[Remaining Lifespan: 11 Hours, 1 Minute, 37 Seconds] “…Let me wish you a happy birthday in advance…” On the steps of the bamboo house, Clarisse handed Qi Zhimu a beautifully wrapped gift box.
The young girl should have been smiling at this moment, but the corners of her lips seemed weighed down by something, unable to lift.
She tried to force a smile, but the curve of her mouth could only weakly turn downward.
“Don’t worry.
I know exactly when I’m going to die.
There’s no need to be early.” “…Mr.
Qi is a big liar.
I’m afraid you might lie to me again.” “You little girl — at least give this nearly 175-year-old man a little trust.” Qi Zhimu chuckled softly and accepted the gift box with both hands.
He sought Clarisse’s permission with his eyes.
After she gave a slight nod of confirmation, he unwrapped the packaging on the spot.
Inside were a sachet that gave off the fresh scent of plum blossoms, a scarf, and a hand-knitted sweater.
Qi Zhimu’s gaze paused for a moment, his expression growing even softer.
“…Thank you for your birthday gift, Clarisse.
I really like it.” So the young girl’s activities some time ago had all been for today.
Life is truly unpredictable.
Too often, regrets are fated by heaven, and deep affections cannot be received.
Qi Zhimu knew clearly that he could not give the young girl any promises, nor should he.
Because he was about to die of old age.
“See if the size fits…” Clarisse said in a low voice.
Without hesitation, Qi Zhimu took off his outer clothes and pulled the sweater over himself.
It fits perfectly.
After draping his outer clothes back on, he was about to speak when Clarisse suddenly drew close, gently tying the scarf around his neck, and then softly hanging the sachet at his waist.
She was very close.
He could smell the light fragrance in her hair.
“It’s really cold out.
Thanks to your thoughtful gifts.” “Liar.
Your body long ago stopped being able to perceive temperature changes…” “Yes, it stopped perceiving them long ago.
But, you see, little girl…” His gaze met Clarisse’s eyes.
Qi Zhimu took her hand and placed it over his chest, his tone gentle and soft.
“This heart — which hasn’t stopped beating yet — is very warm right now.” Clarisse stared blankly at those dark brown eyes.
The tenderness that had once made her unable to help but lose herself was still there — unchanged.
But now, facing that tenderness, she could only force back her sobs.
“On this planet, during these days each year, the starry sky is always at its most beautiful and clearest.
Look up.” “Mr.
Qi, are you trying to say that people become stars after they die…” “People don’t become stars after death.
That’s just a way of using objects to express emotions.
Look over there——” Clarisse lifted her head and gazed toward the spot Qi Zhimu was pointing at.
Stars scattered across the sky like crushed diamonds, quietly twinkling in the deep, clear night.
The edges of the stardust were tinged with pale blue and green, coalescing into a still river of light.
No shooting stars streaked across.
No stars suddenly dimmed.
Tranquil, peaceful, beautiful.
Clarisse was transfixed.
In her memory, she didn’t think she had ever, like now, simply lifted her head and quietly watched the night sky.
Nor had she known that the starry sky could be so beautiful.
“Isn’t it exceptionally beautiful?” “Mmm…
it’s very beautiful…” Clarisse nodded unconsciously.
If Mr.
Qi weren’t about to die of old age, how wonderful and romantic it would be to sit together in front of the bamboo house tonight and watch the stars.
“Mr.
Qi, let me borrow your shoulder to lean on.” “Alright.” The young girl leaned on Qi Zhimu’s shoulder, greedily inhaling his scent, his essence.
The two quietly watched the starry sky, not speaking for a long time.
“Mr.
Qi, tell me your stories — from childhood to adulthood, the ordinary, the thrilling, the unfortunate, the wonderful.
As long as you’re willing to tell me, I want to hear everything…” She wanted to remember more of his deeds.
If possible, she wanted to engrave his entire life — even all of his memories — into her heart.
Aside from her mother, she only had Mr.
Qi.
But soon, Mr.
Qi would leave her forever.
He would leave nothing behind — nothing but memory.
Her mother was right…
aside from memory, they had nothing.
