One pill was no longer enough to keep his body stable.
The sun slipped behind the western peaks, trading places with the crescent moon.
The wind sharpened with cold.
Qi Zhimu excused himself briefly, increased his dosage, then returned in a white lab coat—and brought Clarisse a jacket.
She didn't think much of it.
Wrapping herself in the jacket, Clarisse greedily drew in the lingering scent on it—something that made her feel safe.
To others, she had always been an unusual girl.
As a child she pestered adults with strange questions and was laughed at, gradually isolated.
Questions like: Where do people come from? Who created them? How did the world begin?
She chased after old stories, the past that people called "history," again and again.
Her father died early. Apart from her mother, no one understood why a child would cling to such things.
Until she met Mr. Qi.
Then the world gained one more person who understood her—and tolerated her.
No matter what she asked, no matter how absurd, no matter whether the question even had a standard answer, Mr. Qi always responded honestly.
These five years with him had been the lightest, happiest time of her life.
A warmth she could touch—outside of home, outside of her mother.
In his deep brown eyes flowed a gentleness strong enough to drown in.
Yet she couldn't shake the feeling that beneath that gentleness hid a thin thread of distance—of solitude.
Whenever she tried to step closer to his heart, it was like running into an invisible wall.
Clarisse wasn't sure whether what she felt for him was love—or something like it.
Maybe… it was.
Her mother once said: if, in that person's world, you can feel a peace you've never known before—perhaps that is one shape love can take.
"Mr. Qi… Mother's condition is still worsening, isn't it?" Clarisse forced herself out of her wandering thoughts.
"Yes."
"So there's really no way to cure it completely…"
"There is." Qi Zhimu smiled warmly, placing a steadying stone in her heart.
Clarisse's eyes lit up, bright with hope.
"In another two months, I will fully cure Mrs. Durand's amnesia, and return a healthy mother to you."
"You're amazing, Mr. Qi!" Clarisse burst out—joy spilling over, her eyes shining like dusk meeting night.
She believed in his ability without reservation.
"When that happens, you can return to your homeworld. You won't have to drag Mrs. Durand all the way out here so often."
"…"
Clarisse's excitement froze.
Home…
There was nothing left there worth missing.
She didn't want to go back—because then it wouldn't be so easy to see Mr. Qi.
She decided then:
Once her mother was cured, she would find the chance to confess what she felt.
It might be shy, clumsy.
But it would be pure.
Her mother had said that endless waiting often ends in regret.
Clarisse didn't want regrets.
"Let's not talk about that yet." She swallowed her nerves. "Mr. Qi, I want to read your future. I'm very accurate."
As she spoke, she took out a set of tarot cards.
"How accurate?" Qi Zhimu chuckled.
"Accurate enough that five years ago, I roughly divined the area where your bamboo cottage was."
"Oh?" He smiled. "That's impressive. Then let's try. But I don't know anything about tarot—will that be okay?"
"It's fine. What kind of reading do you want? Maybe we start with… romance?"
Clarisse pressed down her panic, afraid he would refuse.
"Heh… alright. What do I do?"
"Let's keep it simple. Mr. Qi, just draw three cards—no peeking."
Qi Zhimu didn't hesitate or overthink. He drew three at random and gestured for her to continue.
Clarisse flipped the first card.
The smile on her face stiffened.
Three of Swords.
A bad start.
She flipped the second.
Ten of Swords.
Her face paled.
With trembling fingers, she turned the last card.
The Star — reversed.
"What's wrong?" Qi Zhimu asked softly when he saw her expression. "Did I draw something extremely unlucky?"
"No, no! Very lucky! I'm just shocked—you drew such a rare spread…"
Clarisse shook her head hard, grinding her teeth in secret. She skipped the complicated interpretation and delivered a conclusion that meant the exact opposite.
"Mr. Qi… in the future you'll walk hand-in-hand with the person you love most. You'll become each other's refuge. In short—eternal love."
"I see…" Qi Zhimu's smile held. "Then I'll accept the blessing of the great diviner, Miss Clarisse."
She caught his trusting smile—and her hand tightened beneath the table.
The true meaning of that spread was heartbreak so deep it ended a relationship, carving despair into the bones.
And in the end, the beautiful future once imagined would lose all possibility of ever becoming real.
Divination was not omnipotent. Its accuracy was never perfect.
But Clarisse had never doubted herself this deeply before.
Mr. Qi treated patients, no matter how severe their illness, and charged only a token fee.
In five years, everything she'd paid for her mother's treatment wouldn't even amount to one-tenth of the cost of traveling here by starship.
How could someone so gentle—someone who treasured life—face such a future?
…Could it be… because of her?
No. No—how could she ever harm him?
This reading was probably wrong.
And yet, the little flame of her imagined future still dimmed.
Qi Zhimu noticed her sudden low mood at once.
He didn't expose her lie. It was kindness, after all.
He could guess the reading had been the opposite of what she said.
A man about to die—where would he find "eternal love"?
To die quietly, alone, of old age—that was the ending he had chosen.
Even so… a complete life still left behind small regrets.
That research.
Teacher would not change her mind.
And he could not move her.
Late at night, Clarisse, weighed down by thoughts, fell asleep with her cheek on the table.
Qi Zhimu lifted her carefully, laid her on a bamboo couch padded with a soft mat, and tucked a blanket around her.
After confirming that Mrs. Durand was stable inside the pod, he entered a fold-space to continue his unfinished work.
He looked toward the cold components laid out on the alloy workbench.
Putting on protective goggles, he began the next step with practiced precision.
…
Morning sunlight pierced the bamboo and scattered gold across the fallen leaves.
Clarisse's lashes fluttered; she opened her eyes slowly.
She sat up, looking around in confusion—until her gaze stopped on the handsome profile by the window, watching the distance.
The dawn painted him in amber.
For a moment, Clarisse forgot to breathe.
-------
My : pat*eon*com/RuneA
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