Geisteswissenschaftliche Fakultät

Kapitel 13

“But your consciousness…” Although Mr. Dusty dismissed the idea of removing the other’s head to examine it, he still became interested in the servant’s thoughts and consciousness.

“I’m sorry, that’s a trade secret. Well, we’ve arrived. Please come in, sir and madam.” The servant said, gently knocking on the door. He then pushed open the heavy door with a doorbell made of metal strips of varying lengths hanging on it, bowed, and left, leaving the Dusty couple looking at each other in bewilderment.

"Please come in, both of you."

A cold male voice came from inside the door, its metallic tone chilling and precise, reaching directly into the ears of the Dusty couple. They both shivered, and hesitantly pushed each other as they entered. What they found inside was yet another surprise!

I couldn't guess how big the room was. The first thing I saw was a mountain of books piled up on the wall. The thick books, which looked like bricks, were piled up in a messy but orderly manner. They ranged from encyclopedias to basic mechanical knowledge. There were no less than a hundred different categories, each with a detailed label. Various kinds of mechanical equipment were operating steadily in every corner of the room, as if they had been there for a long time and were taken for granted!

An artificial sun overhead radiates light and heat, while lazy clouds drift aimlessly, sometimes gathering and coalescing, tumbling over the potted plants before showering down just the right amount of rain. Below, a barrel-shaped mechanical cleaner quietly sweeps away the dust, occasionally straightening stacks of books that have been knocked askew. A pruning machine with long, slender arms quickly and skillfully trims the potted plants, spraying an unknown fragrance into the air, filling the room with a natural scent. A primitive pusher device, consisting of rails, a steam valve, and a movable arm, is busily brewing fragrant tea. Several enormous machines of unknown purpose stand silently in the four corners of the room, emitting only occasional soft rumbling sounds. In the center of all these machines is a huge birdcage, also filled with various kinds of books. In front of a huge workbench piled high with precision instruments, a man in gray overalls is engrossed in his work. He seemed so busy and focused that the Dusty couple wondered if the voice they had just heard was a hallucination and were unsure whether to disturb him. But the man quickly put down what he was doing, and then the birdcage and the book rose up on their own, suspended in the air, and disappeared somewhere.

"The Dusty couple?" The man's words immediately confirmed that the voice he had just heard was not an illusion; such a cold and precise expression was unforgettable.

"Are you Mr. Jidu?" Mrs. Dusty asked somewhat displeased, quite dissatisfied with the other party's hospitality of not serving tea or offering a seat.

The man nodded in response, then reached down and removed his hooded mask and the high-powered magnifying glass over his left eye, revealing a stunning face. His hair, also golden, had a subtle silver tinge. His features were precise and striking, as if sculpted by a master craftsman. From his grey pupils to his thin lips, everything was perfect, yet a cold, metallic aura lingered throughout. Gidu's face, compared to the self-proclaimed doll-like servant, evoked a stronger sense of machine. Thinking this way, even the most perfect appearance couldn't inspire any human emotion, and the Dusti couple even felt a pang of fear.

"What would you two like?" Ji casually accepted the fragrant tea offered by the robotic arm, took a small sip, and even his eating posture was concise and to the point, not wasting a single bit of energy.

“I…we…” Mrs. Dusty nudged her husband, who was still in a daze, to signal him to speak, but Mr. Dusty was perhaps too surprised by everything in front of him to react for the time being.

"We were introduced by Miss Red Thread," Mrs. Dusty stammered, feeling uneasy as the man in front of her, who exuded a chilling aura, seemed to see right through her.

“I know,” Gidu coldly interrupted Madame Dusty. “Get to the point.”

"Yes...it's like this." Mrs. Dusty barely suppressed her displeasure and, after gathering her thoughts, tentatively began, "I wonder if Miss Hongxian has told you about our situation?"

“We’re not close.” Gidu’s tone remained icy, and his perpetually frosty expression made Madame Dusty instinctively shrink back.

"Two...two years ago, my husband and I brought his aunt and uncle to live with us. Since the two elderly people had no children, we took on the responsibility of supporting them. A year ago, my uncle suddenly passed away. My aunt probably couldn't bear the blow and her mental state deteriorated greatly after that. Sometimes she was lucid and sometimes she was confused. At the beginning of this year, she was diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease. It's really pitiful..." Mrs. Dusty said, picking up her handkerchief as if she was about to cry.

