Chapter Forty-Four: A Farewell and a Journey of Growth

From that day onward, Yi Yi changed.

It was a cruel form of “foresight.”

One weekend afternoon, as usual, they met at the library where they had often seen each other ten years ago.

The sunlight outside was perfect, spilling across the pages and gilding them with gold.

“Lin Mo.”

“Mm?” He looked up, a little puzzled.

Yi Yi gazed into his eyes—those clear, hopeful eyes brimming with dreams of the future. Summoning the greatest courage she’d ever known, she spoke softly, “I might… have to leave here with my father.”

The smile on Lin Mo’s face froze instantly.

“Leave? Where? Why?” A barrage of questions revealed his shock and confusion.

“My father said it’s time for us to go somewhere else.” Yi Yi lowered her gaze, offering no further explanation. “I… came to say goodbye. I... have to... leave...”

“But… what about us...?” Lin Mo’s grief was so deep he could barely speak.

“I’m sorry.” Yi Yi could only utter those three words.

She could not explain the secret of her ageless, immortal existence; could not tell him that their time together had been misaligned from the very start.

She knew it was better to end the pain quickly than to let it linger for a hundred years, better to let him grieve now than to have him fall in love with a “monster” who would never age, better than letting his life be shrouded in an inexplicable mystery. Most importantly, after more than two thousand years, she still didn’t know whether she could leave descendants for Lin Mo. She didn’t dare ask her father, nor attempt it herself. She could only choose this most direct and “merciless” way to sever the budding feelings between them.

This, too, was a form of “compassion” she had learned from her father.

The library was so quiet they could hear each other’s heartbeats.

Finally, Lin Mo, eyes red, nodded, his voice hoarse: “Alright, I understand. I wish you… a safe journey.”

His pride would not let him ask further or plead with her to stay.

That day, they spoke no more.

On her way home, Yi Yi’s tears finally fell. She did not sob aloud, just quietly wept. This was not the pain of heartbreak, but the price of growing up—a sacrifice she must make for her unique existence.

When she returned home, she threw herself into my arms.

“Father, I think… I’m starting to understand you,” she choked.

I gently patted her back, saying nothing.

“Father, let’s go.” She lifted her head, eyes swollen with tears, but her gaze was resolute. “Let’s go to a place where no one knows us, and continue our journey. I don’t want to watch the people around me slowly grow old anymore.”

I looked at her, knowing that after this pure yet cruel first love, my daughter had truly grown up.

She was no longer passively accepting her fate, but actively making choices for her own destiny.

“Alright,” I nodded. “Once I finish up a few things, we’ll set off.”

After that conversation in the library, the summer in Andu Town seemed tinged with the sorrow of parting.

Lin Mo never sought out Yi Yi again. The once-perfect happiness was like shattered porcelain—no matter how carefully tended, it could never return to its original state.

It was no one’s fault, only the fault of time.

I began preparations for our departure.

I no longer took on patients needing long-term care, only treating those with urgent, passing ailments. I started distributing the herbs from my medicine cabinet in batches to the lonely elderly and familiar neighbors in town.

“Granny Wang, keep these astragalus and angelica. Put some in your soup, it’ll nourish your blood.”

“Uncle Li, here are some medicinal bath packs for blood circulation. Soak your feet on rainy days, it’ll help your old cold legs.”

The neighbors sensed something was happening.

“Doctor Jiang, are you… going on a long trip?” Granny Wang across the street looked worriedly at my increasingly empty medicine cabinet.

I smiled gently, “Yes, I’m taking Yi Yi out to see the world. Reading ten thousand books is not as good as traveling ten thousand miles.”

I didn’t mention when we’d return, nor did they ask further. The people of Andu Town possessed the gentle tact of the water towns; they expressed their reluctance in the simplest ways. Today, someone sent a basket of homegrown vegetables; tomorrow, another brought a freshly caught fish.

With their sincere kindness, they put a warm period to our six years of “residence” here.

Early in the morning, just after dawn, I took Yi Yi and quietly took down the “Anhe Hall” plaque. Stroking its smooth wood grain, I recalled how it had witnessed our most peaceful years.

I placed it in a storage artifact, and the clinic’s door was closed forever.

We left as silently as we came. We did not wish to disturb the tranquility of this small town, only to leave behind the best memories.

The evening before we left.

I said to Yi Yi, who was packing her bags, “Go on, say a proper goodbye to him.”

Yi Yi paused, looking up, eyes reddened.

I patted her head, “Running away won’t solve anything. Right or wrong, joy or sorrow, everything needs a proper ending. It’s not just closure for him, but for yourself as well. Go, your father will be here waiting for you.”

Yi Yi nodded firmly and ran out.

At the stone bridge at the edge of town, where they had walked countless times, Lin Mo was sitting alone on the railing, gazing at the setting sun, his figure solitary.

Hearing footsteps, he turned, saw it was Yi Yi, and surprise flickered in his eyes before fading.

“I… will leave tomorrow,” Yi Yi said softly as she approached him.

“Mm,” Lin Mo replied, his voice hoarse.

They fell into a long silence, broken only by the sound of water beneath the bridge and distant barking.

“Why?” Lin Mo finally spoke. He wasn’t demanding, just wanted to understand. “Did I… do something wrong?”

Yi Yi shook her head, tears shimmering in her eyes. Looking at this man who had once stirred her heart, she decided to explain their fated parting in a way he could understand.

“Lin Mo, do you remember you told me your dream was to become an architect, to design houses that would last a hundred years? To marry, have children, travel the world?”

Lin Mo nodded.

“I think that’s wonderful,” Yi Yi said sincerely. “But I don’t have those dreams. I’m like a duckweed in water, a dandelion in the wind—destined to drift. Wherever my father is, that’s where my home is. I can’t make you any promises, nor can I accompany you to fulfill your dreams.”

She lifted her head, meeting his gaze, and spoke each word clearly: “You’re wonderful, truly wonderful. It’s me who’s not. So forget me, become that remarkable architect, find the one who loves you most. I...”

Lin Mo looked at her quietly, at her clear eyes tinged with a sadness he couldn’t quite understand. Perhaps he did not fully grasp her meaning, but he felt her resolve and sincerity.

He knew nothing could be salvaged.

He never did manage to say, “Write to me.”

“Thank you, Lin Mo. Farewell.”

“Farewell, Jiang Yi Yi.”

She turned away without looking back, walking step by step toward home. Her tears finally broke free.

Her love, her first romance, had ended.