The next day, the sky remained clear, crystalline, and cold.
Two figures arrived at the plum forest from different directions, only moments apart.
Before either could greet the other, their gazes froze simultaneously on the familiar figure beside Rrakavasha's grave.
She sat quietly in the snow, leaning against the tombstone with her eyes half-closed.
"A-Ruan?"
"It's her..."
Yu Qingtu and Black Swan both showed unmistakable surprise that quickly transformed into something far more complex, layers of emotion they'd both been carrying for centuries. Within that complexity was a trace of relief at finally seeing the one who should have appeared, though they simply hadn't expected the wait would last hundreds of years.
They approached slowly, their footsteps silent in the snow.
A thin layer of pale frost clung to Ruan Mei's long lashes and the strands of hair falling beside her face, clear evidence she'd remained here for at least an entire night without moving. There had been no snowfall overnight; otherwise, she would have been buried beneath thick layers by now.
At this moment, she didn't move at all. Her eyes were dull and lifeless, her breathing so faint it was nearly imperceptible. If they couldn't still sense the presence of life within her, Yu Qingtu and Black Swan might have believed she'd followed Rrakavasha in death.
She radiated a feeling of loneliness, separating her from the rest of the world like an invisible barrier.
She seemed neither to see nor hear their arrival, lost somewhere else entirely.
"How much do you know about the rest of Rrakavasha's life?" Yu Qingtu stepped forward and asked abruptly.
She was certain Ruan Mei would understand what she meant, and indeed she did.
The instant she heard that name, it was as if a switch inside Ruan Mei had been flipped. The frost on her lashes trembled slightly; her deadened gaze moved stiffly and settled on Yu Qingtu.
"He stripped away his own memories..." Ruan Mei's voice was hoarse, barely more than a breath.
Yu Qingtu exchanged a glance with Black Swan, a silent conversation passing between them.
Without wasting words, Black Swan produced a memory bubble she'd prepared hundreds of years ago and tossed it toward Ruan Mei. "Everything Mr. Rrakavasha experienced in his final days is inside."
The reason she handed it over so readily wasn't without selfish intent; above all, she'd wanted to witness Ruan Mei's regret firsthand, to see the teacher break the same way her student had been broken. But she'd already seen it. The phrase 'if only I had known earlier' lingered on her lips, yet she didn't say it aloud.
Looking at Ruan Mei now, Black Swan felt no satisfaction, only a faint sadness that surprised her. Perhaps because she knew that Mr. Rrakavasha had never once hated his teacher, his gentleness remained unchanged even at the end of his life. That was simply who he was.
Ruan Mei lifted her hand, catching the drifting memory bubble and pressing it to her forehead without hesitation.
Scenes flooded into her mind. Familiar voices echoed, bringing a trace of warmth to her frozen heart.
She saw Rrakavasha telling a young girl a short story about a couple about to part forever. She understood his interpretation of the story at last and finally realized why he chose to leave her alone rather than cling to life.
It was she, she herself, who had crushed Rrakavasha's remaining attachment to the mortal world and pushed him into the shadow of Nihility.
Fate's cruelty was such that the very day happened to be when Yu Qingtu had come to visit her, when she had said: I did nothing wrong. Why would I regret anything?
Looking back now, every word was like a blade piercing her own heart, yet none could be taken back. Just like the words she'd once hurled at Rrakavasha, words that had sounded final as well.
Every cause and consequence had been created by her own hand, and now the heart-scorching pain could only be borne by herself, a private agony. Yet this pain was still not even a fraction of what she'd inflicted upon Rrakavasha.
She saw Rrakavasha tell Clarice that he'd never resented the unfairness of fate. She heard him say that meeting his teacher and being redeemed was the compensation fate had granted him, that it was enough.
But had Rrakavasha truly lived the life he wanted?
She didn't know. She'd never asked.
Ruan Mei fell into confusion, drowning in questions with no answers.
