Rokuya's breathing stopped completely at that moment. The fire starter's glow lit his stern face, and his dark blue eyes, usually so cold and arrogant, now churned with a turmoil beyond words.
The words had been carved deeply, the force even splitting the bark in places. One could imagine how happy the person who carved them had been.
Had Guan Tinglingzi carved them herself? Or had one of her friends carved them for the girl?
But whoever had carved them, those words proved one thing: in Guan Tinglingzi's brief life, filled with hatred and pretense, she had once longed for true happiness. She had once hoped that, in this world full of blood and man-eating demons, there could be a corner where she, or someone else, could be happy every day.
Was this the source of that enormous amount of gratitude points?
That was not all. Rokuya lowered his gaze and discovered a little wooden plaque hanging from a red cord just beneath the inscription, its color already faded and darkened. The plaque swayed gently in the night breeze, making a barely audible rubbing sound.
Rokuya reached out and took down the wooden plaque with slightly trembling fingers.
The back of the plaque was blank, but another line was written on the front. The handwriting was identical to the inscription on the trunk.
[Whoever finds this plaque, be happy every day too.]
"..."
Rokuya sat on the thick branch as the fire starter in his hand quietly went out. He gripped the little wooden plaque tightly in his palm. Its rough edges dug painfully into his skin, but he seemed not to notice.
He lowered his head, burying his face in shadow, and said nothing.
So that was it.
So this was what "gratitude beyond life and death" meant.
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