He stood where he was, waiting for a long time.

Long enough for the wind to stop, long enough for a plane tree leaf to fall and land on his shoe.

His shoulders slowly slumped.

The light in his eyes dimmed bit by bit, like a candle burning to its end.

"I really am..." his voice was so hoarse it was barely audible, "really insane."

He turned and left.

His back was slightly hunched, the dark blue suit hanging loosely on his frame.

I drifted behind him, my tears passing through the air and landing in the footprints he left behind.

The next day, he didn't go to the funeral home.

He wore a dark grey coat and stepped out. I followed him, and I realized I recognized this road.

At the end of it was that mountain, and on the mountain was a temple.

We had been there before.

During the heat of our early romance, I had dragged him there to draw a fortune.

I said I heard the head monk here was very powerful and his fortunes were very accurate.

He didn't believe in these things and had been dragged there reluctantly at the time; now, it was him coming here alone.

The mountain path was still the same, the ginkgo leaves not yet turned yellow.

He walked very slowly, stopping to catch his breath every time he climbed a step.

I floated behind him, watching the veins bulge on the back of his hands; his knuckles were even more prominent than before.

When he reached the temple entrance, he didn't go in immediately.

He stood outside the threshold for a while. I watched him bow his head, pat the dust off his coat, adjust his collar, and straighten the red string and Buddhist beads on his left wrist.

He stepped over the threshold and walked to the main hall.

The person who used to believe the least in these things was now devoutly offering incense and bowing before the Buddha.

The Buddha statue lowered its brows and eyes, a merciful smile on its lips.

"She didn't enjoy much happiness while she was alive. Her parents left early, her grandmother passed away, and she carried everything by herself for so long. In the end, she got that illness, and she didn't even dare to tell anyone when she was in pain."

His voice began to tremble, but he was holding on.

"In the next life, let her be born into a good family. Let her not suffer so much, don't let her carry everything on her own, don't let her be so stubborn. Let her live peacefully and healthily, living until she is very, very old."

He lowered his head, looking at his own toes. Sunlight shone through the hall's windows, falling onto his dark blue suit and the faded red string on his wrist.

"Let her walk slowly, and wait for me." His voice shattered. "I owe her in this life; I will repay her in the next. Do not allow her to leave me alone again."

My tears crashed into the air.

I stood right beside him, less than a step away.

I wanted to tell him: You owe me nothing, you owe me nothing at all.

But he couldn't hear me.

The sunset slid off the roof of the main hall, and layers of ash from the incense built up on the offering table.

An old monk walked out from the side hall, wearing grey monk's robes, holding a string of Buddhist beads.

Caleb turned around and recognized him.

It was the same head monk from back then. He was much older than he had been years ago, but those eyes remained unchanged, as still as a deep pool, as if he could see through everything.

The monk looked at him, his gaze lingering on his face for a few seconds.

Then he looked down at the red string on his wrist and then at the ring on his ring finger.

Caleb opened his mouth, but before he could speak—

The monk took off the Buddhist beads in his hand and held them out.

Caleb was stunned.

He took the beads, looking down at the dark brown spheres, his knuckles turning white as he gripped them. His lips moved, wanting to ask something.

The monk watched him and spoke slowly.

"Your fate with her is not yet finished. When the time is right, you will see the person you wish to see."

Chapter 13

After returning from the temple, Caleb wore those Buddhist beads on his wrist and never took them off again.

Every day, he would go to the flower shop, sit in the chair behind the counter, and stare blankly at that pot of jasmine.

Bud after bud emerged, and he watched them without even blinking.

I floated across from him, wanting to reach out and touch his face.

My fingers passed through his cheeks, and I could grasp nothing.

I was already dead, so why could I still feel pain?

That feeling of being unable to grasp anything was more tormenting than the pain of terminal stomach cancer.

One evening, he leaned against the doorframe, looking across the street.

The sunset bathed him in a golden glow.

"Mina, I dreamed of you yesterday." His voice was very soft. "You were standing on the other side of a river, so far away. You told me to forget you and start a new life."

My heart gave a painful tug.

"I said no." His Adam's apple bobbed up and down.

The wind blew, and he narrowed his eyes, suddenly smiling a little, as if talking to himself: "Are you scolding me for being disobedient again?"

I couldn't help but smile, yet tears fell from my face, passing through the air and landing on the ground at his feet.

"You clearly know what I would say, so why are you still so disobedient?"

But he offered no further response.

That night, he slept in the flower shop’s loft again.

The loft was tiny, piled with the leftover floral foam I used to use.

Caleb curled up on the hard, cold floor, using his coat as a pillow, without even a blanket.

In the middle of the night, he suddenly sat up.

I thought he was awake, but his eyes were closed.

"Mina... don't go..."

He reached out and grasped at the air.

I crouched before him and offered my own hand.

His fingers passed through my palm; he caught nothing.

The next day, Caleb went to the funeral home as usual.

Old Zhou saw that his complexion was poor and suggested he take a day off, but he shook his head and said there was no need.

After work, he went to the flower shop again.

Pushing the door open, he froze.

The jasmine had bloomed—seven flowers in total.

The little white blossoms were nestled among the green leaves, their petals shining with a pale golden light in the sunset.

He had waited so long, and it had finally bloomed.

He crouched down and gently touched one of them with his finger.

His eyes reddened, and a teardrop splashed into the soil.

I finally saw a long-lost smile appear on his face; his voice was hoarse, but he couldn't control the curve of his lips.

"Mina, do you see? The jasmine has bloomed."

I floated beside him and crouched down, feeling a wave of emotion as well.

When I first kept this pot in the shop, I thought I might not live to see the day it bloomed.

I hadn't expected that after all the turns of life, I would see it after all.

But the moment my voice faded, the figure of Caleb beside me stiffened.

He turned his head slowly and stiffly, his gaze locking onto the direction where I stood.

He looked straight at me, my outline clearly reflected in his pupils.

In an instant, I felt as if I had been nailed to the spot.

He stared at me intensely, without a single blink, as if I would disappear the moment he closed his eyes.

A wave of bitterness welled up in my heart.

He slowly raised his right hand, reaching out in my direction like a drowning man reaching for a final piece of driftwood.

He opened his arms, wanting to touch my face.

The moment our skin touched, his scorching body heat radiated through my cold cheeks.

At the same time, a massive force seized me; it was as if someone had pulled the plug on my consciousness, and everything went black.

And then, the world turned upside down.

Chapter 14

When the alarm clock rang, I stared at the ceiling in a daze for a few seconds.

Even though I had slept for a long time, my mind still felt foggy, as if I had had a very long dream, yet I couldn't remember a single thing.

The phone screen lit up: April 13, 2024, 7:30 AM.