“Mrs. Dusty, neither of us has much time to waste. Please state your purpose directly.” Gidu narrowed his eyes, his sharp gaze seemingly able to penetrate to the depths of one’s soul, causing Mrs. Dusty to forcefully hold back the tears welling up in her eyes, feeling extremely embarrassed.

“Our family is quite wealthy, so naturally we don’t covet the old man’s inheritance. It would be such a pity if our family heirloom were lost with my aunt’s passing. Although it’s not valuable, it’s still an ancestral possession, and it would be a shame if it were lost in this generation.” Mr. Dusty finally realized what was happening and continued his wife’s words, carefully observing Gidu’s facial expression as he spoke. Regardless of whether this cold man was reliable or not, things that shouldn’t be said, such as the true value of the ancestral heirloom, were still things that shouldn’t be said.

Ji Du subtly curved the corners of his lips into a smile that melted his icy expression. The smile flashed for a moment, yet it was enough to leave Madame Dusty stunned and speechless.

"Five thousand?" Mr. Dusty guessed the price as he looked at the five fingers that Jidu held up.

"Fifty thousand?" The price is a bit expensive, but it's acceptable compared to the ancestral treasure, which is said to be worth over a hundred million.

“Five hundred thousand!!” Mr. Dusty exclaimed. “You’re asking for way too much. Even hiring the best detective in all of London wouldn’t cost that much.”

"A lifespan of five years."

"Life...lifespan?" The Dusty couple looked at each other, seeing a reflection of their own astonishment in each other's eyes. It seemed that ever since they arrived at this craft workshop and this Pomeranian market, they could find no other expression to maintain besides surprise.

"Five years of life for over a hundred million in assets, that's a fair price." Ji Du put down his teacup, crossed his legs, and casually glanced at the couple in front of him, who were caught in a dilemma. The Dusti couple were clearly too shocked to hear the second half of the sentence about over a hundred million in assets; otherwise, they probably would have been terrified and fled the door.

"You... do you want my lifespan or his?" Madame Dusty asked tremblingly. She was usually so bold in front of others, but now she felt a chill.

"What do you think?" Ji Du rarely joked, but seeing the couple looking preoccupied and ready to fight to the death, he added, "Two and a half years each is fine too."

"Our lifespan..." Mr. Dusty asked cautiously, this time not out of fear of Gidu but out of nervousness about the news he was about to hear. No one could calmly listen to the question of how many more years he could live.

"Both of you are destined to live past eighty, so removing two and a half years won't have much of an impact," Ji Du replied casually. Of course, he didn't aloud the second half of his sentence: "Not only will it not have an impact, but you'll probably even complain that your lives are too long in the future."

"Then how will you take our lifespan?"

“Trade secret.” Jidu took a box from the workbench and opened it to find a brightly colored macaw inside. “This parrot is a newly completed piece. In addition to possessing all the physiological mechanisms of a real bird, its eyes are sophisticated cameras, its chest contains a data analysis system and a positioning tracker, its brain is a storage device, and its wings contain recording equipment. Furthermore, it has human health analysis and intelligent adjustment facilities, which can record everything the old man says and does and adjust the investigation progress according to the old man’s physical condition. I believe it won’t be long before we find the whereabouts of the item.”

"Also..." Just as the Dusty couple carefully reached out to take the parrot that was preening its feathers, Gidu lazily added, startling them so much that their hands hung in the air, unsure whether to go in or back out, "It has a lifespan of five years, and the rental period is one month. After one month, this parrot will be automatically retrieved."

"How can one month be enough!" Mrs. Dusty exclaimed anxiously. If they had given up two and a half years of their lives and gained nothing, wouldn't they have lost more than they gained? Although the old lady was not in her right mind, she was still very healthy. The couple had originally planned to fight a long battle, but they did not expect that the authorities would only give them a one-month deadline.

“There’s nothing that Pomerania can’t accomplish. Alex, see them out.” As soon as Gidu finished speaking, the same waiter appeared at the door, bowing as if to see them out. The Dusti couple had no choice but to follow him away.

"I really hate doing advertising." Ji Du sighed, put his work tools back on, and went back to his workbench.

