Five months had passed since they left Millbrook, and autumn was beginning to paint the forest's leaves with beautiful yet melancholic shades of gold and red. The morning air was cooler, carrying the scent of wet soil and falling leaves—a scent that was usually calming, but today felt like a premonition of something inevitable.
Li Yuan woke not to the light of dawn or the usual sounds of life starting the day, but to a silence that was too profound. A silence that felt wrong, like a missing note from a familiar symphony.
Granny Meredith, his heart knew immediately before his eyes sought the corner of the shelter where the old woman usually slept.
He approached with slow, careful steps, not wanting to wake the others if his suspicion was wrong. But as he knelt beside the simple bed made of leaves and a thin blanket, he knew that his suspicion was right.
Granny Meredith lay with a peaceful face, her eyes closed as if she were only in a deep sleep. Her hands were folded over her chest, in the same position as every night for the past few months. But there was no breath lifting her chest. No warmth emanating from her already cold skin.
Li Yuan closed his eyes and felt a complex wave of emotions sweep over him. Grief—of course there was deep sorrow for the loss of a woman who had become a grandmother to the entire community. But there was also something else: anger at himself.
I could have saved her, the whisper echoed in his mind. With my abilities, I could have extended her life. I could have given strength to her old body, healed her weary organs, even reversed the aging process itself.
Within his Zhenjing, the sealed-off Understandings trembled with an intensity that was almost pleading to be released. The knowledge of life and death, of vital energy and how to manipulate it, of the thin border between the world of the living and the departed.
But for what? another voice within him asked with bitter wisdom. To give her a few more months? A few more years? And then what? She would witness everyone she loves die one by one while she herself is trapped in a body that is never truly hers?
Old Pete woke up with a small cough, his eyes immediately searching for his companion. When he saw Li Yuan kneeling beside Granny Meredith, his expression changed from sleepy to understanding, then to profound sadness.
"She's gone?" he whispered, his voice trembling.
Li Yuan nodded slowly. "In her sleep. Peacefully."
Old Pete tried to get up, his own frail body shaking with effort and emotion. Li Yuan helped the old man move closer to where his friend lay.
"Meredith," Old Pete whispered, touching the cold hand with the gentleness of someone who had spent decades as a friend. "You always said you'd go first. It turns out you kept your promise."
Tears streamed down the old man's cheeks, and Li Yuan felt his heart ache at the sight of such sincere and deep sorrow.
Slowly, the others began to wake up and realize what had happened. Anna got up with eyes that immediately teared up, her hands covering her mouth to muffle a sob. Lila ran into her mother's arms, not fully understanding what was happening but feeling the sadness that filled the air like a thick fog.
Thomas Aldrich, Marcus, Sarah Miller—one by one they approached to pay their last respects to the woman who had been a source of wisdom and warmth for all of them.
"She told me last night," Sarah whispered through her tears, "about the flower garden she wanted to plant when we found a new home. About the grandchildren she wanted to teach how to bake gingerbread cookies."
Dreams that will never come true, Li Yuan thought with bitterness. Because I chose to let nature take its course.
Ben Carter, who was now a strong and responsible teenager, asked with a shaky voice: "Uncle Yuan, what are we going to do? I mean... how do we..."
"We will give her a proper burial," Li Yuan replied in a voice that he tried to make sound strong. "And then we will continue our journey, carrying her memory with us."
They spent the morning preparing Granny Meredith for burial. The women washed her body with warm water and soap made from ash and fat, dressing her in the best clothes she had left. The men dug a grave under a beautiful large oak tree, its strong roots like a promise that this place would protect and nurture her remains.
Li Yuan watched all this activity with a broken heart. Every move they made, every tear they shed, every gentle word they spoke—all were a testament to a valuable life, a life he might have been able to save if he had been willing to use his power.
But is saving someone from natural death the right thing to do? he wrestled with the question that had haunted him for thousands of years. Is extending someone's life without their consent, just because we can't bear to let them go, an act of love or a selfish act?
The funeral was held in the afternoon, when the sunlight filtered through the colorful leaves, creating a kaleidoscope of light over the simple grave. There was no pastor or priest, only Old Pete speaking in a trembling voice about his departed friend.
"Meredith was a woman who taught us that a home isn't about a place," he said, echoing words Li Yuan often spoke. "A home is about the people who make us feel loved. And she made every one of us feel loved."
One by one, they placed wildflowers on the grave—the same flowers that Granny Meredith often picked to brighten their shelter. The children cried without shame, the adults tried to be strong but tears still flowed, and Li Yuan stood behind with a feeling that was a tumultuous mix of sadness and guilt.
When the ceremony was over and the others began to return to the shelter, Old Pete remained by the grave. Li Yuan approached and stood beside him in silence.
"Sixty years," Old Pete finally said. "We were friends for sixty years. From childhood until... until now."
"She lived well," Li Yuan said softly. "She was loved and she loved. She gave kindness to the world and received kindness in return. Not many people can say that."
Old Pete turned to look at Li Yuan with eyes full of curiosity and something deeper.
"Yuan," he said in a quiet voice, "may I ask you something that might be impolite?"
Li Yuan felt a tension in his chest. "Of course."
"I have seen you look at us with eyes that are... that are too old for your face. Like someone who has seen too much death, too much loss. And last night, when Meredith started to weaken, I saw something in your eyes. As if you were struggling with yourself about something."
Li Yuan felt his heart beat faster. He knows. Somehow, this old man knows that I'm hiding something.
"Was there something you could have done to save her?" Old Pete asked directly. "Something you didn't do because... for some reason?"
Silence descended between them like a thick blanket. Li Yuan felt the pressure of the secret he had kept for months, the burden of the power he possessed but could not use without complex consequences.
"Pete," Li Yuan finally said in a voice filled with profound weariness, "there are things in this world that are more complex than they appear on the surface. Sometimes, not doing something is the harder choice than doing something."
Old Pete nodded slowly, as if the answer confirmed something he had already suspected.
"And sometimes," Pete said with the wisdom of one who had lived long, "the most loving thing we can do for someone is to let them go when their time comes, even though our hearts want to hold on to them."
Li Yuan looked at the old man with tearful eyes. He understands. Somehow, without knowing the complete truth, he understands the dilemma I face.
"Thank you, Pete," Li Yuan whispered.
"For what?"
"For reminding me that true love sometimes means letting go, not holding on."
They stood in silence beside the grave until the stars began to appear in the night sky. And in that silence, Li Yuan felt a small sense of peace about his decision—a decision to respect the natural cycle of life and death, even if it meant bearing the burden of loss.
Granny Meredith lived as a human, he mused, looking at the simple yet loving grave. And she died as a human. There is beauty in that, a beauty that would be lost if I intervened with a power that surpasses the understanding of this world.
I hope I am strong enough to remember this lesson when the next loss comes.
Because in his heart, he knew that this was only the first loss. The journey was still long, and not all of the seventy souls who started this journey would see its end.
But they will live and die as humans. And perhaps... perhaps that is the greatest gift I can give them.