After making his arrangement with the female undertaker, Zhongli returned to his room and sat down at his desk.
The cover of 5 Centimeters Per Second resembled the deluxe edition of Your Lie in April — both were adorned with cherry blossoms drifting across the sky.
The cover of Your Lie in April, however, showed Miyazono Kaori embracing Arima Kousei from behind beneath a sky full of falling petals — and then Kaori's body dissolving, scattering away into blossoms, while Kousei sat poised at his piano, playing and weeping at once.
On the day he had gone to purchase the deluxe edition of Your Lie in April, he had seen quite a few people break down in tears the moment they laid eyes on that cover — it stirred up memories of old grief, and many had walked straight out of Wanwen Bookhouse and into the tavern downstairs to drown their sorrows.
He had overheard people in line saying that Fang Qiu herself had painted the cover of the deluxe edition of Your Lie in April.
Whether that was true or not, he couldn't say.
The cover of 5 Centimeters Per Second was different: beneath a sky thick with falling cherry blossoms, a small girl holding an umbrella and a small boy stood gazing at each other across a street.
He turned to the first page. Like Your Lie in April, the paper was tinted a soft, pale cherry-blossom pink, and each page bore a faint print of sakura. In the lower right corner of the dedication page, four lines of small text ran vertically down the margin.
"I heard it's five centimeters per second.
Hmm? What is?
The speed at which cherry blossom petals fall —
five centimeters per second."
"And what special meaning does 'five centimeters per second' hold?"
Zhongli turned the thought over in his mind as he turned to the next page.
The story began.
...
Time drifted on, unhurried.
And in the blink of an eye, dusk had fallen.
Twilight poured down like water, flooding the sky in deep orange and red. A gentle breeze sighed through the air, and the trees along the road rustled softly in reply.
The frenzy of business at Wanwen Bookhouse was finally drawing to a close.
The tea tables set out beside the bookhouse were filled to capacity. Readers sat with books of every kind open in their hands, reading with quiet, unhurried attention.
"Excuse me, could I get a copy of 5 Centimeters Per Second?" said a girl of about thirteen or fourteen, placing twenty Mora on the counter.
"Of course." Jifang nodded and handed her a copy.
"Thank you." The girl gave a small nod, took the book, and stepped away from the counter. In her other hand, alongside the book, she clutched a letter.
She tilted her head up toward the orange-red sky. The breeze stirred her hair as she murmured to herself: "I wonder if Dashu has finished Your Name yet... will he like the story? Will he get bored if I write about the plot in my letter? Will he go out and buy 5 Centimeters Per Second?"
Still murmuring softly to herself, she walked away into the evening.
Jifang watched the small figure until it disappeared, and couldn't help but smile.
"To be young," she said softly. "How wonderful."
Bathed in the last of the evening light, Jifang stretched, finally allowing herself a moment's rest. At last — a chance to sit down and read Fang Qiu's book properly.
Fang Qiu's new novel really had caused quite the stir. A number of Liyue's most prominent figures had come to purchase it.
Among them: Yun Jin, the leading star of the Yun-Han Opera Troupe; Yanfei, Liyue's celebrated legal expert; and Ganyu, Chief Secretary of the Liyue Qixing — and several other distinguished names besides.
Each of their appearances had caused no small commotion.
What puzzled her, though, was that Hu Tao — Director of Wangsheng Funeral Parlor — had, for whatever reason, not shown up today.
She settled into a chair, picked up Fang Qiu's 5 Centimeters Per Second, and began to read.
"Mm. This is lovely."
The prose was gentle and a little raw — the kind of writing that belonged to youth. As she read, Jifang found herself thinking of the young girl who had just bought a copy moments ago.
Come to think of it, Shinohara Akari in the novel seemed to be about the same age as that girl, didn't she?
She smiled to herself and read on.
In the story, Shinohara Akari was calling across the road to Toono Takaki, promising to watch the cherry blossoms together again next year — and then a long procession of carriages came rumbling through, drowning out all sound.
When the procession finally passed, Shinohara Akari stood waiting on the other side of the road, looking for Toono Takaki.
Seeing this, the corner of Jifang's mouth curved into a smile.
But the smile had barely formed before she noticed that the entire bookhouse had gone terrifyingly quiet.
She instinctively looked up. Around her, many readers had quietly closed their books. They sat staring into the distance, unseeing, as though unaware that tears were already sliding down their faces.
Several readers who smoked had all taken a long drag in near-unison, then exhaled it slowly — long and low, like a sigh — their expressions hollow and dim.
A companion nearby who hadn't brought cigarettes reached over to borrow one. One puff was all it took, and they were coughing through a stream of tears.
A long silence settled over the tables. Then, at last, two people began to speak.
"Say — are you still writing letters to that childhood friend of yours? The one who moved to Mondstadt?" asked the older of the two, drawing a long, slow breath from his cigarette.
"Sort of... but we write less and less these days. Last time we were in touch was two months ago. The letters keep getting shorter too. Hah."
"Are you going to go and find her for the Lunar Festival?"
"Forget it... it's too late now... Time really is merciless, isn't it." The younger man took a sip of his tea. He gazed out at the amber-red sky, eyes reddening at the rims. "Shall we head to the tavern in a bit? I heard the landlady got in a new shipment of Mondstadt wines..."
They were not alone. A number of other readers were also rising from their seats, and from their murmured exchanges, it seemed they all had the same idea.
Watching this, the hand Jifang had raised to turn the page gave a sharp, involuntary tremble.
In that instant, the old dread that Sword and Fairy had once carved into her came rushing back to the surface.
Fear.
A single thin sheet of paper — and yet she couldn't bring herself to turn it.
Meanwhile, downstairs.
"So the girl from Wangsheng Funeral Parlor has headed home," the tavern landlady said to no one in particular. She leaned against the doorframe of her tavern, watching Hu Tao's retreating figure disappear into the dusk, a faint wistfulness in her expression.
Every time Fang Qiu released a new book in the past, the tavern would be swept by a wave of customers that lasted for days — she'd made an absolute killing, every single time.
But ever since Fang Qiu had written Your Name, the tavern's business had collapsed back to what it always was.
Oh, there were still occasional stragglers — people stirred up by Fang Qiu's older books, who came to drink their heartache away — but such people were few and far between.
"Ah well. That was always windfall money — easy come, easy go. It's only natural it didn't last. Running a business means keeping your feet on the ground and climbing the ladder one rung at a time. Better to sit down with the Wanwen Bookhouse owner and work out something proper — a members' queue, maybe, or a partnership arrangement."
She really had been going down the wrong path before.
A business built on the ebb and flow of someone else's novel sales was never going to last forever...
Whatever customers Fang Qiu's novels brought in — it was like a soap bubble. One poke, and it was gone.
A person had to stand on their own two feet.
With that thought, she balled her hand into a fist, a new resolve steadying her gaze.
But no sooner had she made up her mind than a crowd of over ten people came swarming toward her — eyes red, faces heavy with grief.
"Landlady, do you have room inside?"
"We do — right this way, please." The landlady blinked, then blinked again as she noticed each and every one of them clutching a copy of 5 Centimeters Per Second. It took her a moment to make sense of it.
Well. Fang Qiu's books may not take you far — but they certainly take you there fast.
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