Things were progressing quite smoothly! For the first week, Mrs. Dusty seemed uninterested in the pet her nephew and his wife had given her. She still wandered around the garden and house alone each day, occasionally disappearing for a short time, but thanks to the parrot's precise tracking system, the Dusty couple could quickly find her. Starting in the second week, the old lady seemed unable to ignore the beautifully singing, brightly feathered pet any longer. She began to actively play with it and talk to it, although it was mostly incomprehensible syllables or meaningless words. Nevertheless, this filled the Dusty couple with the joy of impending success. The days passed like a thrilling spy war. By the fourth week, the anxious Dusty couple finally overheard a conversation about their family heirloom through the receiver connected to the parrot.

"The things are at my hometown..."

Overjoyed, the Dusty couple immediately planned to return to the old lady's former residence that very night to retrieve the treasure.

"My dear, what do you think we should do with the old lady?" Mrs. Dusty, draped in an embroidered tablecloth, mimicked herself in an expensive gown, beaming with delight as she looked in the mirror.

“It’s not good to keep it. Although the old man is not in his right mind, he is still very healthy. It would be troublesome if he woke up one day and thought of the treasure.” Mr. Dusty was equally excited, whistling as he flipped through a luxury car magazine, searching for his favorite model.

“But we can’t just kill her,” Mrs. Dusty sat down, glancing at the old man sitting at the end of the corridor, humming an off-key tune while holding his parrot. “We’ll be found out.”

Mr. Dusty grinned and put down his magazine: “There are so many methods, why take such drastic measures? For example, adding some belladonna to my aunt’s diet every day, if the dosage is high enough, it will cause a myocardial infarction. People in their eighties often suffer from this disease, just like my uncle…” The rest of his words were agreed upon by the two men with a knowing smile.

The Dusty couple, who had slept soundly through the night, never imagined that dawn would bring them not a bright future, but cold handcuffs. Mrs. Dusty died suddenly in the middle of the night, and a large amount of belladonna was found mixed into her drinking water. A belladonna medicine bottle discarded in the trash had numerous fingerprints of the couple on it.

“You can’t accuse us like that. Yes, this bottle of belladonna is indeed ours, but it was just bought to treat a stomach ailment, something any family could do. I don’t know why there was belladonna in my aunt’s water…” Mr. Dusty argued, unable to understand what had happened.

"If you still have any questions after listening to this tape, please speak to the judge." The officer in charge of the investigation pressed the button on the pocket recorder impatiently, and the couple's conversation from the previous night came through.

“…This disease is common in people over eighty years old…” The Dusty couple’s faces turned deathly pale instantly. The only thing that could have recorded this tape was probably that parrot!

"Dr. Raymond, are you off work yet? If you're free, let's grab a bite to eat together. It's my sister's birthday today." The red-haired police officer jogged over, cheerfully saying, "Ah, are you still troubled by that case from before? The case is quite clear now. That couple conspired to kill the old man in order to seize the inheritance. How vicious! But this case is really strange. The evidence that appeared out of nowhere, and the Pomeranian collection that the couple was hysterically shouting in court—I've never encountered anything like this before."

“That’s not all the strangeness,” Dr. Raymond said, closing the file and rubbing his aching nose. Oh well, the case is closed anyway; there’s no point in dwelling on it. But this was truly something he’d never encountered in his decades as a forensic pathologist—finding a tag-sized alloy plaque inside the victim’s heart, covered in mysterious, totem-like patterns—it was as mysterious as finding an artificial heart in a mummy…

"Mrs. Dusty, your nephew and his wife have been arrested as you wished. Due to the severity of their crimes, they will be sentenced to at least fifty years in prison, and I'm afraid they will never be able to get out." Jidu said calmly into the microphone, "Yes, I have also secured your and your nephew's lifespan. No, you will not die. Yes, you can go abroad for a vacation. I know you are still in good health... Me? I have also gained a lot. I think my doll still needs further improvement. Yes, thank you very much. Okay, goodbye."

Ji Du hung up the receiver and casually tossed a metallic object into the air. The silvery-white object flipped cleanly in the air, tracing a beautiful arc before landing in a metal dish scattered around it. Several similar objects were scattered there, with long alloy tags bearing the words "Made by Bomei Collection" in ancient script.

