“It’s a pity that I’m not very talented.
Even understanding and mastering twenty percent of what my teacher taught me was already extremely difficult.” “Even so, she never showed any disappointment.
She accommodated me in almost every way and raised me from childhood.” Qi Zhimu’s voice was gentle and soft, yet every word was clear.
“They say a teacher for a day is a parent for life.
To me, my teacher is more like a second mother.
That wouldn’t be an exaggeration.” “…I think I understand your answer about fate now, Mr.
Qi.” “You’re still so young, yet you like to talk about such deep things.
When I was your age…” Qi Zhimu suddenly fell silent.
“What’s wrong?” Clarisse asked, confused.
“…Nothing.
At eighteen, I was still reckless, not much different from a middle schooler.” “But, Mr.
Qi…” Clarisse’s expression filled with concern, her voice trembling slightly.
“Why are you… crying?” Qi Zhimu raised a hand to his cheek.
His fingers came away damp.
He stared at them, momentarily dazed.
“How strange…” He murmured, placing a hand over his chest, feeling the rhythm of his heartbeat.
A faint pain flickered through his heart.
Why?
Before he could think further, his throat suddenly tightened.
Sensing the abrupt change in his body, he forcibly swallowed back the metallic taste rising in his throat.
“Sorry, excuse me for a moment.” Qi Zhimu quickly left the medical room, returned to his quarters, shut the door, and immediately took out a bottle of medicine.
He swallowed four potent pills.
As the effects spread through his body, his expression did not relax.
Instead, it grew more serious.
He had underestimated how difficult it would be to resist aging.
The medicine was becoming less effective.
Its duration had shortened, and the increased dosage had already begun to create resistance.
He could not raise the dosage any further.
If he did, the side effects would leave him unable to last even two days.
He needed to develop a new, more effective medicine within a few days.
Otherwise, before his lifespan truly ran out, he would already be reduced to lying helplessly in bed, his body aged and failing.
Qi Zhimu did not fear death.
He simply did not want to leave behind regrets.
There were still things he had yet to accomplish.
He could not just lie down and wait.
Nor could he let Yu Qingtu find out.
His understanding of her was limited, but one thing was certain.
When it came to extremes, she and his teacher Ruan Mei were very similar.
Otherwise, they would never have become such close friends despite the difference in their ages.
“Mr.
Qi, are you alright?!” Clarisse’s worried voice came from outside the closed door.
“I’m fine…” Qi Zhimu steadied his voice, forcing calm into his tone.
He looked at his reflection.
His hair had turned completely white, though his appearance was slowly recovering.
He let out a quiet sigh.
“I just remembered something important I needed to tell my teacher.
Give me about half an hour.” “That’s good, then.” Although Clarisse still felt uneasy, she finally relaxed a little and returned to the medical room.
On the screen, the treatment progress bar advanced from 81% to 82%.
Her heart eased.
She glanced around the room.
There were no afterimages anymore, as if what she had seen before had been nothing but an illusion.
But she knew it wasn’t.
She slowly walked through the space where those afterimages had once lingered.
Her expression grew complicated as her thoughts drifted.
Time passed without her noticing.
Then suddenly, she turned, her gaze locking onto a certain spot.
No one was there.
Yet she had a strange feeling, as if someone had been watching her from that exact place.
Clarisse frowned, trying to sense something deeper, something most people would miss.
Having been ostracized since childhood, she was particularly sensitive to the meaning behind people’s gazes.
Was it Mr.
Qi’s afterimage?
No.
His gaze had always been gentle, like a warm breeze.
Even if he looked at someone for a long time, it never felt uncomfortable.
But what she had sensed earlier felt different.
Not malicious, but not kind either.
It felt more like… being evaluated.
Like a teacher observing students, deciding who was worthy.
Clarisse focused, trying to grasp whatever trace might still remain.
But even when Qi Zhimu returned, she found nothing.
“Mr.
Qi, do you think… ghosts exist?” “Why do you ask?” “…Just curious.” “That depends on what you mean by ‘ghosts.’ If you’re referring to the ones from horror stories, then strictly speaking, they don’t exist.” “So in a non-strict sense… they do?” Clarisse felt a chill run down her spine.
“You could say that.” Qi Zhimu checked the system, confirmed everything was running normally, then continued: “I once heard my teacher mention a kind of energy-based lifeform in the universe.” “They usually don’t have a fixed form.
Sometimes they can be seen but not touched, and sometimes they can’t be perceived at all.” “Unless they choose to reveal themselves, or unless you use special means.” “Have you heard of Pathstriders?” Clarisse thought for a moment.
“There’s a professor at our academy who seems immune to harm.
Even when experiments go wrong, he can handle explosions without getting hurt.” “Are Pathstriders like that?
People with special abilities?” Qi Zhimu nodded.
“Not all people with abilities are Pathstriders.
But those who have advanced far along a Path will definitely possess such powers.” “Some factions even have members who can turn themselves into ghost-like states.” “Which factions?” Clarisse asked.
“The one I’m certain about is The Remembrance.
Another is The Enigma.
I’m not sure about the others.” “Why do you ask?” Clarisse hesitated slightly before speaking.
“Mr.
Qi… please don’t be afraid of what I’m about to say.” “Go ahead.” “I think… there might be something here.
Earlier, it felt like something was hiding in the shadows, watching me.” “Is that so?” Qi Zhimu looked thoughtful, then relaxed.
“No need to worry.
If it’s really one of those beings, it likely means no harm.
And it wouldn’t dare to.” He recalled the warning he had written about The Remembrance.
It was likely related to a Memokeeper.
After all, traces of a Genius Society member had been left here.
No one would dare provoke that lightly.
“Then I feel a bit better.” Clarisse nodded.
… Dawn slowly broke, pale light filling the sky.
When the progress bar finally reached 100%, Durand slowly opened her eyes.
The moment Clarisse saw the familiar warmth in her mother’s gaze, her own eyes filled with tears.
Qi Zhimu completed the final check, let out a long breath, and smiled sincerely.
“Ms.
Durand, congratulations.
From this moment on, your amnesia is gone for good.”