He gave me a somewhat dried fig and a sprig of Worry Grass.
Worry Grass was roughly an ingredient used in an antidote.
It was not particularly valuable.
At first, holding those two things, I had no idea what he was trying to do.
But when I wrote the Chinese names of the two items on paper, I saw that their first characters formed exactly one phrase: "free of worry."
Free of worry? What did that mean?
I suppressed the instinctive thought in my heart.
Yet I could not stop myself from thinking wildly. He wanted me to be free of worry—but free of worry about what? Free of worry about the Basilisk, or free of worry about the final outcome?
Free of worry that I could survive, or free of worry that I could see my father and mother?
I clenched my palms and kept thinking, only to realize that tears had long since streamed down my face. In this time of being far from home, someone only needed to give me a two-word promise to make me cry so pathetically.
But my heart told me that he had given me so much!
He had not exposed my identity as a transmigrator. He had noticed that I was cold and sent me two garments with Warming Charms. He had even helped me deal with Conte.
He had even comforted me when I encountered the Basilisk before.
And I had not helped him with anything.
I wanted to calm down and not be moved by such things, but my heart kept beating helplessly.
Why?
Why was he so good to me?
Was this really a pie falling from the sky for no reason?
After thinking it over and over, the only explanations I could come up with were that he