She had lived for too long, so long that she had forgotten what certain emotions were supposed to look like.
So long that when they sprouted anew, she was actually somewhat at a loss.
Outside the window, Arthur seemed to have woken up; he sat up and stretched.
The sunlight shone on him, making his blonde hair glitter.
He turned his head and happened to look toward the Quiet Chamber.
Fu Hua did not look away.
The two of them locked eyes through the window.
Arthur was stunned for a moment, then he smiled and waved at her.
The smile was clean and frank, just like always.
Fu Hua also nodded slightly in response.
Then Arthur stood up, patted his backside, and humming that song that was forever out of tune, headed toward the kitchen—it was time to make dinner.
Fu Hua watched his back disappear into the kitchen doorway, and after a long while, she sighed softly.
The sigh was very light, so light it was almost inaudible.
But the emotion within it was so heavy it made her chest feel tight.
She closed her eyes again, attempting to enter meditation.
But the lake of her heart was no longer still.
A wind brushed past, rippling out in fine circles.
No matter what, she couldn’t calm it down.
[worldline Repair Progress: 41.8%]
The system’s prompt quietly flashed in the depths of Arthur’s mind.
He was currently slicing potatoes with skilled knife work, the potato shreds cut evenly and thin.
Seeing that line of numbers, his movements paused for a moment.
“Over forty percent…” he whispered to himself.
Six years, from twenty-five percent to forty-one percent, an average of less than three points per year.
At this rate, to push it to one hundred percent, it would take…
over a decade.
Over a decade.
Arthur soaked the sliced potato shreds in clear water and began processing the cured meat.
But in his heart, he was calculating.
In over a decade, he would be in his thirties.
Here, being in one’s thirties was already considered middle-aged.
At that time, what would Fu Hua look like?
Probably still like this.
Immortals don’t age; time leaves no mark on her.
While he would slowly grow wrinkles, his hair might turn white, and his back might hunch.
Then he would grow old, die, and turn into a handful of yellow earth.
While she would still sit on this Tai Xu Mountain, watching the clouds rise and fall, waiting for the next “destined person”?
This thought caused a strange sting in Arthur’s heart.
He shook his head, sliced the cured meat into thin pieces, and tossed them into the pan to stir-fry.
With a “sizzle,” the aroma wafted up.
“Why think so much,” he told himself.
“Take it day by day.
By then, maybe the mission will be finished and I’ll be back in the Main World.”
But as he said these words, he didn’t quite believe them himself.
Back to the Main World?
To continue being that student at St.
Freya Academy, dealing with confessions every day, maintaining a fake smile, observing three students, and working for the Imaginary Tree?
Compared to these days on Tai Xu Mountain…
Arthur’s stir-frying slowed down.
In the pan, the salty fragrance of the cured meat and the fresh scent of the potatoes mixed together, steaming hot.
Outside the window, the sun was setting, dyeing the horizon a gentle orange-red.
The distant mountains were like dark ink, and nearby, the bamboo forest rustled in the wind.
In the Quiet Chamber, Fu Hua should still be meditating—or perhaps, lost in thought over something again.
All of this was too real, and too good.
So good that…
he almost forgot he was just a “passing traveler.”
“Passing traveler…” Arthur repeated the word softly, then suddenly smiled, a bit of bitterness in the expression.
Yes, a passing traveler.
No matter how much he got used to it, no matter how much he grew attached, he was ultimately a traveler.
Once the mission was complete, he would have to leave.
Those were the rules.
He had always been a person who followed the rules.
Because by following the rules, he could survive, and live a life that wasn’t too bad.
So, this newly sprouted affection—let it stay in its budding state.
Don’t let it bloom, don’t let it bear fruit.
Like this, it was fine.
Arthur plated the stir-fried potato shreds and made a tomato and egg soup.
Two dishes and a soup—simple, but made with care.
He carried the food to the front of the house and placed it on the stone table.
“Master, it’s time to eat,” he called toward the Quiet Chamber.
Soon, Fu Hua walked out.
She had already recovered her usual calm, and no emotion could be seen on her face.
The setting sun stretched their shadows long, overlapping on the blue stone slabs.
Arthur picked up some potato shreds with his chopsticks and put them in his mouth.
The seasoning was just right; the saltiness of the cured meat and the crunch of the potatoes blended perfectly.
He stole a glance at Fu Hua.
She ate slowly and seriously.
The golden glow of the sunset spilled over her profile, casting a soft light on her elegant features.
She was so beautiful it seemed unreal.
Arthur withdrew his gaze and buried his head in his rice bowl.
That little throb in his heart was forcefully suppressed by him, pushed down to the very depths.
Then he covered it with dirt and packed it down tight.
Like handling a seed that shouldn’t sprout.
“These potato shreds today,” Fu Hua suddenly spoke, “are not bad.”
Arthur looked up and grinned.
“Of course, your disciple has practiced.”
Fu Hua glanced at him, said nothing, and continued eating.
But the corner of her mouth seemed to curve up ever so slightly.
Just for a moment.
So fast it seemed like an illusion.
But Arthur saw it.
That throb in his heart that he had just suppressed started to stir again, poking its head out.
“I’m doomed,” he thought.
“I’m really doomed.”
But on his face, the smile deepened a little more.
The sun set, and twilight deepened.
On Tai Xu Mountain, another day passed.
The warm water continued to simmer slowly.
The frog in the pot seemed to have forgotten to jump out.
Or rather…
he didn’t want to jump anymore.
[worldline Repair Progress: 41.9%]
The number jumped a tiny bit again.
But this time, Arthur didn’t notice.
He was busy pushing that seed in his heart down again.
Pushing it very, very deep.
So deep that…
even he himself believed it didn’t exist.