Chapter 18: The Gray-Robed Cultivator, Part 5

Prala Town was one of the few small towns relatively close to Willis City. Yet, even with the shorter distance, the time required to walk there was by no means brief.

Without the aid of a watch, Felice had no idea how long she had been walking. Fortunately, Brother Salvatore’s pace wasn’t much faster than hers, so she managed not to fall behind.

In truth, it wasn’t until she spotted the clock tower in the town from afar that Felice began to wonder why she had followed at all.

Or rather, she hadn’t expected Brother Salvatore to immediately agree to help upon hearing her message.

This era was unlike modern times; there were no government-issued identification cards—no passports or driver’s licenses—to verify one’s identity. Concealing one’s name to deceive strangers was effortlessly done without any cost.

Given this fundamental fact, even if the surviving local monk claimed to have heard the name of the boy’s father, it still couldn’t fully prove that the person standing before the monastery gate was truly “Francisco of Prala Town.”

When Felice calmed down and reflected on this, she soon felt a twinge of regret for her impulsiveness.

Yet Brother Salvatore seemed completely untroubled by such concerns. After stepping out to meet the boy and learning that the local parish priest had fled, leaving many townspeople without the chance to receive last rites before death, he without hesitation gathered a small basket in the kitchen and followed the boy.

At first, Felice just stared blankly at the old man’s stooped figure, but for some reason her legs moved on their own, and she effortlessly took the small basket from the arm of the elderly man.

Perhaps she truly needed to confirm something immediately.

She was weary of her own suspicions and doubts along the way; she only wished to know one answer... Even if it involved some risk, it was worth it for her now.

No matter how long the road, it always comes to an end.

As Felice’s thoughts began to scatter, the three of them had already arrived at the only inn in Prala Town.

The town’s population was small; houses were closed and shuttered along the way, and the streets were nearly deserted.

Occasionally, Felice sensed someone peering at them through cracks in windows or doors, but whenever she looked that way, all she encountered was the swift sound of wooden boards being closed.

Led by the boy, they entered the inn one after another and soon found a gaunt woman lying in bed.

At first glance, her pale face nearly made Felice think they had arrived too late.

But when the boy, who claimed to be “Francisco,” burst into tears and threw himself beside the bed, the woman’s lips—already tinged blue—moved slightly, and her eyes slowly opened; her breathing grew rapid.

Felice found it hard to describe those eyes—they resembled glass beads veiled in a thin white mist, hazy and fragile.

The woman seemed blind; even with eyes open, her gaze was unfocused. Her trembling lips, unable to form words, moved not from desire to speak but as a primal reflex of life.

She was truly near death—perhaps at any moment, she would breathe her last, Felice thought with certainty.

The pain of losing loved ones was something no one wished to endure repeatedly.

The closer the bond, the more excruciating it was to watch them slip away, a sensation like knives repeatedly slicing the heart that lingered for years.

Seeing the boy’s shoulders shudder involuntarily, Felice averted her eyes with sympathy.

“Sigh...”

A faint sigh came from beside her, so soft she almost thought it was a trick of her mind.

The weight on her arm lightened, and the small basket was taken by Brother Salvatore.

The elderly man in gray robes slowly approached the woman’s bedside, placed his withered hand gently on her forehead, and softly recited a blessing.

His voice remained steady—slow but clear—like a soft brush gently smoothing the wrinkles piled upon one’s heart.

At some point, the boy’s sobbing ceased, the woman’s rapid breathing eased, and her tightly drawn features relaxed.

The old man lowered his gaze to the woman lying in bed, as if looking upon a child.

Still reciting prayers, he reached into the basket and took out a transparent glass vial, pouring a little liquid into his hand and slowly applying it to the woman’s forehead and hands.

The woman finally settled into complete calm.

Her unfocused, anxious eyes slowly closed, as if all the unease and torment had been chased away—like an infant returned to the cradle, smiling serenely to a familiar lullaby.

At that moment, Felice suddenly saw a transparent figure rise from the woman’s body.

Calling it a “figure” was a stretch—it was so ethereal, more transparent than the finest gauze Felice had ever seen; she couldn’t even discern facial features or expression.

Holding her breath, Felice watched the gauzy apparition tiptoe through the air, drifting lightly around the room before stopping beside the kneeling boy at the foot of the bed.

It gently leaned forward and embraced him from behind.

Their contact lasted only a few seconds, though in Felice’s eyes, it seemed stretched to infinity. Then the gauze-like form began to ascend, like a helium balloon released from its string, rising slowly and steadily until it floated above the roof...

“...May the Lord bless you, and may the merciful Virgin Mother embrace you.”

With the monk’s final prayer, the apparition vanished completely from Felice’s sight.

It was the first time Felice had witnessed a person’s death and the ascent of their soul.

Though she had fought malevolent spirits barehanded before, and had a talkative ghost professor by her side, she still tilted her head back, unable to regain composure, unaware that the boy had already thanked the monk.

“...”

“What are you staring at?”

The question jolted Felice back to reality.

Looking up, she met two pairs of eyes, one old and one young.

The boy looked puzzled, glancing repeatedly toward where she had been staring.

