Clarisse, the pessimist, tilted her head and noticed a rare look of bewilderment on his face.
She was somewhat surprised and waited quietly.
After a moment, Qi Zhimu finally spoke, elaborating on his thoughts.
“Perhaps there is no standard way to interpret these words.” “If I must give an answer, I believe: the meaning of life is not about finding a way out of the maze, but rather, in its winding detours, gathering those moments worth remembering.” “In the inevitability that everything will eventually fade, memory is the only thing we can take with us.
It is also humanity’s gentlest resistance against nihility.” Clarisse pondered this.
The answer Mr.
Qi had given, she felt, was not suitable for her.
Perhaps it was because…
Mr.
Qi’s interpretation leaned more toward pessimism?
When life passes away, doesn’t the memory that is taken away also perish with it?
Wouldn’t that still leaves one with nothing?
“Don’t dwell on it too much.
Some questions naturally have multiple solutions.” “Life will ultimately march toward death.
What path to take along the way — everyone has their own choice.” “Let me tell you a short story.
I came across it by chance in a book.” Qi Zhimu took a moment to recall, then spoke softly: “A young couple was about to part ways.
The husband was afflicted with a terminal illness and had little time left to live.” “Before dying, he handed his wife a bracelet he had woven with his own hands and said —” “After I’m gone, let this accompany you for the rest of your life.
Whenever you think of me because of it, I will live once more through you.” “What a romantic story…” Clarisse sighed.
“Romance is one interpretation.
My interpretation…
is cruelty.” Qi Zhimu said this.
“Cr…
cruelty?” Clarisse looked genuinely surprised.
“When a person dies, everything about them ceases to remain.
Memory is the only exception, because — you might still exist in someone else’s memories.” Qi Zhimu’s tone was very soft, carrying a distant, ethereal quality.
“Hmm…
is there something wrong with that?” Clarisse asked, confused.
Qi Zhimu said gently: “The deceased return to dust.
The living must eventually bid farewell to the past and look ahead.
There is nothing wrong with the husband giving his wife a bracelet, but —” “His words inadvertently imprisoned his wife in the memories of the past.
The bracelet became a shackle.” “Dead is dead.
Why force the one you loved most to be unable to let go of you?” “Whether to let go or not is the right of the living, not something to be decided by the dying.” “If the husband had let go of everything and told his wife not to live trapped in the memories of the past — perhaps that would have been the true depth of his love and affection before leaving.” …So this was Mr.
Qi’s interpretation…
Clarisse’s lips parted slightly.
She felt that after his words fell, a thread of sorrow had quietly melted into the atmosphere.
She thought that Mr.
Qi was somewhat…
pessimistic?
Was it because he studied medicine?
Every time he treated a critically ill patient, he had to brace himself for the worst possible outcome and pour all his strength into dragging that life back from the Styx.
Over time, he had developed this way of seeing the world…
hadn’t he?
Otherwise, she truly couldn’t understand how someone as gentle as a winter sun — Mr.
Qi — could be a pessimist.
“But…
isn’t it also cruel to ask the wife to let go of her husband?
After all, they deeply loved each other…” “To smile and remain silent, or to bid a simple farewell — that would not be cruel.” “When facing life-and-death partings, it’s probably very difficult for someone who still has attachments to this world to be so magnanimous.” Clarisse sighed.
“Heh…
that’s the choice.
Everyone has to face it.” Qi Zhimu smiled, catching Xiao Ju as the cat barreled into his arms, gently scratching under its chin.
“And that is also where meaning lies — it depends on what kind of meaning life inclines toward bestowing.” These words stirred something complex in Clarisse’s heart.
“…Mr.
Qi, if I were about to die, would you be willing to remember me, as much as you can?” “Of course I would.” “And the reason?” “No reason is needed.” “But I want to know…
please~” Clarisse resorted to her coquettish technique, her voice sweet and soft.
If any of her classmates had witnessed this scene, they would probably have been shocked speechless.
That eccentric person who never made friends with anyone, no different from someone being ostracized — could she actually have such a girlish side?
Qi Zhimu smiled helplessly: “Because Clarisse is down-to-earth, determined, filial, knows how to be grateful, and…
mm, also very cute, beautiful, and graceful.” That last sentence was added on the spot.
Compared to her character, perhaps a young lady would prefer being called cute, beautiful, and poised.
Seeing the slight blush on the young lady’s cheeks, Qi Zhimu knew he had praised her correctly.
“…If it were Mr.
Qi who — never mind, it’s nothing.” Clarisse realized this question was inappropriate, suppressed her curiosity, and immediately abandoned the thought.
One should not use another person’s life or death with the word “if.” “You were wondering whether, if I were about to die, I would want to be remembered by others, by certain people, or by someone in particular — isn’t that right?” “…As expected, Mr.
Qi saw right through me…
Yes, please forgive my rudeness.” “Rudeness is hardly the word.
The interpretation of the short story I just told — that is the answer.” “…Oh…” Clarisse did not catch the faint trace of melancholy in Qi Zhimu’s voice.
She subconsciously rubbed her eyes.
Confirming that her vision was not playing tricks on her, her expression froze in shock.
Mr.
Qi was clearly sitting right next to her — so why were there several afterimages of him inside the medical room?
And she could understand what those afterimages were doing.
“Mr.
Qi…
you…
you…” “What’s wrong?” Qi Zhimu asked, puzzled.
Clarisse hesitated, as if wanting to say something but holding back.
After deliberating back and forth, she ultimately did not mention the phantoms she had seen.
Instead, she asked in a low voice.
“To cure my mother’s amnesia…
you’ve always been the test subject yourself, haven’t you?” “…Little girl, you —” Qi Zhimu paused slightly, instinctively wanting to deny it.
But when his eyes met her trembling gaze — as brilliant as the starry sky — he tacitly admitted it.
“How did you guess?” “Because Mr.
Qi is a homebody who never socializes.
I’ve never seen you leave these remote mountains.
Where would you get volunteers…?” Clarisse smiled a strained smile, subconsciously turning her head away from Qi Zhimu’s gaze.
She was afraid her tearful eyes would not be able to hide the truth.
It wasn’t that…
it was that…
I saw it with my own eyes, Mr.
Qi…
Even though she did not understand medicine, she knew that every difficult disease that was overcome required the immense dedication and effort of both physicians and clinical volunteers.
And Mr.
Qi had shouldered all of it alone!
Clarisse also understood clearly that clinical trials always carried risks.
Especially for memory-related illnesses.
If something went wrong, Qi Zhimu’s own memory would also be affected.
The favors she owed him were already too many to ever repay.