Chapter Nineteen: Hourglass

Name: Geng Ke Gender: Male Age: Undetermined

Occupation: Shi Renpu (a type of shopkeeper) Address: No. 67, Nanshudun, Bomeiji

How Ai Jia Stanford walked into this store is probably a mystery even to herself. Having just left the hospital, all that remained in her mind was the doctor's callous declaration: drug addiction had ruined her health, and her past indulgence had resulted in lung disease so severe it was now life-threatening. This was an outcome no one could easily accept, but for Ai Jia, the physical collapse was less severe than the mental trauma. No one could have imagined that the tennis player once known as "Miracle Ai Jia" would fall into such a tragic state seven years later—marital breakdown, poverty, serious illness—all her brilliance shrouded in a black sack, unable to be untied by that hateful rope. Fate seemed to have played a cruel joke on her; the hands that had so easily bestowed glory upon her had now not only taken it all back but also demanded hefty interest.

Aiga desperately wanted to sigh, but she didn't even have time for that. From the moment she heard the death sentence, only one thing kept replaying in her mind—not her own life, but her five-year-old daughter, Lillian. Seven years ago, she had eloped with her ex-husband against her parents' wishes and retired from tennis. All those rebellious actions were originally just to express her youth and self, but now she had ended up with nowhere to turn. If she died, what would happen to Lillian? It wasn't that her parents wouldn't forgive her, but Aiga's strong sense of pride made her cut off the only path she could take. She couldn't bring herself to do it, neither after the divorce nor now.

If only she could stand on the tennis court again! Although she missed the Australian Open at the beginning of the year, the prize money for each tournament, whether it was the US Open or Wimbledon, was considerable. If she could win just one of them, Lillian could at least grow up without financial burden until she turned eighteen. But with this kind of body, she couldn't even compete in high-intensity matches, let alone be as good as an ordinary person! Aiga had never felt so clearly how cruel life was. It sent her to a high peak, but before she could even sit down, it pushed her into a bottomless abyss.

"Sir, what would you like to do for me?"

A clear, melodious child's voice reached her ears, and Aiga raised her head somewhat blankly. It was a small, single-story wooden room, decorated with old oak wood. From the floor to the baseboards, the wood was a deep brown, and because of its age, the shiny black wood creaked underfoot. There were all sorts of clocks everywhere—on the walls, the ceiling, and the floor—it must be a clock shop. A black-haired boy wearing clothes that Aiga didn't recognize was standing in front of her, looking up at her; he was probably Asian.

"Sorry, I just went to the wrong place, I don't need anything."

Time, ah, what an irony! What Aiga fears most now is time, that invisible yet substantial thing that flows away, existing both outside and within humanity. Every minute and every second reminds people that life is flowing, never to return. For Aiga now, how cruel this flow is.

“If you don’t mind, I recommend this hourglass to you.” The boy seemed not to understand what Aiga was saying, but he persistently found a glass hourglass among the goods and handed it to Aiga.

Aiga hesitated for a moment, but finally accepted the small hourglass supported by a silver base. "Just look," he thought, "if a child that young is doing business, his family probably isn't well-off."

Aija examined the hourglass in his hand. It had an ordinary curved shape and flowed with fine silver sand, but there was a strange dial under the support at the bottom. It was somewhat like an instrument. The pointer on the dial could rotate, and the scale was marked with numbers such as 5, 10, and 15.

"Time always flows forward and cannot be reversed, but the speed of time is not immutable." The boy looked at Aiga's face and slowly uttered those strange words.

Aiga stared at the boy, bewildered, unable to understand the meaning behind his words.

"Using this hourglass can help you alter time, whether by slowing it down or speeding it up, but it only changes your personal time; external time will still proceed steadily according to objective laws," the boy said unhurriedly. He looked to be no more than ten years old, and his words seemed nonsensical, but for some reason, a voice deep inside Aiga told him that this was true!

“It can change time…” Aija pondered the implications of this statement, then suddenly realized.

"You have a year and a half left to live. Please make good use of it. When you die, I will collect your soul." The boy said casually, as if discussing the weather, then waved his hand childishly, making a gesture of seeing him off.

Aiga's comeback surprised everyone, and her brilliant achievements were even more incredible. People cheered, "Miracle Aiga" is back! At the age of 27, she once again stood on the tennis stage and created one miracle after another. In the French Open in May, she defeated the young former French Open champion Maria Andrejicic in three straight sets, and for the first time hit a strange shot that was dubbed the "supersonic shot"; at the Wimbledon tournament at the end of June, she defeated seven-time Grand Slam winner Kyle Averde; by the US Open at the end of August, Aiga had become the favorite to win the title, even though her age should have posed a challenge compared to the younger players, but that was not the case. "Miracle EGA" continues her miracle relentlessly. Her incredibly fast "supersonic ball" has become a nightmare for almost all players. They can never understand how she can hit such a high-speed ball with such a seemingly ordinary swing. Often, before her body can even move, the ball has already hit the ground and scored. Equally terrifying for her opponents is EGA's footwork. It is also unremarkable, and one could even say that the movement should be slow. Yet, she can always move to the right position at the right time to receive the ball that they thought was bound to score.

