I gain ten years' worth of cultivation every day, and even geniuses will only see my doorstep!

"What's your name again?"

Lin Qing'er's hand froze in mid-air. She wasn't angry, because she knew what the Old Man of Time had said—restoring causal chains consumes memories, not all at once, but one by one. Like a book with torn pages, you know there's content, but you can't find the order.

"Lin Qing'er," she said.

Qin Yuan repeated it. "Lin Qing'er." As he uttered the three words, he felt a faint resonance between the way he pronounced the words and the face on the other side, like an echo from afar, almost imperceptible.

He tried to connect those three words with the face in front of him. The face was beautiful, with long, thin eyebrows, small but bright eyes, a delicate nose, and thin lips. He knew these features, but he couldn't remember how he should feel when they were combined. Not unfamiliarity, but a complete lack of memory of "knowing" her. It was like opening a book and seeing a photograph; you know the person in the photo is important to you, but you can't recall her name, where you've met her, or what happened between you.

Lin Qing'er squatted down to meet his gaze. She placed her right hand on the back of his left hand. His hand was cold, hers was warm. This temperature difference reminded him of something—not a specific image, but a feeling of "should remember."

"Look at my face. Tell me, what do you see?"

Qin Yuan looked into her eyes. He saw him in her eyes. He saw it.

"I see you," he said, "but I don't remember you."

Lin Qing'er didn't cry. She pushed the porridge into his hand. "Drink the porridge first. It's warm."

Qin Yuan lowered his head and drank his porridge. The porridge contained red dates and glutinous rice, which she had spent an hour cooking that morning. He didn't remember how she cooked it, but as the porridge melted in his mouth, the taste felt familiar. Not his tongue remembered, but his body. His stomach knew, his throat knew, the way his fingers held the bowl knew. But his mind didn't.

Lin Qing'er waited for him to finish his porridge, then took the bowl away and stood up. She walked to the old plum tree and stood with her back to him for a while. Then she left. She didn't say where she was going, nor how long she would be gone. Qin Yuan sat on the bluestone, watching her figure disappear into the mist by the stream. He didn't ask, because he had forgotten the meaning of the action of "asking." He only remembered that she had left and should come back. As for why she should come back, he couldn't remember.

Deep within the chaos, there was no light, no sound, only the slow churning of primordial energy. Lin Qing'er had been flying for a long time. Her spiritual energy was dwindling, but she hadn't stopped. The Old Man of Time had said that the Memory Collector resided in the deepest part of the chaos. She didn't know where the deepest part was, but she knew to keep going. The primordial energy converged behind her, like water filling the wake of a boat.

"Old Man of Time," she called out to the void.

A ripple appeared in the air, like a pebble hitting the surface of water. A sound emanated from the ripple, very slowly, like the ticking of an old clock.

"Why are you here again?"

"Qin Yuan's memories have been taken away. The causal chain has been restored," Lin Qing'er said. "Who can get them back?"

"The Collector of Memories." The voice of the Old Man of Time echoed from the ripples, each syllable spaced long, like a person panting. "He dwells in the depths of chaos, collecting the memories of powerful beings from all realms. Yours, his, all of them. He has a palace, a palace filled with memory cubes. Have you been there?"

"I've never been there. But I want to go."

"He's difficult to talk to. He doesn't want spirit stones, magic weapons, or cultivation. He only wants your memories. What do you have to offer him in exchange?"

Lin Qing'er did not answer. She continued flying. The ripples dissipated behind her, and the chaotic energy filled the space again.

Deep within the chaos, a palace appeared. It wasn't made of stone or wood, but rather of countless translucent cubes stacked together. The cubes varied in size; some were the size of a fist, others a house, and still others a mountain. Each cube contained a luminous memory—some golden, some silver, some cyan, and some colorless. These memories slowly rotated across the palace's surface, like honey flowing in a honeycomb, or blood circulating in veins.

Lin Qing'er landed before the palace gate. The gate was open, its frame an arch made of stacked cubes. Inside stood a hunched old man, dressed in a long gray robe that trailed on the ground, its edges frayed. He wore thick glasses, the lenses thicker than the bottom of a bottle, their rings like the growth rings of a tree. In his hand he held a magnifying glass, examining a cube the size of a fist. The memories within the cube were golden, bright, like a flattened sun.

"Qin Yuan's memories." The old man didn't look up, his magnifying glass slowly moving across the surface of the cube, like a doctor examining an X-ray. "I was waiting nearby when the causal chain extracted his memories. What the causal chain doesn't want, I want. This memory is yours." He pointed with the magnifying glass to a very small cube in the corner. That cube was only the size of a walnut, and inside it was sealed a thin, bright silver light, like a coiled thread.

Lin Qing'er walked over and picked up the cube. It was small, just the right size to fit in her palm. Through the translucent walls, she saw the scene inside. It was an ordinary afternoon, and a plum blossom petal fell onto the back of her hand. She didn't remove it. Qin Yuan didn't help her remove it either. She sat beside him, he leaned against the bluestone, and she leaned against him. Nothing happened, nothing was said. But she remembered it forever. That scene played on a loop inside the cube, each petal falling at the exact same angle.

"What will you give in exchange?" The memory collector put down his magnifying glass and turned to look at her. His face was old, wrinkles upon wrinkles, like a crumpled piece of paper unfolded. But his eyes were not old, shining like two stars, the pupils behind his lenses glowing.

"Your most precious moment."

The memory collector continued, "Your most precious memory can be exchanged for his most precious memory."

Lin Qing'er remained silent for a long time. She thought of many important things. Their first meeting: he squatted by the stream, and she looked up at him. Under the old plum tree of the Qingmu Sect, she handed him a brocade pouch, saying, "When it blooms, I will come to find you." Under the starry sky at the pinnacle of all realms, he said, "Wherever you are, I will be there." She didn't say "Me too," but she said it in her heart. But none of these were her most precious memories.

What she cherished most was that ordinary afternoon. Nothing happened. No danger, no battle, no separation, no reunion. Only a petal fell on the back of her hand; she didn't pick it, and neither did he. That moment meant nothing, but it's always there. It takes up no space, but it's always there. Like a thin crack in the wall, you can't see it if you're not paying attention, but every time you look at it, it's there.

"Okay," she said.