Chapter 133
What if Miki Died? Part 7
Even Miki herself couldn’t quite explain how she managed to come back.
On the night of the landslide, her body – long since turned to dust – mysteriously regained sensation. Bit by bit, she clawed through the soil, feeling no pain as she pushed away the heavy coffin lid. Step by unsteady step, she stumbled through the mud and rain, making her way down the mountain.
Her rain-soaked form was reflected in puddles of various sizes scattered across her path. She stared vacantly at her drenched reflection.
She was a ghost now. No matter how long she wandered or what she walked through, her white robes never seemed to stain. And yet, something still felt off.
Everything seemed unchanged, except when she placed her hand over her chest, she could no longer feel a beating heart. Her skin remained ice-cold regardless of the hour.
Miki walked along the endless path until she reached the royal palace.
She knew she shouldn’t interfere in the mortal world anymore. She knew she shouldn’t go near Wakako.
“The paths of the living and the dead are separate” – even illiterate children understood this meaning, let alone one who had been the Saint.
Yet when she saw that girl called Miki, she couldn’t help but use Lin Lin’s body to warn her away from Wakako.
Don’t…
Don’t look at her with such loving eyes.
Don’t bring her food.
Don’t become her fiancée.
Don’t… Just don’t do anything…
Just as now, Miki’s eyelashes trembled with droplets as she whispered, “Don’t, Wakako.”
Somehow, they were no longer in the elegant room.
Wakako didn’t know where they were.
“Don’t wear that necklace…” Miki’s voice slithered around her like a serpent, winding tighter and tighter. It was as omnipresent as the relentless rain—inescapable, all-consuming. “You promised… to look only at me…”
The scent of alcohol, cherries, and the damp earth after the rain mingled in the air.
Suddenly, Wakako gripped her wrist.
“Then why?” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Why didn’t you come to see me before?”
“You gave me hope, only to leave me thinking it was nothing more than a fever dream… Miki, don’t you know how cruel that is?”
If not for the marks on her body, Wakako might have truly believed that everything during her illness was just a fleeting dream.
In fact, she had almost convinced herself it was true – her seniors and juniors all thought it mere delirium. No one believed her when she said she’d seen Miki again.
Wakako knew it was foolish, but even with the slightest hope, she had to prove it.
Rain seemed to have gotten into her eyes. She instinctively closed them. A pure white sleeve brushed against her cheek, attempting to wipe away the moisture, but only brought more tears, blurring her vision.
Wakako forced a weak smile: “I… I purposely requested extra invitations… for Miki to come… I wanted to see if you would appear.”
She didn’t know if she was crying or laughing: “Now that you’re here, it proves I was right, doesn’t it? Tell me, this isn’t another drunken hallucination, is it?”
For a long time, there was no answer.
Finally, Miki said calmly, “Yes. I didn’t come to you directly. I didn’t want you to see me like this.”
Without a beating heart or flowing blood, she was no longer the revered Saint. She was a cold, lifeless corpse—a shadow of her former self. Even her eyes were clouded, dulled by death.
Wakako tightened her grip on Miki’s wrist. “So… you only came to me when I was sick?”
She would never have questioned Miki so forcefully before, but the alcohol had emboldened her.
“Miki,” Wakako called out, “Will you stay?”
Her heart raced, not even time to think about what she was saying, lost in the fear of losing her again.
She spoke rapidly, recklessly: “The Queen has already arranged a marriage for me. Even if it’s not Miki, it will be someone else. In the end, I have no choice but to marry…”
Before she could finish, her lips were sealed by a forceful kiss, biting hard enough to draw blood, stealing her breath, pushing her to the brink of suffocation.
Miki looked down at her coldly: “Do you really need to see me angry to understand?”
Her fingers pressed Wakako’s heart through her clothes.
“Take it back.”
The pain was excruciating, forcing Wakako to curl into herself. She wasn’t even sure where she was anymore—only that the ground beneath her was cold and wet.
And yet, she still said, “No.”
Those eyes that always looked devotedly at their master now showed their own desire.
“You know me, I never lie, especially not to you,” Wakako said softly. “If you leave again, I’ll obey the Queen’s decree. I’ll marry whoever she chooses. I mean it.”
“Could you bear that, Miki.”
“Can you bear to see someone else touch me? Could you endure watching me with another woman day after day?”
Though her words began as threats, they dissolved into tearful pleas: “So please don’t go…”
“Human, ghost, monster… anything… just stay…”
Miki gazed at Wakako’s tear-stained face.
Strange.
Her chest was empty, yet her heart ached, a pain more intense than death itself.
She heard her own voice sound hollowly: “If I stay, I will cling to you every moment of every day. Is that alright?”
“I don’t care.”
“I’m dead. Morality, etiquette, humanity… none of it applies to me anymore.”
“I understand.”
“Wherever you go, I’ll follow.”
“I promise.”
“If your eyes stray to anyone else, I’ll kill them first, then strangle you.”
Wakako trembled, but a small, broken laugh escaped her lips.
“Alright,” she said. “If I die by your hands, I’d consider it an honor. But for now… can you kiss me again?”
Her wish was granted.
Even in her drunken haze, Wakako could clearly taste that kiss. It was cold and biting, like being submerged in an icy lake, hearing the sharp patter of rain against the water’s surface.
Drip, drip.
Miki bit her lips until they bled, the pain coming in waves. And yet, Wakako only wished it hurt more. She didn’t care if Miki tore her flesh away.
Miki didn’t need to speak. After everything they had shared, words were unnecessary. Wakako understood what she wanted.
So she knelt in the water, opened her mouth, and took those cold fingers in, letting them reach so far that they nearly touched her throat.
Even then, Miki wasn’t satisfied. She demanded more.
No matter where Wakako looked, all she could see was Miki’s face, intently watching her surrender.
Finally, Wakako tried to plead, “Mmm…” but Miki’s fingers remained in her mouth, silencing her words, leaving only muffled whimpers.
Her vision blurred, her breathing faltered, and in the haze, she kept repeating Miki’s name.
Miki.
It wasn’t rain that poured down like a flood. It was her own tears.
