Qi Zhimu returned to the bamboo house, opened the secure safe, and took out the specially formulated medicine.
He poured out one pill and swallowed it.
Soon, his appearance reverted to that of a young man.
His body would feel much better this way — no different from a young person, though only temporarily.
“Meow~” A soft, cotton-like cry sounded at his feet, the tail of the note drawn out, gently drawing one’s attention.
A fluffy, silky sensation brushed against his ankle.
Qi Zhimu looked down.
A ginger cat sat by his foot, looking up at him.
In those usually incomparably lazy eyes, there seemed to be a hint of concern.
“I’m fine.” He put the medicine back in the safe, bent down to pick up the cat, and rubbed its head.
“Time to lose some weight, Xiao Ju.” “Meow~~” Xiao Ju responded softly, as if saying, “Next time, for sure.” “In another hundred days, I won’t be able to take care of you like this anymore.
Being too fat is bad for your health, you know?” Xiao Ju seemed to understand, yet didn’t entirely.
It nuzzled its head affectionately against Qi Zhimu’s palm.
Its fluffy paw rested on his wrist, giving the strong impression of reluctance to part.
Qi Zhimu smiled, carried Xiao Ju to the windowsill, and sat down.
He took down the Chinese lute hanging nearby and gently plucked its silk strings with his long fingers.
A gentle timbre slowly flowed, merging into the winds of late autumn.
Outside the window, green bamboos stood lush, still holding onto their emerald hues, occasionally drifting with a few pale yellow withered leaves.
The plum grove halfway up the mountain had already begun quietly gathering a wisp of fragrance in preparation for its winter bloom.
Xiao Ju lay spread across Qi Zhimu’s lap.
The wind brushing past the window carried a slight chill, and before long, the cat had curled itself into a ball.
Under the melodious tune, Xiao Ju’s breathing gradually grew steady.
Late bamboos shed green shadows among thinning leaves; An autumn window’s cold strings send forth a solitary sound.
The wind passed through the bamboo tips, scattering the last wisp of string music and stirring Qi Zhimu’s thoughts.
Ruan Mei had always loved the Chinese lute.
She had never deliberately taught Qi Zhimu, yet through constant exposure, he had taught himself.
Seeing this, Ruan Mei gifted him a Chinese lute.
She also loved light, fragrant, delicious pastries — especially those made with plum blossom ingredients.
Again, she never deliberately taught him, yet he still learned on his own, spending several years to create pastries that even his teacher could find no fault with.
After that, during his time before completing his apprenticeship, he was responsible for preparing the daily meals.
Most of his knowledge teacher imparted concerned the subject of life.
Looking back on all those warm moments, Qi Zhimu couldn’t help but felt moved.
His life had been unfortunate — yet also fortunate.
At the age of six, he had collapsed alongside several groups of fleeing refugees in an apocalyptic battlefield, infected with a deadly virus.
The blurry face he saw before closing his eyes was Ruan Mei’s.
The blurry face he saw upon opening his eyes was also Ruan Mei’s.
“Do you want to live?” She had asked him thus, her tone ethereal, betraying no emotion.
“…Yes…” He had answered thus — a single, simple word, the last remaining trace of his will to survive.
And so, Qi Zhimu lived.
Ruan Mei had made no promises.
She spent several years successfully analyzing the virus and cured him, her experimental subject.
At eleven years old, he became Ruan Mei’s student.
He learned quickly, learned a great deal.
His days were fulfilling.
At eighteen, his teacher became angry — the first and only time — strictly punishing Qi Zhimu for the mistake he had made.
He couldn’t remember the specific details, only that it had something to do with breaking the rules.
“Meow~” Xiao Ju suddenly jumped down to the floor.
Qi Zhimu pulled himself from his memories, glanced at the sky, and a faint trace of surprise flickered in his eyes.
He carefully hung the Chinese lute back in its place and walked toward the door.
A young girl in a deep purple long dress was walking toward the bamboo house, leading a middle-aged woman wearing a gauze veil, her gaze somewhat dazed.
“Mr.
Qi!” Catching sight of that tall figure, the girl waved from afar, her expression slightly complicated.
There was both hope and unease in her eyes.
Purple-haired young girl Qi Zhimu understood why the two had come.
As they drew closer, he smiled and nodded.
“Follow me.” The girl, familiar with the place, led her mother as they followed Qi Zhimu into the bamboo house and stepped into a passageway that hid another world.
No one looking from outside would ever imagine that inside this ordinary bamboo house was concealed a fully equipped medical room.
“Please lie down, Ms.
Durand.” The middle-aged woman met eyes that radiated calmness and kindness.
The daze on her face did not diminish, and she instinctively looked toward the girl beside her.
“Mother, Mr.
Qi is the doctor treating you.
Don’t worry — you’ll remember soon.” “Oh…
alright.” Durand complied.
After a series of examinations, the diagnosis showed slight differences from previous visits.
Qi Zhimu placed the therapeutic device onto Durand’s head, pressed a button, and closed the treatment pod to begin the procedure.
“This treatment session will last seventeen hours.
Let’s wait outside.” “…It increased by three hours all at once…” Clarisse looked uneasy, her small face flickering with worry.
“Don’t worry.
Judging by your complexion, you probably haven’t eaten yet.
Let’s get some food in you first.” Qi Zhimu gently patted Clarisse’s pale purple hair.
The girl’s full name was Clarisse Durand, a resident of a neighboring star world.
She had spent many years seeking medical help to cure her mother’s amnesia, and finally, through various rumors, had found a hermit living in the remote mountains of a neighboring planet — Mr.
Qi.
Durand had been receiving treatment from Qi Zhimu for five years now, and her condition was deteriorating.
From once a year at the beginning to once every less than two months now.
The time required for each treatment session had also been steadily increasing.
Living room.
The pastries that usually tasted so delicious now carried little flavor for Clarisse.
Most of her mind was on her mother’s illness.
At this rate, there would come a day when her mother would forget everything — including herself — and never remember again.
Witnessing the girl’s expression, like chewing on wax, Qi Zhimu sighed inwardly and poured her a cup of plum blossom wine.
Less than two years aged.
Not to mention a grown girl — even back when he was still a minor, he couldn’t get drunk on this.
The slightly pale-yellow clear wine gave off a fresh, fragrant aroma.
Just one sniff, and Clarisse found herself unconsciously sipping half the cup.
Her pretty face flushed with a faint warmth.
The elegant plum blossom fragrance lingered on her lips and tongue, gently easing some of the girl’s sorrow.
“Thank you, Mr.
Qi—” “Cough, cough, cough——” Before Clarisse could finish her words of thanks, Qi Zhimu suddenly broke into a violent coughing fit.
He turned away from her, covering his mouth, forcing down the discomfort.
“Mr.
Qi, are you alright?!” Clarisse’s face flashed with tension and concern.
Glancing at the crimson in his palm, Qi Zhimu shook his head imperceptibly, his tone as usual.
“…It’s nothing.
With winter approaching, I must have caught a chill last night.”