The back side of the mountain.
A wide mountain path led straight to the summit, plum trees lining both sides of the trail.
Flat stones embedded in the earth made for a nice pathway.
Rrakavasha used no technological tools, personally tending to this plum grove.
Fertilizing, pruning, pest control... he handled everything himself.
This mountainside was often blanketed by heavy snow in winter, and most birds had already migrated south, leaving only profound silence.
Only the faint sounds of his labor added a touch of life to the tranquil mountain.
Time slipped away quietly. As Rrakavasha closed in on the summit, the weather suddenly changed.
The late autumn sun was swallowed by thick gray clouds as muffled thunder started to rumble.
During this typically arid season, thunderstorms were uncommon.
Rrakavasha looked up at the sky but didn't stop his work.
Before long, a misty drizzle arrived.
The light curtain of rain moistened the dry air, gradually intensifying into a patter that soaked through his clothing.
Raindrops splashed against the stone steps in fine sprays, creating sporadic tapping sounds.
Autumn wind carried rain across the plum branches, helping withered leaves return to dust while quietly gathering strength for the new life that would come after enduring the bitter cold.
"Mr. Rrakavasha."
Clarice's voice pierced through the noise of the drizzling rain.
Rrakavasha turned to see Clarice holding an oil-paper umbrella, hurrying up the mountain with quick steps.
The autumn wind urged the rain to slant sideways, a single oil-paper umbrella couldn't provide complete protection.
The young woman hadn't noticed her dress hem getting soaked by raindrops. She ran straight to Rrakavasha's side and stretched her arm to hold the umbrella over his head.
"Why did you run out without a coat?"
"Huff... you'll... you'll get drenched." Clarice's delicate face bore a rosy flush, her breathing somewhat labored.
The sight made Rrakavasha's heart fill with warmth.
"Silly girl, curing a cold is far more difficult than drying wet clothes. You don't need to hold the umbrella for me, go back quickly."
"No!"
Clarice shook her head stubbornly.
Finally, she could do something within her ability for him.
"You only know how to care for others. Even doctors need to care for themselves. At least..."
"Save some of the tenderness you show the world for yourself."
Rrakavasha froze, the corners of his eyes crinkling into a gentle arc as he nodded lightly.
"Then I'll trouble you, little Clarice."
"I'm already eighteen, an adult."
Whether on her home planet or this one, eighteen was the legal age for marriage in any world...
"Hehe..."
Hearing the young woman's weak protest, Rrakavasha couldn't help but chuckle softly.
Youth was wonderful.
Thinking back to when he was eighteen... hmm?
The memory suddenly hit a snag, he couldn't recall anything worth remembering from that year.
Perhaps there was nothing.
Or perhaps after more than a hundred years, he'd grown old and could no longer remember.
Two figures walked beneath a single umbrella, passing plum tree after plum tree before finally weaving through the grove at the summit.
The rain remained dense, enveloping them in a hazy watercolor world.
Clarice quietly tilted the umbrella more toward Rrakavasha's side, completely unaware as her left shoulder grew damp.
"Wait a moment, this plum tree's branches need trimming."
Rrakavasha stopped, efficiently cutting away excess branches.
Clarice quickly raised the umbrella higher. In their movements, Rrakavasha's sleeve brushed past her bangs, bringing a faint, pleasant fragrance.
Mr. Rrakavasha carried a scent like medicinal herbs yet also like unknown flowers, very pleasant.
The young woman suddenly wished time could stretch a little longer.
The rain intensified, and one oil-paper umbrella became thoroughly inadequate. The two had to take shelter beneath an old plum tree.
Unfortunately, the plum tree's sparse foliage couldn't interweave into a natural rain canopy.
Raindrops leaked through gaps in the branches, blooming into fine droplets on the oil-paper umbrella.
"Are you cold?" Rrakavasha took the umbrella, asking with concern.
"Not cold."
Though she said this, Clarice unconsciously moved a bit closer to him.
Wind carrying Mr. Rrakavasha's scent washed over her. Her heartbeat quietly accelerated as she used her pale purple hair to hide her burning ear tips.
They'd probably turned crimson...
Rainwater gathered in small puddles at their feet, reflecting their side-by-side silhouettes.
She secretly shuffled another half-step closer, inadvertently touching Rrakavasha's arm.
"Don't force yourself."
After a moment's hesitation, Rrakavasha stood behind the young woman, using his height advantage to shield her from the cool wind blowing from behind.
Right now, heaven knew how much Clarice wanted to lean into his embrace.
"In two more months, when the harsh winter Mr. Rrakavasha loves arrives and these plum trees bloom, I'll come help you pick the flowers."
She blurted this out, then worried the implication was too obvious and hastily added:
"And also... gather some plum blossoms for myself. I want to make fragrance sachets with them for you, Mother, and myself..."
"That's thoughtful of you."
Rrakavasha didn't refuse the young woman's kind intention.
Clarice recalled a romantic saying:
If you share an umbrella with someone dear in the rain, the water droplets falling from its edge will become memory seeds, blooming and bearing fruit in the years to come.
But the divination results...
Just as she was lost in these chaotic thoughts, she suddenly heard unexpected words.
"Actually... I don't love harsh winter."
"Eh? Why not?"
"In childhood, the hazy memories winter left me contained only famine, warfare, rotting corpses, and the fear and nightmares of looming death..."
"Then is it because you love plum blossoms so much that you go to such lengths?"
"How much I like them, I'm not sure. But I remember my teacher loved plum blossoms very much, and loved drinking plum blossom wine even more, tasting pastries infused with plum blossom fragrance."
"..."
So it was because of that teacher...
Her understanding of how much weight Mr. Rrakavasha's teacher held in his heart deepened considerably.
A trace of envy stirred within her, and she didn't continue the topic.
The atmosphere fell silent.
As the rain eased slightly, the two continued through the grove, arriving before the final few plum trees.
Rrakavasha reached up to lift the low-hanging branches, making it easier for her to pass.
"Watch your step."
He reminded her gently, completely unaware of where the young woman's gaze lingered.
Holding an umbrella, lifting branches to let someone through... Rrakavasha's movements were utterly natural, as if he'd repeated them many times before.
Clarice suddenly wanted to ask, in the past, had anyone ever held an umbrella for him?
This thought made her throat tighten. She didn't need to think hard about the answer.
Most likely not.
Though Rrakavasha appeared youthful, she still remembered that when she first learned of his existence, the source had been over twenty years old.
He'd already settled here by then.
At the most conservative estimate, Mr. Rrakavasha was over forty years old.
How many years of holding umbrellas for someone would it take to develop such natural, practiced unconscious movements?
Probably... it was still that mysterious teacher whose name he'd never mentioned.
He... no, it should be she, just who was this sacred figure?
From scattered information, Clarice judged that the teacher was most likely female.