"So many details just for plum blossoms…" Clarisse looked amazed.
"Probably because your homeland doesn't have plum trees."
"That's true. Not only do we not see plum blossoms, even the flowers planted in the palace are mostly ornamental. Outside the imperial city, there are very few varieties."
Mentioning her homeland, Clarisse shook her head lightly.
"For sachets, women can only choose from those few flowers and pick whichever smells strongest."
"Even then, it's nothing compared to plum fragrance."
Qi Zhimu used the bamboo knife to lift a blossom gently, then flicked his wrist and cut it cleanly.
"If you like them, you can take some saplings back to your homeland and plant them."
"About that—still too early!" Clarisse's cheeks tinted faintly. "Since my enrollment was transferred here, I'm not planning to go back for now."
"No rush. While I'm away on business… if you graduate and I haven't returned, you can come up the mountain and take saplings anytime."
"We'll talk about it then. I'll go pick blossoms your way now!"
"Here. Tools."
Qi Zhimu handed her a bamboo knife and a smaller basket.
"No need, I brought scissors." Clarisse raised her small shears.
"Better not. Metal tools can affect quality to some degree when they touch the blossoms."
"Huh, really…? Thank you for telling me!"
"It's nothing."
Clarisse took the bamboo knife. Watching her light figure weave through the branches with ease, Qi Zhimu's eyes softened with a faint smile.
He looked down at his already-full bamboo basket, stored it in folded space, and took out a new one.
This year, he planned to pick far more blossoms than usual.
Because he was about to die.
After this year, the plum blossom brew he sent his teacher would only be whatever he could make with this year's batch.
As long as the raw material didn't affect the flavor, he would pick as much as he could.
…
Near noon, they returned to the bamboo house with their harvest.
Qi Zhimu poured the blossoms into the basin, patiently rinsed away debris, then used absorbent cloth to dry them and packed them into different wine jars.
Then he added fine sugar for a sugar-cure. The process would take about forty-eight hours, removing bitterness and astringency.
"Mr. Qi, it looks like washing and drying could be done with that magical furniture in your house," Clarisse said, puzzled by how he did everything by hand.
"Does an automatic machine damage the blossoms' quality?"
"It wouldn't," Qi Zhimu said, smiling.
"It just feels more meaningful when you do it yourself. More heartfelt, too. It's part of the joy of living."
"Before human civilization advanced, many people grew old and tended a garden or a small plot of land—making what they loved with their own hands."
"Mr. Qi, you're only… what, you look like a twenty-year-old. You're not 'old' at all!"
"…"
She said it casually. Qi Zhimu only smiled, not answering.
In truth, he was very, very old.
So old that in a few days, he would return to dust.
Most of what he needed to do before death was already done. When he thought carefully, there weren't many regrets left.
If he had to name one: he hadn't managed to stop his teacher's obsession with reviving her loved ones.
And that wasn't even a true revival…
Qi Zhimu sealed the last jar and carried them to the wall to rest.
"Stay for lunch before you go, girl."
"Mm~ I'll help."
Clarisse didn't press the age topic. She didn't care, anyway.
In the kitchen, they prepared a simple meal together. Then Qi Zhimu began setting up ingredients for pastries.
Fallen plum blossoms, perilla plum powder, soybeans, and a tightly sealed bottle of liquid.
"Mr. Qi, what's in that bottle?"
"Water from snow that melted off plum blossoms. Last year, I only managed to collect one bottle."
"…Last year!" Clarisse stared. "With ingredients this troublesome and meticulous—are you developing a new pastry?"
"You could say that."
Qi Zhimu washed the soybeans and soaked them, then blended them into a paste with the plum-snow water, adding sugar and the perilla plum powder.
Without realizing it, he began humming softly. Sometimes he murmured something under his breath—syllables blurred and indistinct.
As he hummed, he cooked it down, kneaded it into a dough, pressed it into molds to cool, set a few fallen plum blossoms on top, wrapped each piece in oiled paper, and set them aside.
The process flowed smoothly. Clarisse watched, captivated—when she finally checked the time, tens of minutes had passed.
"Mr. Qi, the song you hummed just now sounded… a little sad."
"I hummed?" Qi Zhimu asked.
"Not just hummed. It sounded like you were reciting something too—maybe poetry. I couldn't catch it clearly."
"Hmm…?" Qi Zhimu tilted his head, rubbing his chin as he tried to recall—but nothing came.
Strange.
Was the new medicine not effective enough to suppress dementia symptoms?
Whatever. At this point, it didn't matter. As long as he didn't make a catastrophic mistake.
Yu Qingtu wouldn't come back anytime soon. In fact, he could stop taking the medicine entirely—except his decrepit body couldn't do work.
To avoid dying in bed, he still had to take what he needed.
"Let's eat first. The plum-cured soybean cakes need to rest a bit so the flavor stabilizes. They'll be perfect as dessert."
They ate lunch warmly together.
At least, Clarisse felt it was warm.
As she imagined a future living with Mr. Qi in the bamboo house—growing old together—she couldn't stop her smile from rising.
That was the future she wanted. Just thinking about it made her happy.
Far from conflict and complicated relationships, staying together peacefully in the mountains.
But Clarisse didn't know what Qi Zhimu felt as he ate.
…This was probably his last lunch with her.
In this life, aside from Yu Qingtu—whose seniority was absurdly high—the only person he could truly call a friend was likely Clarisse.
That was why he'd asked her to stay for lunch.
A silent farewell.
There was just one thing Qi Zhimu had forgotten.
Clarisse had said she wanted him to be her fitting model.
After the day she measured him, she never brought it up again.
No wonder he'd subconsciously let it go, assuming it was a passing whim.
"Mr. Qi, while you're away, I'll help you look after the plum forest."
"No need."
"It won't take much time."
"Really no need. I ordered… a robot from the Interastral Peace Corporation. It'll follow orders faithfully, including looking after the plum forest."
"…Alright."
Hearing the IPC name, Clarisse understood.
They said the corporation's reach covered the universe, with technology far ahead of imagination and wealth beyond measure.
Not only her homeland—this planet also had the corporation's presence.
"Time's about right. Try the plum-cured soybean cakes."
Qi Zhimu removed several from the molds and brought them to the table.
"See if they suit your taste. I'll go deal with the rest."
He returned to the kitchen, rewrapped the remaining cakes in oiled paper, stored them in a special preservation box, then came back.
To his surprise, Clarisse sat motionless, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"Why are you crying?"
…
....
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