Vash's life had always been pushed forward by others, directed, controlled, and shaped. That one moment of initiative, his only one, had been met with a declaration of graduation and permanent farewell.
He forgot the deeply etched emotions of ages sixteen to eighteen, those formative years. Yet how could his feelings be erased from the depths of his consciousness, from the depths of the soul itself?
That was why he still composed that song where lyrics and melody became one, unconscious truth bleeding through.
Rrakavasha waited alone for her to turn back, to acknowledge what lay between them. Within those 111 years, she'd had countless chances to look back, but she didn't. He sealed away three years of unspoken devotion; she'd had 111 years to drive away his despair and sorrow, to honor his waiting, but she didn't.
He had long been broken beyond endurance, able only to numb himself with wine, entrusting his obsession to the moon and asking from afar whether she knew. And she knew nothing. She walked away alone and never once turned back to see what she'd left behind.
He lamented his deep love while she remained unaware, watching helplessly as everything turned to nothing. Through countless late autumns, he waited for her to look back. He never spoke directly; trapped in the abyss, and eventually stopped longing for the mortal world and chose a silent farewell.
The past became a curse. They became strangers, and no matter how many years passed, he never received even a single backward glance. Even drinking a thousand cups of burning wine could no longer help; the curio's effect was useless against Nihility.
"Through life and death I waited for you, across endless years I remained true.
Now that our hearts at last agree, will you stay beside me?"
Softly singing the lyrics Rrakavasha once sang, Ruan Mei's eyes filled with tears once more, an endless stream of sorrow.
How could she not know?
This was the vision Rrakavasha could never erase, even after losing his memories. He hoped for one backward glance, a lifetime together, a shared understanding of love, hands joined in commitment.
But he never received it, not even in death.
It was all her fault... all her fault!
Why, when she wasn't angry back then, did she still drive him away? Why, even when Vash begged so desperately, did she never soften her heart?
Ruan Mei gave a bitter smile; the answer was painfully obvious.
It was because she couldn't face her own betrayal of her parents, couldn't accept her own helplessness, and vainly tried to mend a broken past. That was all, simple selfishness dressed in noble purpose.
To mend the past, she lost the future forever, traded one impossible dream for another.
She deserved it. She truly did.
She watched Rrakavasha grow weaker day by day, watched him pick plum blossoms one last time to brew wine for her, fulfilling his duty until the end. She watched him recall the recipe for plum-pickled soybean cakes and make them one final time, leaving them for his future self to give. She watched him bid Clarice a silent farewell and part from Little Orange without visible regret.
He said he had no regrets, and thus no attachment to the mortal world.
That wasn't true; it was because he knew those regrets could never be mended.
Short-lived species and long-lived species were not the same. To the long-lived, a hundred years was but a moment, a blink. To the short-lived, it was an entire lifetime, everything they had.
Rrakavasha waited 111 years. He waited a lifetime. He would not wait again.
He chose his own day, arranged everything with meticulous care, and wished only to leave alone, unwilling for anyone to grieve because of his passing. Yet on the final stretch of his life, someone who deeply loved him was there to see him off.
That person was not her.
At last, Ruan Mei saw the final moment before Rrakavasha departed, the poem he'd recited.
"I grieve that joy and sorrow you could not see, I sigh that love stood divided on two shores. The northern wind rolls snow, blossoms scatter, and the past in chaos plucks the strings of my heart. Words beyond count cannot be spoken; only empty longing remains in memory. In the end, a lone plum endures the cold years... the youth of those days can never be found again..."
The memory bubble shattered into points of light. Ruan Mei reached out instinctively, trying to grasp them, but it was futile, disappearing like mist.
Her Vash had never hated her, not even for a moment.
Ruan Mei collapsed to her knees beside the tombstone, lowering her head and murmuring softly in a voice that was utterly broken:
"Why... were you so gentle to a teacher who hurt you like this..."
'Why couldn't you have hated me instead? It would have been so much easier to bear.'