"Miracle Aiga" is now a true miracle. People speculate about various possibilities, but only Aiga herself knows the truth. Her physical condition continues to deteriorate, yet she cannot stop swinging her racket, cannot stop performing on the magnificent stage. Perhaps it started for Lillian, but now she finds herself truly wanting to continue running in this field she once loved but then abandoned. She uses that abnormal power, that glass hourglass, which slows down the opponent's ball in Aiga's time while allowing Aiga's ball to move at abnormal speeds. But Aiga knows this is not a free lunch. When the ball, traveling at over 100 km/h, slows down to a speed her broken body can catch within Aiga's range, the price she pays is that one minute passing in the outside world becomes five minutes, ten minutes, or even an hour in Aiga's life. Aiga's life is passing at a terrifying speed, yet she continues to swing her racket.

This is the final set of the Grand Slam, with the score at 3-2. If she wins this set, Aiga will undoubtedly create another new legend. The tournament is in full swing, and the tenacity of her young opponent has completely surprised Aiga. She has had to repeatedly speed up her game while keeping the ball speed within a reasonable range. The dragging out of time has already put a considerable strain on Aiga's ailing body.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the match has reached the final point that will decide the winner. French player Cecilia has hit a beautiful backhand topspin shot with considerable speed, and the ball changes direction midway through the trajectory..."

Her heart pounded faster and faster, yet each beat seemed to grow weaker and weaker. Aiga felt she was about to collapse. In her world, time stretched out. She could see her opponent's shots clearly, but her legs trembled, and her hands could barely grip the racket. What was this feeling? Death? Never before had Aiga been so acutely aware of death. The terrifying sound of footsteps echoed amplified in her ears, a soft rustling—the sound of fine sand falling, the sound of Aiga's life slipping away. Time was running out!

Ai Jia swung his racket and hit a forehand volley—fast, accurate, and fierce—causing a gasp from the audience. His opponent had actually managed to return it!

"Damn it, she's so tough!" Aiga saw her opponent barely manage to catch the ball at the last second, and then awkwardly hit it back. Her young face was flushed, and her eyes were bright. Although she was at a disadvantage, you could clearly feel that her current emotion was neither dejection nor tension, but rather a feeling of excitement and joy!

In an instant, Ai Jia saw herself in her. Fifteen-year-old Ai Jia was full of youthful vigor, running wild on the court and never admitting defeat. Time quickly rewound, and twelve-year-old Ai Jia stepped onto the world stage for the first time. Ten-year-old Ai Jia defeated her father, who was a college tennis coach. At that time, her father stroked her soft curly hair with his big, warm hands and said with infinite affection, "Dad's Ai Jia has grown up. Ai Jia is Dad's pride!"

Nine years old, eight years old, seven years old... Memories kept jumping around, finally stopping at the year she was five. The afternoon sun was golden, and her parents gave little Aiga a birthday present: a brand new tennis racket... Intense emotions burst forth instantly, surging like a flood. How could she, Aiga Stanford, the youngest Wimbledon champion in history and a Grand Slam winner, use such despicable means to win a match?

Aijia gripped her racket tightly, and as she mentally yelled "stop," the opponent's ball immediately regained its normal speed, hurtling towards her like a bullet. Fortunately, the opponent only managed a weak return. Aijia took two steps back and returned the ball with a forehand. A simple, unpretentious shot, yet Aijia felt incredibly satisfied; this was the situation she was in control of! Tennis was Aijia's most precious treasure. No matter how many years, decades, or even if she were to die soon, at least she wanted to retain some dignity. Aijia saw Mr. Smith in the stands smile. Mr. Smith, now over sixty, had been nurturing her since she was twelve, strict yet kind, having worried endlessly about her decline. A month after she was forced into retirement, he also sadly resigned his title as ITF president and returned to his hometown to retire. That year, she was twenty, and he was fifty-four.

Time is like a giant Rubik's Cube, constantly changing and unpredictable. Seven years later, when she stood once again on the highest stage of world tennis at the age of twenty-seven, the old man came to watch her match, but he did not smile.

