Ye Zhibai took the osmanthus cakes out of the bag one by one, placing them carefully on the stone steps in front of the tombstone as if they were priceless treasures.
The steps were covered with a clean mat meant specifically for offerings to the departed.
Was it… that with Sister Liang by her side, her mind leaned toward dependency?
Or perhaps she was simply reminiscing about those slightly immature days back at the orphanage?
At this moment, even Ye Zhibai’s simple act of arranging the osmanthus cakes carried a childlike whimsy.
She shaped them into a “leaf.”
One at the outer edge, then denser toward the center.
Finally, at the tip of the “leaf,” she added a long strip like a stem.
And just like that, the leaf made of osmanthus cakes was complete!
Ye Zhibai clutched the empty bag in her hand and gazed down at her creation with deep satisfaction.
My surname is Ye, so a leaf it is.
Leaves return to their roots—and he’s buried here. The symbolism feels just right.
It was a shame the cakes could only sit there uneaten.
After all, they were offerings now. No eating those.
As Ye Zhibai quietly reflected on the past, her hands clasped together in farewell to the cremation urn now fully buried in the earth—
Chi Yuliang, her own hands clasped and head bowed, suddenly spoke up in a gentle tone, recalling some old memories.
“Miss Zhibai, you’re so clever with your hands. A leaf shape? Hmm… It reminds me of Xiao Bai when he was little. He loved arranging the stones he picked up at the orphanage gate into all sorts of shapes—little cats, little dogs… and with vines too. Dean Grandma praised him more than once for how beautifully he arranged those stones.”
“!”
Thud.
The sound of a heartbeat stalling.
Whose?
Ye Zhibai’s, of course.
The impassive Little Zhibai stiffly tilted her head to the side. Chi Yuliang still appeared deep in remembrance, eyes squeezed shut and hands clasped toward the tombstone.
But… Ye Zhibai could clearly see it.
Chi Yuliang’s left eye was slightly squinted.
She was watching Ye Zhibai’s reaction.
The instant their eyes met, Chi Yuliang dropped all pretense and opened both eyes fully.
She said nothing.
—She was waiting for the tomb garden staff to leave.
Once the workers had retreated dozens of meters away, shovels and tools in hand—
Chi Yuliang slowly let her arms drop to her sides. She stared at the birth and death dates carved on Ye Zhibai’s tombstone and, quite abruptly, began murmuring to herself.
Not that it was truly abrupt.
At this distance, screened by layer upon layer of tombstones—
Ye Zhiyun could no longer see them.
This was the chance Chi Yuliang had been desperately seeking these past days… a moment alone with Ye Zhibai.
And now it had arrived.
“Miss Zhibai, the truth is, when I heard Xiao Bai had died in that car accident, I was utterly despairing. The world felt so cruel… Such a kind, resilient boy—why did something like that have to happen to him? I couldn’t believe it. I was still on the road back from the Capital, not home yet, and the whole way, I stared at Xiao Bai’s QQ. I kept hoping… hoping he’d message back, tell me it was all a joke, a misunderstanding. But he never did.”
Of course he didn’t. He was hit so hard the phone shattered into pieces.
Wait—
Staring at it… the whole way?!
An extremely bad feeling suddenly gripped Ye Zhibai!
A glint of hope flashed in Chi Yuliang’s eyes, and her next words confirmed that dread.
“Xiao Bai never replied, but… I was shocked to see his QQ stayed online right up until dark. I asked some computer science majors at university—they said a phone’s QQ lingers online for a bit after shutdown, but a full day? Impossible. Miss Zhibai, what do you think? Could that happen?”
“Maybe… maybe his computer was on? Maybe the computer wasn’t broken?”
“No, Xiao Bai didn’t have a computer. And even if he did, it showed as phone online.”
Damn modern technology, spelling out every last detail like that!
And damn my poverty—I couldn’t even afford a computer!
From that pointed question onward, Ye Zhibai knew.
She had been suspected.
But Chi Yuliang’s story didn’t end there. She hadn’t let up on her preparations these past days, not for one “absurd” sliver of hope.
“I went to Xiao Bai’s apartment mostly to search for a fountain pen. It was my birthday gift to him. But no luck—I turned the whole place upside down, even checked every corner of the outer hallways, and still nothing.”
“I figured maybe a scrap collector took it. I asked around; only two operate near the apartment—Aunt Liu Dayi and Old Man Zhang. I tracked them both down. And the result… Miss Zhibai, care to guess?”
Sister Liang… go on. I’ll take my judgment.
Chi Yuliang pressed on.
She couldn’t stop. Not on this.
“Aunt Liu Dayi did swing by for scraps, but she didn’t take any. Old Man Zhang collected at the door too—but someone sold them to him outright. Both of them mentioned two girls who didn’t look like they belonged in that apartment at all. Dressed sharp and pretty, sorting through the trash. Hmm… pretty girls tidying scraps at Xiao Bai’s door? How likely is that?”
“The only ones I could think of were those two girls I met at the crematorium—the day before I brought the cremation urn to the apartment.”
Chi Yuliang’s gaze sharpened.
“Miss Zhibai, your little habits match Xiao Bai’s in this uncanny way. When he got nervous, he’d glance aimlessly left and right. Your expression stays calm, no sign of nerves—but the movements are identical. That’s your state right now.”
Stop it, neck!!
Ye Zhibai snapped out of her left-right scanning and wanted to slap herself silly!
There were countless more details—dreamlike to Chi Yuliang these past days, yet brimming with hope.
But she had no desire to list them all.
If she was wrong, a awkward laugh would do.
But if there was even a billionth chance she was right… Chi Yuliang would endure a thousand embarrassments.
This time, she turned fully to face Ye Zhibai.
Eye to eye, she was still the Sister Liang of old.
Only now, her smile held a desolate helplessness.
“Soul transfer? Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous—impossible to wrap my head around. But Miss Zhibai… I looked into it. You woke up in the hospital the very day Xiao Bai died. All these coincidences piling up on you… and you, personally seeing him off at the crematorium. Can you tell me it’s all just chance?”
Her voice rose, agitated.
Here, she seized Ye Zhibai’s arms in a tight grip.
“Even if it is coincidence! Miss Zhibai, if that’s all it is, just say it plain! Tell me I’m imagining things! Tell me Xiao Bai’s really gone! Please! I beg you—will you?”
Ye Zhibai sifted through memories from two lifetimes.
This was the first time she’d heard Sister Liang’s voice crack like this—nearly unhinged with sobs.
So her brighter mood these past two days… it had all been an act of strength.
She’d never accepted Xiao Bai’s death.
She’d always clung to some faint hope, just to breathe.
She had never… let go of that irreplaceable feeling in her heart.
The despair in Chi Yuliang’s words rang clear now.
Amid her choked sobs, Ye Zhibai’s own body trembled.
But soon enough, she steadied herself.
She took both of Chi Yuliang’s hands in hers and drew them gently forward, to her chest.
Into that despair—
Ye Zhibai lifted her head at last.
Beneath the silver hair, pale purple eyes shimmered.
And on that frosty little face bloomed a smile warm as an April breeze.
“Sister Liang… you’ve been through so much. I… I missed you too, so much…”
The depth of it moved her soul.
Beyond words.
The words sounded in Chi Yuliang’s ear.
And echoed in that distant orphanage—
The pure haven in Sister Liang’s heart, unforgettable forever.
Lingering, refusing to fade.
She had held back before, fearing the past would burden her, trapping her in endless pain.
Now they met again: fleeting years lamented, times shifted—but old friends endured.