Compared to him, Brother Salvatore’s gaze was deeper. Though not tall, his eyes always looked down upon Felice in her eight-year-old body.

Facing those aged eyes, Felice felt her mind go blank.

Her lips parted, and words escaped before her brain could control them.

“I saw a shadow drift out of her body and fly away.”

She clearly heard herself say, “She hugged her son, then floated up to heaven...”

The boy named Francisco froze, then suddenly grasped her shoulders without ceremony.

“Y-you’re serious?!” His eyes reddened, tears streaming visibly once more. “You... you really saw it? You saw her ascend to heaven?”

The boy’s sudden outburst caught Felice off guard.

Instinctively she wanted to deny it, but seeing his tearful, almost smiling expression and those imploring eyes, she swallowed the words she almost spoke.

“...Yes.” She met his gaze firmly. “She went to heaven. I saw it.”

Hearing her sincere words, the boy broke down and wept uncontrollably.

“May the Lord bless you, may the Virgin protect you...”

He wrapped his arms around her, repeating those words over and over beside her ear.

He probably needed a hug very badly.

Felice thought so, and amid the boy’s sorrowful cries, she gently patted his still frail back.

***

“I thought you would never tell anyone you can see ghosts.”

By the burning fireplace, Professor Palleuso sighed as he spoke. “I know you meant to comfort that child, but it’s best not to say such things in front of others. I imagine you don’t want to be labeled crazy again, do you?”

Felice stretched the noticeably shrunken blanket, hesitated a moment, then set it aside and sat down facing the fire.

“I hadn’t planned to say it out loud...”

Mid-sentence, she shook her head with a smile and draped her arms over the chair back. “Forget it. I don’t regret it this time.”

Professor Palleuso stared at the top of her head for a while, then suddenly said, “Are you testing someone again?”

“Testing what?”

“That monk in the gray robe—you seem not to trust him.”

The ghost floated into her line of sight, locking eyes with her. “I’ve almost always been by your side, but I haven’t noticed anything strange from him. On the contrary, all his actions show he’s a man of noble character... Or did he do something to you where I couldn’t see? Otherwise, I can’t fathom why you’re so wary of him.”

“I don’t know either.”

Felice closed her eyes, sighed deeply, and buried her chin in her arms. “I know he probably isn’t a bad person... but I suspect he’s already realized I’m not the original Feliciana.”

“Really?” Professor Palleuso’s voice carried a hint of surprise. “What’s your basis? Did he hint at it?”

“...No, it’s just my intuition.”

Felice swallowed the words she had first intended to say, thought for a moment, then found another excuse. “His attitude toward me isn’t like he’s dealing with a child... it’s more equal, like treating an adult.”

“Shouldn’t that be expected? A humble man treats everyone equally. Brother Salvatore is an experienced monk—I don’t see anything strange about that.”

Professor Palleuso first showed a puzzled expression, then as if recalling something, his eyes suddenly brightened. “Wait... you mean you were already an adult before this?”

Felice: ...

She sighed. “Asking a lady’s age so suddenly is quite rude, professor.”

“So you were indeed an adult woman before becoming like this?” The ghost’s curiosity only grew. “If so, I have to ask—what’s it like to become young again? Does having a younger body feel wonderful?”

“I’m not old enough for that yet. But getting a new set of teeth isn’t exactly a pleasant experience.”

With the ghost’s laughter, Felice rolled her eyes and picked up an oil lamp, heading outside.

She had originally thought the room was stuffy; going outside would at least let her breathe fresh air and dispel the heavy feeling weighing on her chest.

But she hadn’t expected that even this modest courtyard would bring a small surprise.

For instance, just a few steps out, she stumbled over something.

Bending down to look, she found it was a shoe tip protruding from the ground. She cursed under her breath.

But remembering she was still within the monastery, she forced herself to suppress the creeping chill, whispered an apology, and tried to cover it with soil.

A second surprise emerged: no matter how much soil she piled, strands of hair appeared beneath the spot, deeply buried underground...

“They transport bodies outside the city for burial, so there must be no cemeteries left within the city walls.”

The ghost behind her murmured softly. “Don’t waste your effort. You’ll only dig up the corpse.”

Felice was about to give up anyway and sat down near the shoe tip, looking up at the night sky.

The weather, like time itself, never changed because of human suffering.

Though the shadow of death loomed over the city, the night sky remained clear. In an era without light pollution, the Milky Way stretched brilliantly across the heavens, mesmerizing and impossible to look away from.

There was something magical about it... after witnessing a person’s passing, her heart strangely settled.

Between body and soul—which truly represents oneself?

If Felice had to choose, she would unhesitatingly point to the latter.

If everyone’s soul rose to heaven after death, leaving behind only lifeless shells in this hellish world, then perhaps corpses were not so dreadful after all.

Her eyes, reflecting the starlight, softened; the furrow in her brow eased, and the heaviness in her chest dissipated with the night breeze.

Before returning indoors, her steps paused slightly. She turned and waved at the shoe tip in the courtyard.

“Good night, stranger.”

“May you see this beautiful starry sky too.”