The Final Farewell

Time flew by swiftly.

Since Grandma Liu’s passing, Bai’s abilities had significantly strengthened, allowing them to remain active almost continuously.

The Cat had even developed a way to filter information.

This meant Bai could now perceive only the information she understood, though she could still focus to see everything if desired.

From then on, Bai grew increasingly interested in altering more futures.

For instance, Bai once helped a child with their homework.

For multiple-choice questions, even though The Cat couldn’t grasp the meaning of the problems, she could discern which answer would avoid being marked incorrect.

Unfortunately, the child wasn’t inclined to listen to Bai.

Bai also learned to read lottery numbers.

She didn’t understand why a mere string of digits could be exchanged for so much ‘money’—though, incidentally, Bai comprehended the concept of money.

Nevertheless, this didn’t stop Bai from observing which number combination yielded the highest amount.

Curiously, the future with the most money would shift; whichever number Bai chose, the outcome would change.

It was truly worthy of being the future with the most money! What a challenge!

Ultimately, Bai only helped a gambling addict win three thousand yuan, no more.

Any further, and Bai would foresee that person relentlessly pursuing her.

Among other things, as her abilities grew stronger, Bai understood more and more.

She became obsessed with quietly perching in one spot, watching how a mere flick of her paw could alter numerous futures.

It was much like humans watching a movie, quite fascinating.

With this new form of entertainment, time seemed to accelerate even further.

The downside was apparent: Bai appeared isolated from the world, rarely initiating interaction with humans.

Coupled with the growing number of peculiar rumors surrounding Bai, people began to regard the cat with awe.

Such were the changes in Bai, but the town itself also underwent tremendous transformations.

Not long after their elderly mother’s death, Liu and his wife were taken away by their children, leaving their house deserted.

Wenwen, after finishing junior high, moved to a more distant place for high school, then proceeded to university.

She hadn’t seen The Cat in a very long time.

Ironically, the little boys who used to chase her no longer ventured out, instead selling fish in town.

The old eccentric from the south end of town remained remarkably robust for a time, often chasing after Bai while muttering incomprehensible words.

Bai could sense his sorrow and anger, but he was mad, and she couldn’t understand his intentions.

Moreover, just two months prior, he too had passed away.

No one knew when the solitary old man died until Bai, after a long absence, stood at his doorstep, meowing loudly to alert the townspeople.

This time, he could no longer kick open the door to startle Bai.

Old Man Zhao, the watchmaker, had also been gone for several years.

The small square where Bai once gained fame by catching snakes was no longer bustling at night.

Zhao’s wife, Wenwen’s mother, the music teacher, was also gone.

The older generation was gradually departing, while some of the new generation left and others stayed.

The small town was growing, and the old city was slowly dying.

Liu’s house, after standing empty for twenty years, finally collapsed, eventually flattened to make way for a new road.

Li’s butcher shop had closed long ago, transforming into a renovation store, though Bai had no interaction with them.

The car repair shop around the street corner had moved to the new street, becoming more sophisticated, now operated by a new generation.

Zhao the barber’s shop prices had never changed; he never relied on it for profit, merely using it to pass the time and socialize.

Yet, now, an entire day could pass without a single customer.

‘The Cat waited through time, year after year flowing by.’

‘The Cat watched the people, one by one departing.’

Over the years, The Cat maintained the habit of seeing familiar faces off for their final journey.

People even became aware of this custom, deepening their reverence for Bai.

‘Did she feel sad?’ Bai thought she felt a little.

Seeing fewer and fewer familiar faces, the predominant feeling was loneliness.

After all, Bai wasn’t truly a foolish cat.

“Da Bai… am I… never mind.”

Basking in the sun, Old Zhao, the barber, had watched The Cat follow him for days without leaving his side.

He finally felt certain enough to ask something.

It had been over twenty years.

As an old man who had known Bai since her arrival in town, he was now convinced that Bai was some unique existence.

Bai’s ears twitched, and she let out a soft meow.

Knowing one’s impending end wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

Old Zhao sighed, staring blankly at the German Shepherd in the yard.

This dog had been a gift from his eldest son after his wife passed away.

He heard it was a retired military dog; now, it too was an old fellow.

“How much longer, roughly?” Zhao suddenly turned, asking The Cat with genuine seriousness.

Bai found it quite novel.

Few people had ever questioned her so earnestly.

Whether people treated her as an ordinary cat or a miraculous one, no one had ever spoken to The Cat with such sincerity.

Bai straightforwardly extended a paw and etched a 20 into the ground.

Upon seeing it, Zhao feigned composure, nodded, then clasped his hands behind his back and walked heavily into the house.

Originally, Zhao wasn’t superstitious, but now he had no choice but to be.

What would people do upon learning they would die in twenty days?

Zhao had lived a full life and felt it was worthwhile.

