been given to the fullest and live the life he truly wanted.
Ethan walked to the roadside and flagged down a taxi.
"Where to?" the driver asked.
Ethan ran a hand through his long, messy hair and thought for a moment.
"The nearest barbershop."
The driver glanced at him through the rearview mirror, his gaze lingering on the hospital gown for a second before nodding. "Alright."
Fifteen minutes later, the taxi stopped in front of a barbershop.
Ethan got out and walked inside.
The shop was simply decorated but clean. There were three chairs, two mirrors, and various hairstyle posters on the walls. The shampooing area was in the back, separated by a curtain.
"Welcome!" a clear female voice rang out.
Ethan looked toward the sound.
A young woman, around twenty years old, stood near the cashier with bright, lively eyes.
She wore a loose white T-shirt with a low neckline and light blue denim shorts, revealing her fair, slender legs.
She walked over and gave Ethan a quick once-over. Her gaze paused briefly on his hospital gown, but she didn't comment.
"Sir, would you like a haircut?" she asked with a smile.
"Yes," Ethan nodded.
"Please, sit here." She pointed to the chair at the back.
Ethan walked over and sat down.
She followed him, took a towel and apron from the shelf, shook them out, and wrapped them neatly around him.
"What kind of haircut would you like?" she asked, standing behind him with a comb in hand.
Ethan looked at himself in the mirror.
Though he was in his thirties, he looked closer to his late forties. Half his hair had turned gray—dry and frizzy, like a patch of weeds. His complexion was dull, and wrinkles lined his eyes.
"A fade will do," he said. "Just don't make the sides too short."
The girl paused for a moment, then nodded with a smile. "Got it."
"If you can make me look ten years younger because of this haircut," Ethan added casually, "that'd be great."
She tilted her head, studying him for a few seconds, then nodded.
"I'll try."
She picked up the scissors and began cutting.
The crisp snipping sound echoed in the quiet shop.
Ethan closed his eyes, letting her work.
After a moment, she started making small talk.
"My name is Emma. Why are you wearing a hospital gown?"
"Just came from the hospital," Ethan replied. "Patients aren't allowed to leave, so I sneaked out to have some fun."
Emma chuckled. "If you don't mind me asking, why were you admitted?"
Ethan opened one eye slightly and said flatly,
"Well, because I'm sick. That's like asking why people eat."
Emma grinned. "Some people live to eat, you know."
Ethan smirked faintly. "Most people eat to live."
Emma laughed softly, then continued cutting.
"So getting a haircut counts as fun?" she asked after a moment.
Ethan opened his eyes and looked at her reflection in the mirror.
"Not really," he said. "I just came out to take care of something… and figured I might as well clean myself up."
Emma raised an eyebrow slightly. "What kind of thing?"
Ethan paused for a second, then answered casually,
"Divorce."
The scissors paused mid-air for just a fraction of a second before continuing.
Emma didn't say anything immediately.
After a few seconds, she let out a light laugh. "That's… quite something. Most people don't have the courage to start over at your age."
Silence settled again, broken only by the steady snip of scissors.
After a while, Emma spoke again, her voice softer.
"Why divorce?"
"She thinks I'm poor," Ethan replied.
Emma frowned slightly. "Poor? What counts as poor? Everyone sees money differently." She hesitated before asking, "How much do you have?"
Ethan looked at her through the mirror, a teasing glint in his eyes.
"Guess."
Emma blinked and sized him up—hospital gown, slippers, messy hair.
"Four thousand?" she guessed cautiously. "Don't get me wrong—you just look… slightly better than homeless."
Ethan was stunned for a moment.
That was actually accurate—at least before everything changed.
He shook his head.
"Six thousand?"
He shook his head again.
"Ten thousand?"
Ethan smiled. "Let's just say… we're starting in the hundreds of thousands."
Emma's eyes widened. "You have that much and call yourself poor?!"
She pouted. "Then what am I? I only have a few hundred. If you're poor, I'm basically homeless."
"Well, I'm older than you," Ethan said lightly. "If that helps."
Then his expression turned slightly self-mocking.
"Besides, what's the point of money if you're not even treated like a person?"
Emma looked at him curiously. "Not treated like a person?"
Ethan chuckled. "Just a money-making tool."
"Brother, let me show you a talent!" Emma suddenly said.
Ethan blinked. "That came out of nowhere."
Emma laughed, picked up her phone, played some music, and began cutting his hair with a playful rhythm.
Ethan watched her in the mirror, amused.
This was the first time someone had taken the initiative to do something for him like this. Even if there was a hint of ulterior motive, he didn't mind.
After finishing the main cut, Emma looked at him expectantly.
"So? Do you like your haircut?"
"Nicely done," Ethan said, running a hand through his hair.
"You've got good taste," Emma replied with a grin as she added the finishing touches.
Silence returned, broken only by the soft snipping of scissors.
Occasionally, her fingers brushed against his ear, sending a faint ticklish sensation through him.
"Brother," she suddenly whispered, leaning closer, "do you think my legs are pretty?"
Ethan blinked, caught off guard. "Why ask that?"
"I saw you looking at them in the mirror earlier," she said, lightly brushing her thigh. "So… what do you think?"
"They look good," Ethan answered honestly.
Emma smiled, her eyes curving into crescents.
"Then why not look openly?"
Ethan paused, then chuckled.
"I didn't want to scare you."
"Scare me?" Emma tilted her head. "How would you do that?"
Ethan didn't answer, only meeting her gaze through the mirror.
She held his gaze for a moment, then suddenly looked away, a faint blush rising to her cheeks.
Snip, snip…
A few more minutes passed.
Then Emma leaned close to his ear again and whispered,
"Brother… do you want to find a girlfriend?"