Death cannot be trifled.

And yet, he sought.

Craved the taste of defying death's grasp.

Ah... but what was the gift of it, if he could lose you?

Perhaps...

He shall merely force you by his side~?

The lighting is soft inside the prodigious pharmacy. Baizhu is perched on a seat— desk bestrewn with books, abound with titles of herbal medicine; pages mildly frayed and creased. Wispy smoke wafted through air, arising from a medicine clay pot.

"How are you faring, my dear?"