Besides his daughter, he had no regrets.

Knowing that there were existences beyond human comprehension, Zhao often pondered whether his wife might be waiting for him in some ethereal world.

Now, with their reunion imminent, his heart felt strangely calm.

He didn’t indulge himself or become hysterical.

Few of his old friends were still alive.

He quietly prepared for his own funeral.

He hadn’t intended to inform his daughter, but in the final days, Zhao’s mind grew hazy, and he ultimately couldn’t resist the urge to call her back.

His daughter was dutiful.

In the past, he’d worried about her hard work and discouraged her from frequent returns.

At over thirty, she was in the prime of her career, and constant travel was inconvenient.

Yet, upon hearing him say he missed her, she brought her own daughter and arrived home the very next evening.

Ever since she went to school and started working, Wenwen had returned less and less, rarely seeing Bai.

When she occasionally came back, Wenwen would ask her father about the cat, but Zhao would always feign ignorance.

This time, Wenwen returned with a small girl who bore a striking resemblance to her.

Seeing her elderly father holding Xuan Bai and lying in a rocking chair, basking in the sun in the courtyard, she asked curiously, “Who is this cat?”

Zhao didn’t open his eyes, murmuring as if in a dream, “This is my daughter… my granddaughter.”

Wenwen leaned closer and affectionately stroked Bai, assuming it was one of Bai’s offspring.

But Bai knew clearly that the old man was talking to her.

The Cat sniffed the grown-up Wenwen’s scent, and that of her child—who resembled Zhao but was also subtly different.

His daughter seemed prepared.

She said she had taken several months of accumulated leave to spend a few extra days with her father.

Shaking his head resignedly, the old man watched his granddaughter tentatively extend a hand towards The Cat in the gentle sunlight.

Under the warm rays, he wearily closed his eyes.

Rain fell outside the window, accompanied by the low rumble of thunder.

Zhao’s consciousness was hazy.

He wanted to reach out and touch his wife, to see if she was sleeping soundly, or to go next door to check if the children had been startled awake.

But his hand found only empty air.

In a flash, his heart convulsed.

The old man, brows furrowed, gasped in pain.

A soft, sweet meow reached his ears.

Then the pain vanished, and his weakness transformed into a comfortable, lazy reluctance to move.

The thunder outside gradually receded.

The window seemed to have been opened by someone, as a warm, moist breeze caressed his face.

The wind chimes, long packed away in a box, were rehung on the window frame, emitting a melodious sound.

Accompanying the chimes, a familiar and gentle melody in B-flat major and G minor drifted in.

Zhao opened his eyes and saw a captivating back, playing an old piano.

“Fang?” he tentatively called out.

The figure didn’t respond.

“Meow,” only then did Zhao notice Bai squatting beside him, radiating a pure white glow.

“Are… you… leaving?”

A tender, unpracticed voice of a young girl entered his ears, sounding utterly adorable.

“Are you speaking?”

Bai’s mouth didn’t move; the voice resonated directly through the space, stuttering, “Yes… Are… you leaving?… Will you… make a pact… with me?”

Zhao shook his head, his gaze still fixed on the figure playing the piano.

The music suddenly ceased.

A familiar, youthful face, smiling, extended a hand to him: “Shall we depart?”

“Fang…”

His eyes held only joy, and he readily accepted the invitation.

They were young again, lightly climbing out the window, rushing towards the bright blue sky and grassy fields outside.

“Fare… well.”

It seemed like destiny, or perhaps just a coincidence, that at this final farewell, Bai’s growth finally reached a critical threshold.

In a subtle, profound way, she felt she could establish a link with people, but alas…

Wenwen was sifting through her father’s belongings when she found an envelope placed in a conspicuous spot and a brass pendant.

“Wenwen, by the time you read this letter, I should be gone. I hadn’t wanted to trouble you with coming back, but in these last few days, I had a premonition and couldn’t resist the desire to see you.

I’m sorry, Dad left so suddenly, but don’t be sad. Death is merely the soul needing rest. My body will disperse, and once my soul has rested enough, it will once again inhabit a new body and draw near to you. From then on, the wind that surrounds you will be me; the cloud that casts shade will be me; the flower that lands on your shoulder will still be me. My lifespan is limited, but my soul can transcend time, slowly playing a game of forgotten hide-and-seek with you.

This pendant is my favorite trinket to fiddle with; please wear it. Don’t hide it. If there truly is an existence that can transcend death, I will come back and take this pendant. The day it disappears, you’ll know it’s me returning, so don’t hide it, what if I can’t find it then?

Even if I don’t take it, don’t be sad. Our existence is simply a feeling. As long as it can still touch you in my stead, am I not, in a way, still alive? Besides, this brass lump really feels good in the hand, hahaha.

Also, remember to take good care of Da Hei and Xiao Bai.

Your loving,

Dad”