Chapter 147: Life is too long, and epitaph is too short

When Perletti sat up from the bed, it was already noon on the third day.

She felt as though she had slept for a very long time. Her body was heavy, yet strangely, she didn’t feel hungry at all.

Feiye wasn’t by her side—she was in the next room, undergoing treatment.

The effect of the blood mark was even stronger than Perletti had imagined.

According to Feiye, she had sensed from the blood mark that Perletti was about to die, and forcibly awakened from unconsciousness because of it.

Expanding her domain while her body hadn’t recovered would only worsen her condition.

Perletti pushed the door open alone. She condensed flowing light into steps beneath her feet and walked down the cliff one step at a time.

The damp scent of earth wrapped around her, carrying that faint metallic freshness unique to after the rain.

She walked slowly along the cliffside, deliberately avoiding the distant sounds of children playing.

The tree from her memories lay ahead.

But this place was not quiet.

A few vultures circled in the sky, casting cold, watchful shadows. Among the branches, two squirrels peeked at her briefly before scurrying back into their hollow.

Beneath the tree, a black-haired girl already stood silently, holding a slightly disheveled bouquet of wildflowers.

“You seemed to know I would come,” Perletti said as she approached, her voice a little dry.

Only then did Vinika shift her gaze away from the two crude stone markers at the base of the tree and look at Perletti.

“I didn’t,” she replied softly, almost like a murmur to herself.
“I just… stayed here the whole time.”

These past few days, it felt as if something damp and heavy had been lodged inside Vinika’s chest.

She was originally a divine recipient of the God of Wrath. The mark of Gluttony had only been granted later by Lierna, after Ino rescued her from the ruins.

Wrath… was the original imprint and destination of her soul.

As for “Ten Thousand Fragrances,” she felt a strange, complicated curiosity toward that unseen Ilia.

She wanted to know what kind of person she had been. What kind of life she had lived.

She had once vaguely hoped… that perhaps they could understand each other like reflections in a mirror.

That she might not feel so alone.

“Why did she die?”

Vinika’s voice sounded.

It wasn’t an accusation—more like a low whisper wrapped in an unnamed anger.

That anger wasn’t directed at Perletti.

It was aimed at this absurd and cruel world.

Even knowing she wasn’t being blamed, Perletti still felt a faint sting in her chest.

She lowered her head, her voice so light it almost dissolved into the wind.

“Because… I wasn’t strong enough.”

She walked to the two stone markers.

Calling them gravestones was generous—they were just two relatively flat stones Ino had found. Not a single word was carved on them.

Of course.

Elisha and Bruce had no remaining family. The only one who truly knew they existed—who remembered what they looked like—might be herself.

If a gravestone were to be written…

Who else but her could write it?

But what should she write?

Their lives had been so long—long enough to leave indelible marks in another’s heart.

Yet also so short—only a handful of years in this world.

Perletti stared at the small stones, her fingers trembling slightly.

Even if she only chose a single day from their lives, these stones wouldn’t be enough to hold it.

Let alone everything.

The stone was too small.

Too small to contain proof that a soul had ever lived.

Life… could be crushed and forgotten so easily.

“Don’t know what to write?” Vinika asked, noticing her prolonged silence.

“…Yeah.” Perletti’s voice drifted.
“There’s too much I want to write… so much that I don’t know how to fit it into something this small.”

In truth, the stone wasn’t small at all—it was about half Vinika’s height. Ino had specifically found it.

Vinika walked over and sat down beside her, leaning against the thick roots of the tree.

“Then… can you tell me her story? I want to know.”

“…Alright.”

The two leaned against the ancient tree.

One began to speak—her voice rough at first, gradually flowing like water.

The other listened quietly, her gaze sometimes resting on the gravestones, sometimes drifting into the distance.

Slowly, they forgot each other’s presence.

One sank into the flood of memories.

The other drowned in the loneliness of resonance.

Until—

A rush of hurried footsteps approached from afar, breaking the near-frozen stillness.

“Big sister!”

Like a startled little beast finally finding its refuge, Feiye threw herself into Perletti’s arms. Ino followed close behind, stopping to catch her breath.

“Feiye?” Perletti held her.
“You look surprised—you should still be receiving treatment.”

“…Big sister suddenly left… Feiye was scared.”
The girl buried her face in her shoulder, her voice muffled.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Ino said, meeting Perletti’s questioning gaze with a shrug.
“She insisted on seeing you immediately. I couldn’t stop her.”

She stepped forward, her eyes sweeping over the blank gravestones.

“By the way, you’ve been cooped up for three days… still haven’t figured out what to write?”

Perletti slowly shook her head, her fingers unconsciously brushing over the cold stone surface.

“There’s too much I want to write… I don’t know which sentence to choose.”

Ino sat down beside her, tilting her head back to look at the sky fragmented by leaves.

“You’re overthinking it.”

“A gravestone inscription is just the final verdict on a person’s life.”

“It lets those who come later know what kind of person lies here.”

As she spoke, she took something out from her clothes and gently placed it into Perletti’s open palm.

It was an old harmonica.

There were a few faint scratches on its metal surface, but it had been carefully cleaned.

“I found it on Elisha,” Ino said.
“I think it suits you best.”

What kind of person…

Perletti tightened her grip on the harmonica, the coldness seeping straight into her heart.

In her mind—

Bruce wagging happily after being praised.

Elisha’s burning anger and sorrow when she spoke of her father.

The images overlapped.

She suddenly recalled a line she had once read in a yellowed travel journal:

Not all dogs are named Bruce, but every Bruce is a symbol of loyalty.

The tangled knot in her chest seemed to find a single thread, illuminated by a faint light.

She slowly crouched before the gravestones and extended her index finger.

A steady, gentle golden glow gathered at her fingertip—like condensed morning dew.

She leaned forward and, stroke by stroke, carved into the first stone:

【Well done, Bruce.】

The writing was neat, carrying unmistakable warmth and affirmation.

Then she turned to the second stone. Light gathered again at her fingertip.

This time, she carved slowly—each stroke heavy with meaning.

【She did not disappear. She merely tasted the bitterness of the human world… and became a rare and splendid gem.】

With the final stroke, the glow faded.

Only the wind rustling through leaves and distant birdsong remained in the forest.

Perletti stood there for a long time, quietly looking at the gravestones.

At last, she pushed herself up, rising with some effort.

She turned to Vinika and Ino.

Her gaze was no longer the same as when she arrived—the dense confusion had been replaced by a clear, unwavering resolve.

“I should go,” she said.
“There are things… that I need to do.”

“Want me to see you off?” Ino asked.

“No.”

Perletti shook her head gently. She carefully tucked the harmonica into her clothes, close to her heart.

“This is a path… that I—and only I—can walk to the end.”