Time, not long at all, moved on steadily.
[Remaining lifespan: 3 days 23 hours 46 minutes 27 seconds]
The candied plum blossoms from two days ago had finished losing their astringency. All that remained was to add white liquor, seal the jar, and store it for at least a year before opening.
The longer it aged, the better it would taste.
"The process is so simple. There aren't even any special ingredients I don't recognize—so why is it so good?" Clarisse blinked up at him, bafflement written all over her face.
Honestly, the hardest part was just picking blossoms on the mountain.
After that—draining, sugaring, sealing with liquor—children could learn it.
"Maybe plum-blossom brew is just like that," Qi Zhimu said. "Simple to make. Excellent to drink."
"Mm…"
Even so, Clarisse couldn't shake the feeling there was something else.
Two days ago, she'd brought home some plum-pickled soybean cake. Her mother tasted it, then burst into tears—holding her and crying for half the night.
It seemed the richer your life, the older you were, the deeper you felt that flavor.
If plum-pickled soybean cake forced people to face regrets and sorrow long buried—
Then Qi Zhimu's plum-blossom wine was the opposite: it let people throw their worries aside, if only briefly.
Could it be…
Clarisse suddenly remembered a special water dispenser in the academy headmaster's office.
Water poured from it tasted sweet.
When students asked why, the headmaster explained: it was a curious relic.
And he had also explained the types of such relics.
They could be anything—water, fire, solid objects…
Even food.
Something with special effects wasn't necessarily a relic, but something without special effects certainly wasn't—whether the effect helped humans or not.
Fine. She wouldn't obsess over it for now.
"When will you be leaving? I'll see you off."
"…The day after tomorrow, at this time." Qi Zhimu's expression didn't change.
"Huh?" Clarisse looked surprised.
"What is it?"
"Three days from now is Great Cold—your birthday. I thought you'd leave after your birthday."
She instinctively thought he might spend that day with someone important.
But then she remembered—he'd always spent it alone.
Every year on that date, he drank until he hovered between sober and drunk, calling it celebration.
"Will you spend your birthday with your teacher this year?" she couldn't help asking.
"No. She won't see me again. The reason isn't something I can explain."
"Sorry. I asked what I shouldn't have…"
"It's fine."
Qi Zhimu sealed the last jar and carried them all into the cellar.
He had just straightened up when a violent dizziness slammed into his brain. His body went limp and toppled sideways.
"Mr. Qi! Mr. Qi?!"
Before his consciousness sank completely into darkness, he faintly heard the girl's panicked cries.
He didn't know how long passed before Qi Zhimu woke.
Clarisse's familiar face swam into view—but her pretty features were lined with worry and exhaustion.
Her eyes were red. Tear tracks still clung to her cheeks. She'd clearly been crying for a long time.
"You're finally awake…"
Her voice was hoarse, none of her usual youthful energy left.
Qi Zhimu tried to sit up, only to find he was too weak to move.
"I'm fine…"
The moment he spoke, he froze.
His voice held none of a young man's clarity—only the rasp of age.
Which meant—
"You collapsed, and then in less than ten seconds you turned old—how is that 'fine'?!" Clarisse didn't believe him at all. Her voice trembled with a sob.
"…What happened, Mr. Qi? Please don't hide it from me. Please."
Qi Zhimu let out a long sigh, but he didn't explain immediately.
Accidents always ran through life.
The special medicine he'd made—at the end, after all—had developed resistance.
Or perhaps his decaying body could no longer fully absorb its power.
Either way, the reason no longer mattered.
He had wanted to die quietly, alone. It seemed he couldn't.
"Clarisse… I'm going to die of old age. On Great Cold."
"What?!"
Seeing her disbelieving eyes, he confirmed it again.
"I'm going to die."
Her expression locked in place. After a few seconds, she shook her head violently.
"No! Impossible! This is a prank, right? How can someone—"
"There's no prank."
Qi Zhimu cut her off. His voice was weak, but it severed every last thread of hope.
"All these years, I've been taking medicine to keep my body young. What you're seeing now… is what I actually look like."
The air turned terrifyingly still.
Clarisse opened her mouth, but no sound came out.
She looked at his calm face, then at his withered hands, and suddenly realized—
The talk about "going on a trip," "a few years," "a few decades"—
It had all been an excuse.
Liar.
"Why… didn't you tell me the truth…" Her voice shook as tears spilled over.
"It would only add unnecessary sorrow."
Qi Zhimu smiled faintly, open and unburdened.
"To die naturally of old age is a blessing for humans. But people are used to defining parting as tragedy."
He looked out the window. The sky was darkening.
"So don't be sad, girl. Not everyone has the fortune of dying naturally. You should be happy for this old man—almost one hundred and seventy-five years old."
Clarisse bit her lip hard.
Mr. Qi is going to die…
The divination three months ago wasn't completely right—yet it wasn't completely wrong either.
Her feelings… the gift and confession she'd prepared for so long—how could she still say them?
From the day she met him, today's regret was inevitable.
He would never accept her. Worse—he might feel guilty, because…
She knew him too well. Even if she confessed everything, he would refuse her "for her own good," saying he couldn't delay her life.
He wouldn't even say he felt nothing for her. He wouldn't reject her by claiming he didn't like her.
He was that gentle.
Always taking every fault and burden onto himself.
But what did he do wrong?
Clarisse felt boneless.
Fate was cruel—her beloved was right here, and she couldn't open her mouth.
To trouble him in his last days… was too selfish.
....
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