“My stories, huh…” Qi Zhimu’s tone was light and distant, unconsciously looking back on all that had passed.
They say that before people die, their life flashes before their eyes — replaying rapidly in their minds.
But his time hadn’t come yet, and still he saw many things.
“Ever since I can remember, my homeland was a field of war.
People wandered far from home, living homeless, miserable lives…” “No one knew what fate awaited them in the next moment.” “My parents may have died early, or perhaps they lived longer — I don’t know.” “I was captured to serve as backup food.
Starving people who couldn’t find anything to eat often turned to their own kind.” “The apocalypse was cruel.
To survive, there was no right or wrong only the vast differences in human nature.” “A group of children and people without much ability to resist were locked in different cages.
This went on for about ten days or so.” “During that time, many of the ‘backup food’ contracted multiple deadly biochemical viruses, but instead benefited from misfortune they were thrown away and no longer had to worry about being eaten by their own kind.” “As for how long they could live after that, no one had the right to expect anything.
Just one day at a time…” Clarisse’s already heavy heart grew even more stifled by these words.
She deeply understood why Mr.
Qi held his teacher in such high regard.
To pull a person out of bottomless darkness sometimes the reason was just that simple.
…
In a place devoid of people, a manor stood here.
Ruan Mei put down the observation lens in her hand and lifted her pale, expressionless face toward the ceiling.
Even the underground laboratory, buried deep in the earth, could faintly hear the thunder — which showed just how intense it was outside.
She glanced at the failed specimen on the test table, habitually ordering her ‘A Mu’ to dispose of it.
But as she looked at that familiar, expressionless face, Yu Qingtu’s parting words rang in her mind.
For no reason, a rare irritation welled up in her heart.
Naturally, Ruan Mei did not think this was influenced by those words.
After a moment’s thought, she attributed the emotion to the stagnation of her research progress.
“…I’ll go for a walk.” She took the elevator up from the underground laboratory.
Just as the heavy door opened, a clap of thunder tore apart the pitch-black sky.
Rain poured down like a waterfall — falling in sheets.
Ruan Mei’s footsteps paused.
She felt she had never seen such heavy rain.
No…
she had seen it.
Countless fragments of memory flickered by, finally settling on a moment a hundred and some decades ago.
The day she first met A Mu — the rain had been just like this.
She had stood at the edge of a deep pit, holding an oil-paper umbrella, looking down at the little one curled up in the pile of rotting corpses, her gaze indifferent.
She remembered that little one’s eyes — Numb.
Hollow.
After those eyes, gradually losing focus, noticed her, a faint glimmer of light appeared — almost like an illusion.
As the light trembled just before fading completely, it solidified into something very, very faint…
something she had never seen before…
Relief.
And concern.
Yes, concern.
Not concern for his own impending death — but concern that she might, like him, contract the deadly viruses.
He had probably accepted his fate — but didn’t want to see anyone suffer as he had.
The thunder was deafening.
The raindrops seemed determined to swallow the whole world, plummeting with relentless force.
“Do you want to live?” Her voice was very soft — barely audible in the thunderstorm.
Yet, the little one’s dark gray lips slowly moved, forming silent syllables.
“…Yes…” So, she let A Mu live.
She never imagined that time would pass so quickly — nearly 169 years gone in the blink of an eye.
Suddenly remembering all this, a thought arose in her heart — a desire to see him, to reminisce about old times.
But within seconds, the thought was extinguished.
A Mu had completed his training over a hundred years ago.
Now, where was he…
where had he gone?
It seemed he had never told her.
Never mind.
Her research was still far from the point where it could stop.
There was no need to contact him.
With his intellect — though incomparable to scholars renowned throughout the universe — he could at least easily lead and advance biological science and technology on ordinary worlds.
The knowledge she had taught him was enough to solve all incurable diseases afflicting mortals, and included various methods to extend one’s lifespan to at least eight hundred years.
He had said he wanted to live.
Now, only a hundred and some decades had passed.
It was still far from the time she needed to worry.
“I’ll take a bath, then continue with the research.” Ruan Mei walked with a steady gait toward the direction of the hot spring bath.