“That’s not the Aiga I know, Stanford.” Under repeated questioning from reporters, the old man uttered these words with a furrowed brow. No one understood his true meaning. The reporters all assumed the old man was praising the “Miracle Aiga,” who remained undefeated long past his prime. Only Aiga himself knew that Mr. Smith was disappointed! Unaware of the existence of such an hourglass, Mr. Smith had so easily discerned that this undefeated Aiga was a facade, utterly vulnerable. Therefore, he couldn’t laugh, and was even unwilling to speak of his once most prized student.

"Cessia hit a backhand slice, beautiful! Ah, Aiga returned it, will she unleash the 'supersonic ball' that terrifies her opponents again? Hmm... Aiga actually returned it like that? Is it because the opponent's persistence made our 'Miracle Aiga' feel sorry for her talent, so she is unwilling to end this thrilling match too early?"

"That's Aiga's backhand topspin! Brilliant! Ladies and gentlemen, this is the first time in seven years since Aiga Stanford has used this signature move that propelled her to the pinnacle of world tennis. Well done, Aiga!"

The entire arena erupted in cheers, but Aiga's heart remained calm. Just like years ago when she stood on this familiar court, she told herself to stay calm. She didn't know if her heart was about to stop pounding, and the suffocating feeling in her chest seemed to have disappeared. Aiga only knew that she was playing, her steps firm, her movements light, happy and joyful. Only at this moment did she truly feel that Aiga Stanford, that mischievous, deer-like girl, had returned!

"You're awake?"

A familiar voice reached his ears. Aiga blinked in confusion, his vision clearing as he saw a high ceiling, pure and clean white, above him the walls, also pure white. Aiga tried to get up but found himself unable to move. His entire body was stiff and frozen, as if petrified, and any movement felt like being torn apart.

"It's you?" Aiga saw a young man with short black hair and black eyes standing beside her, looking at her and toying with an hourglass in his hand. For some reason, she recognized him at a glance as the black-haired boy who sold clocks in that strange market called Bomei, even though their ages didn't match at all.

"Am I dead?" Aiga thought for a moment, opened her mouth to ask, her dry lips twitching slightly with pain, her hoarse voice like a broken gong. It wouldn't matter if she were dead, Aiga thought, at least in her last moment she hadn't defiled the most sacred thing in her heart—tennis. She didn't know if this was heaven or hell, probably hell; someone like her didn't deserve to be in heaven.

"I've never been to Heaven, but Hell is way more fun than this!" the young man joked with a grin. "This is Hems Hospital. You collapsed at the last minute of the match and were brought here. You've been lying here for three days now. You lost the last game, what a pity!"

Is that so? Aija slowly revealed a smile, tired yet relaxed.

"It's alright, I'm satisfied. I really enjoyed this last game," Aiga said contentedly. "Did you come to take my soul away? I have no regrets anymore. I just need to say goodbye to my daughter one last time... Is that alright?"

Aijia gazed earnestly at the young man's face, her intuition telling her he wouldn't refuse her, perhaps because of his radiant, sun-like smile. However, upon hearing this, the young man burst into laughter, his hearty laughter like thousands of larks released from their cages, flapping their wings with such joy!

“I think you’ve misunderstood something,” the young man said with a grin. “I have no way of taking away a living person’s soul.”

“A living person…” Aigar’s words were interrupted by the sound of the doorknob turning. Before the door was even opened, his daughter Lillian’s voice came in.

"Mommy, Mommy!"

Aiga looked nervously at the young man beside her, pleading with him not to take her away in front of his daughter.

The door opened, and rushed in Lillian, dressed like a little princess, and Mr. Smith, in a well-tailored suit. At that moment, he looked young and healthy, completely different from the frail old man he had been before.

"Oh, Mommy really woke up! That uncle didn't lie to me!" Lillian's face turned red as she excitedly rushed to Aiga's pillow, her big eyes blinking.

"uncle?"

“Yes, I met a Chinese man at the kindergarten gate when I went to pick up Lillian. He said you had woken up, so I brought Lillian over to see you. I didn’t expect that what he said was true!” Mr. Smith looked at Aiga with affection. To him, Aiga was like his own daughter, so he was heartbroken when he learned that Aiga had to retire because of drug use.

"Grandpa Smith, that uncle's eyes are so beautiful, black, like jewels!" Lillian gestured, making the old man laugh heartily.