Chapter 34
Wakako couldn’t remember how long they had stayed in the water. It was as if she had lost her last memories, not even recalling how they made it back to the shore.
All she knew was that the morning sunlight was pouring down, so dazzling that she couldn’t help but open her eyes slightly. She found herself lying in the small makeshift shelter they had put together the night before.
In front of her was the small stream where they had spent the entire night. It should have been muddied by the dirt on their bodies, yet somehow, it was even clearer than before they had entered the water.
Wakako reached out and touched the fabric draped over her. It was the garment she had woven from broad leaves – it couldn’t even be called a garment, as it was far too crude, serving only to ward off the cold.
How had she put it on?
Miki was still asleep, so Wakako didn’t wake her. She quietly slipped out of the shelter. But as soon as she stepped outside, the sight before her left her completely stunned.
On their way up the mountain yesterday, she hadn’t noticed there were so many animals around. Squirrels, foxes, even monkeys… all had emerged after the disaster. But it wasn’t their presence that surprised her.
Several small monkeys, about the height of Wakako’s knees, were standing by the stream, waving at her and pointing toward a nearby tree branch.
There, hanging from the branches, were their dirty clothes from the previous night. They had been washed, spotless, and were now as clean as new. After a night of drying in the wind, they were ready to be worn again.
Wakako knew without a doubt that this wasn’t Miki’s doing. The Saint wouldn’t lower herself to wash clothes—her hands were far too delicate for such work. Which meant…
She pointed at the little monkeys and asked uncertainly, “Was it you who helped?”
The monkeys jumped up and down proudly as if answering her question.
The scriptures had said that all things possess spirit, and the Saint could awaken the intelligence hidden within them. Wakako knew that animals were drawn to the Saint, but she had never imagined it could go this far.
She quickly changed back into her clothes. As for the white robe and cloak beside them… Wakako hesitated for a moment but decided to take them down as well.
It was still winter, after all, and the weather was bitterly cold. The Saint should still wear her cloak to avoid catching a cold.
Taking care of Miki had become an instinct buried deep within Wakako’s bones. Even though she knew she shouldn’t do it anymore, she couldn’t help but worry about her.
Wakako returned to the shelter and draped the cloak over Miki.
She didn’t wake her, instead heading over to a fruit-bearing tree nearby. She picked some winter dates, washed them clean, and prepared them for their morning meal.
There were no bells or sundials on the mountain, making it impossible to tell the exact time. But based on the Saint’s usual habits, she should have been awake long ago.
Perhaps she was too tired from last night, as Miki was still fast asleep, breathing evenly. Occasionally, her eyelashes fluttered, and her face was slightly flushed, as if she were having a bad dream.
Wakako waited patiently for a while longer, finally realizing something was wrong.
“Miki,” she leaned closer and gently shook her shoulder. “Wake up.”
The Saint didn’t open her eyes.
Wakako placed her hand on Miki’s forehead and found it alarmingly hot, like a stone that had been baked in fire.
Whether it was from the cold or the excessive strain of her powers the previous night, Miki was sick, and her fever was high.
Illness wasn’t uncommon for the Saint, but now they were trapped on the mountain, with no warm shelter and no medicine. What could she do?
Wakako’s first instinct was to find something to cool her down, but she wasn’t a doctor and wasn’t sure if doing so would worsen the situation.
She had heard from Carol and the others that someone in their team had once fallen ill during a mission, hiding in the snow, wanting only to take a short nap, but ended up freezing to death.
If they were elsewhere, they could build a fire. But the mountain was densely forested, and the slightest spark could ignite a large wildfire, making it impossible to use fire for warmth.
Should she prevent Miki from sleeping?
Wakako sat beside the Saint, wrapping the thick white cloak tighter around her. In a low voice, she asked, “Miki, can you hear me?”
There was no response.
“Miki,” she gently shook her shoulder. “Wake up.”
After several attempts, Miki finally stirred awake, her eyes barely open, fatigue evident in her eyes. She parted her lips, as if wanting to speak, but her throat was too dry to form any words.
Wakako took a winter date she had just picked, warmed it in her palm, then mashed it into small pieces, feeding the juice and pulp to the Saint.
It seemed Miki lacked even the strength to chew. It took her a long while to finally swallow.
“Cold,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Her cheeks were burning, but her body remained as cold as ever. Wakako bundled all the clothes around her, but it still wasn’t enough.
Miki’s fingers rested weakly on Wakako’s wrist, her eyes hazy and unfocused, as if her mind wasn’t fully present. “Hold me,” she pleaded.
She wanted Wakako to crawl under the cloak with her.
Wakako hesitated for a moment. “How about I feed you some more food first? You barely ate last night, and you might not have enough strength.”
“No,” the hand lacked the strength to grip tightly, yet stubbornly clung to her wrist, repeating, “Hold me.”
Left with no choice, Wakako slid under the cloak as well, carefully pulling the ailing Saint into her arms.
When they used to sleep together, Miki always liked to rest her head on Wakako’s shoulder, occasionally nudging her gently, as if to check whether her companion was still there.
Now, the position was the same, but Miki felt so light, almost like she weighed nothing at all. Wakako held her gently, worried that even a little pressure might hurt her.
Buried in Wakako’s neck, Miki’s breath was quick and shallow. She whispered, “Waka, I’m in so much pain.”
“Where does it hurt? I can rub it for you.”
“Everywhere… hurts,” Miki’s voice was fragmented. “They’re angry.”
She didn’t say God’s name, but who else could it be?
Wakako froze. “Is it because of me?”
The Saint possessed the ability to communicate with the divine and bore a heavy responsibility. Any deviation from God’s will would result in divine punishment.
The specifics were known only to the Saint, beyond the understanding of ordinary people. But Wakako had learned enough to guess at some of it.
Once, Miki had punished a musician who had tried to kill Wakako. A few days later, she inexplicably contracted a severe cold, becoming critically ill.
During those days, Wakako couldn’t enter the room and could only stand guard outside. From time to time, she caught Miki’s faint, weak voice from within, asking God why the Saint must always be compassionate, why she had to love all the people of the world.
Even in agonizing pain, her master remained like a proud white crane, refusing to bow her head and admit guilt. She insisted she had done nothing wrong, that she had never been wrong.
That night, Wakako didn’t obediently stay in the Saint’s courtyard. She secretly ran to the temple and knelt outside all night, reciting scriptures, begging the God to forgive the Saint, offering to bear the divine punishment in her place.
But the voice of a mere servant was so insignificant, how could God possibly hear it?
Wakako had thought that divine punishment had only occurred that one time, but apparently, it wasn’t. It had probably happened countless times without her knowledge.
“Is it… because you used your powers to bring me up the mountain?” Her voice was low. “Was I supposed to die in the mudslide, but you brought me to safety? Or was it last night…”
“…” Miki gave a light, forced laugh. “That’s for the Saint to worry about. You don’t need to trouble yourself with it.”
But how was that any different from admitting it?
