"Huh?"
Clarisse instinctively touched her cheek—wet.
"Strange. Why am I suddenly crying…"
Then she glanced at the soybean cake in her hand, already bitten once, and understood.
Qi Zhimu followed her gaze.
"Is it bad?"
"No!" Clarisse looked conflicted, as if she couldn't untangle the emotions surging inside her.
"…How do I describe it… I can't find the right words. It's like—after I eat it, all the regrets I've ever had gather into a wave and crash into my heart."
"That's… quite mystical," Qi Zhimu said.
He hadn't known the plum-cured soybean cake could do that.
Under her gaze, he picked one up and tasted it too. As he chewed, his movements slowed.
Clarisse saw his focus drift; his thoughts clearly wandered far away.
A clear tear slid soundlessly from the corner of his eye.
"Mr. Qi…?"
"Mm…"
Qi Zhimu answered softly, pressing the back of his hand under his chin to catch the tear before it fell.
He lowered his eyes to the wet trace on his hand, closed his eyes, and tasted the lingering flavor.
The taste itself wasn't flawed. If anything, it was better than any pastry he had made before—unforgettable.
Yu Qingtu's requirement could be called perfectly fulfilled.
So why had it become like this…?
Qi Zhimu guessed—perhaps it had become a consumable curios, and that was why it gained an unexpected special effect.
Whatever. There was no point obsessing.
Even if it was a "curio," at its core it was still a pastry made with care.
Its purpose was simple:
To be eaten.
That was all.
"Don't mind it. Life is full of surprises. Treat it as a bonus gift."
"Oh—how did you come up with such a special pastry, Mr. Qi?"
"Hmm… it's like clenching your fist. It felt like I could do it. I don't remember researching it. If you like it, take this plate of cakes home."
"…I do like it, but if I cry every bite, won't I get dry eye syndrome?"
"Dry eye syndrome generally has no direct relation to how much you tear up…"
In the end, Clarisse still packed the plate carefully and waved goodbye.
"See you next time, Mr. Qi~~!"
"…See you next time."
Qi Zhimu smiled and watched her leave.
He could still say the words.
But perhaps he only had one "next time" left.
When the day came to say a second "next time," he likely wouldn't be able to speak anymore.
He didn't want to break his word.
If something could be done with certainty, he would do it cleanly. If not, he would not give others hope—only to add disappointment later.
"Meow~"
Little Orange rubbed its head against Qi Zhimu's foot.
Qi Zhimu bent down, lifted it onto his lap, and stroked its back gently.
"Thank you for staying with me these three years. In a few days, I'll have to leave. I won't be able to take care of you anymore."
"Find a new owner. If you want to go, you can leave anytime."
"Or if Clarisse is willing to take you in, you can go with her… but no matter what, you need to lose weight…"
"When she comes next time, I'll ask her for you, alright?"
After he spoke, Qi Zhimu didn't hear Little Orange meow for a long time.
It wasn't asleep. It just squinted quietly, then pressed its round body deeper into his arms.
"So that's how it is…"
Qi Zhimu seemed to understand. He sighed softly.
Soon, long, lingering zither notes drifted from the bamboo house—faintly lonely.
…
In winter, daylight always ended sooner.
Near nightfall, a spaceship landed silently on the snowy clearing. The hatch opened slowly.
A man dressed in luxurious, flamboyant clothing stepped out and walked straight toward the bamboo house.
Living deep in mountains with inconvenient access, Qi Zhimu was rarely disturbed.
When people did come, they were usually suffering from intractable illnesses—cases beyond all ordinary methods.
After despair, some would cling to the old saying: true masters live among the common folk.
Qi Zhimu had lived in these mountains for over a hundred years. For peace, he always told his patients not to casually reveal his existence.
But with time, someone would inevitably leak the secret.
Then those unverified rumors spread through back alleys and markets—until they reached the ears of people who had no choice left, treating a dead horse as if it might live.
Anyone who found their way here—Qi Zhimu treated them if he could. If he couldn't…
So far, there hadn't been a single case he couldn't handle.
In a normal year, three or four visitors were already "a lot."
Aside from the extremely rare special case like Durand, he could usually finish treatment the same day.
There was only one exception.
"Long time no see, Mr. Qi Zhimu."
"Nine years is a long time, Mr. Longjing," Qi Zhimu said, setting down his zhongruan.
Longjing—a member of the Interastral Peace Corporation's Strategic Investment Department, one of the Ten Stonehearts under Diamond, the Preservation Emanator.
Of course, it was only a codename.
Qi Zhimu didn't know his real name, and there was no need to.
"I thought your condition relapsed and you were already dead."
"…Hey, hey. After nine years, this is how you greet me? Really?" Longjing rolled his eyes and sat down casually.
"At least I've been your patient for forty-some years. That makes me a friend, doesn't it?"
"I wasn't cursing you. The medicine you took nine years ago was only enough for eight years. When you didn't come last year, I assumed the 'Longjing' among the Ten Stonehearts had already been replaced," Qi Zhimu said flatly.
Longjing froze, then realized. "So that's why you didn't send a shipping request this year."
Every late autumn, Qi Zhimu would send him a shipping request—a top-priority express parcel to a remote, backwater planet in the universe.
It wasn't ordinary mailing. It was the highest-tier IPC delivery service.
Unless you were targeted by an Aeon or an Emanator-level enemy, nothing could go wrong.
So that's why… wait!
Longjing suddenly remembered he'd checked delivery records before coming.
This year, there was no order from Qi Zhimu at all.
"You went there yourself this year?"
"No."
"…So no more shipments?"
"It's not that. I just asked a senior who was passing by to deliver it. You didn't come all this way just for that, did you?"
"That's part of it, but not all."
Longjing casually reached for the teapot, only for Qi Zhimu to stop him.
"…You won't even serve me tea? That's harsh," Longjing said, startled.
Qi Zhimu laughed. "Not at all. It's just that today, we won't be drinking that rough tea."
As he spoke, he took out a jar of plum blossom brew from folded space.
A seductive fragrance seeped from the seal, instantly capturing Longjing's full attention.
"Oh? The sun's rising in the west today. You're actually willing to bring out this treasure to treat me…"
"Heh."
Qi Zhimu didn't explain. He swept away the small teacups, replaced them with large bowls, and tipped the jar to pour.
The unexpectedly bold manner only made Longjing more surprised.
Something's off…
Did he figure something out?
....
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