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ArabicHonkai Star Rail: My Death Feeds Their Madness — Chapter 2
Chapter 2: Past Events
Kagashi stepped back into the quiet sanctuary of the Bamboo House, the wooden floorboards creaking softly beneath his weight. He approached the encrypted safe hidden in the corner, his fingers moving with practiced precision over the keypad. With a soft click, the heavy metal door swung open. He reached inside and withdrew a small, unadorned vial, shaking a single, specialized medicinal pill into his palm. Without a moment of hesitation, he swallowed it dry.
Almost immediately, the heavy, suffocating lethargy that clung to his bones began to recede. The subtle lines of exhaustion on his face smoothed out, and his physical appearance flawlessly reverted to that of a vibrant young man. The medicine breathed a fleeting vitality into his veins, making his body feel light and unburdened, though he knew all too well that this youthful vigor was nothing more than a temporary illusion.
“Meow…”
A soft, cotton-like sound drifted up from his feet, the note drawn out in a gentle, melodic plea for attention. A warm, furry weight brushed against his ankle. Kagashi lowered his gaze to find an orange cat sitting patiently on the floorboards, looking up at him with wide, unblinking eyes. Beneath the feline’s usually lazy demeanor, there lingered a faint, unmistakable glimmer of worry.
“I am fine,” Kagashi murmured, his voice a quiet rumble in the empty room.
He placed the medicine vial back into the safe and secured the lock before bending down to scoop the heavy cat into his arms. He gently rubbed the soft fur between its ears.
“It is time for you to lose some weight, Xiao Ju.”
“Meow…” Xiao Ju offered a soft, trilling response, as if to say it would start its diet tomorrow.
“In another hundred days, I will not be able to take care of you like this,” Kagashi said, his tone carrying a melancholic weight. “Being too heavy is not good for your health, you know.”
Xiao Ju seemed to understand the sorrow in his voice, or perhaps it merely sought comfort, as it affectionately rubbed its head against Kagashi’s palm. Its thick, furry paws rested heavily against his wrist, clinging to him with a quiet reluctance.
A faint smile graced Kagashi’s lips. Holding Xiao Ju securely against his chest, he walked over to the low windowsill and took a seat. He reached out and lifted the Ruan hanging from a nearby wooden hook. Resting the traditional instrument against his lap, his slender fingers began to gently pluck the strings.
Soft, melancholic melodies slowly flowed into the room, merging with the chill of the late autumn wind that slipped through the window frame. Outside, the dense stalks of green bamboo swayed in a rhythmic dance, still clinging to their vibrant hues, though a few pale yellow, withered leaves occasionally broke free to drift toward the earth. Farther up the mountain, hidden within the dense plum forest, a faint, sweet fragrance was already quietly accumulating, preparing for its winter bloom.
Xiao Ju curled into a tight ball on Kagashi’s lap, seeking warmth as the wind carried a biting chill into the room. Lulled by the soothing, rhythmic tune of the Ruan, the cat’s breathing gradually slowed into a deep, regular cadence.
The sparse leaves of the late bamboo bid their silent farewells to the green shadows of summer, while the cold strings of the autumn window sent forth a lonely, lingering sound. The wind rustled through the bamboo grove, scattering the last wisp of string music into the void and stirring the depths of Kagashi’s memories.
Ruan Mei had always loved the Ruan.
She had never intentionally sat down to teach Kagashi how to play, but he had learned simply by watching her, absorbing the elegant movements of her hands through quiet immersion. Seeing his dedication, Ruan Mei had eventually gifted him the very instrument he now held.
She also possessed a deep fondness for fragrant, delicate pastries, especially those crafted with ingredients drawn from winter plum blossoms. Just as with the music, she never formally instructed him in the culinary arts, yet Kagashi had taken it upon himself to learn. He spent several years perfecting the craft, tirelessly refining his recipes until he could present her with pastries that even his exacting teacher could find no fault with.
After that, during the quiet years before he formally completed his apprenticeship, he had taken full responsibility for their daily meals. The vast majority of the knowledge his teacher imparted to him concerned the complex, deep subject of life itself.
Recalling the rare, quiet warmth of those bygone days, Kagashi felt a deep emotional tide rise in his chest.
His life had been a sequence of deep misfortune, yet it was also remarkably fortunate. At the tender age of six, he had collapsed alongside a group of fleeing refugees amidst the ruins of an apocalyptic war, his small body ravaged by a deadly, incurable virus.
The blurry, ethereal face he saw just before his eyes fluttered shut had been Ruan Mei.
The blurry, ethereal face he saw when his eyes finally opened again had also been Ruan Mei.
“Do you want to live?” she had asked him back then, her tone distant, analytical, and entirely devoid of human emotion.
“…Yes…” he had answered simply, a single, raspy word dragged forth from the darkest depths of pure survival instinct.
And so, Kagashi lived.
Ruan Mei made him no grand promises of salvation, but she spent several years carefully analyzing the lethal virus, eventually curing him. He was her test subject, her triumph over death. By the age of eleven, he had transitioned from a mere subject to Ruan Mei’s student.
He absorbed knowledge quickly and extensively, his days filled to the brim with endless study and observation. It was not until he turned eighteen that his teacher displayed genuine anger for the first and only time, severely punishing Kagashi for a mistake he had made. He could no longer recall the specific details of the incident, only the lingering impression that it had involved the breaking of a fundamental rule.
Xiao Ju suddenly shifted and jumped down to the wooden floorboards with a soft thud.
Kagashi snapped out of his distant memories, his gaze drifting toward the sky outside the window. A faint flicker of surprise crossed his eyes as he noted the time. He carefully hung the Ruan back on its designated hook and smoothed his robes before walking toward the front door.
Approaching the Bamboo House was a young girl dressed in a deep purple long dress. She was gently leading a middle-aged woman whose head was draped in a delicate veil, her eyes clouded with a bewildered, vacant look.
“Mr. Kagashi!”
Catching sight of his tall, calm figure standing in the doorway, the girl waved from afar. Her expression was a complex mixture of emotions, harboring both desperate anticipation and lingering unease.
Kagashi understood exactly why the two had made the long journey. As they drew closer, he offered a gentle, reassuring smile and nodded.
“Follow me.”
The girl, already familiar with the routine, guided her mother up the steps, following Mr. Kagashi into the Bamboo House and down a concealed, winding passage. No ordinary traveler looking at the rustic exterior of the Bamboo House would ever guess that a fully equipped, advanced medical facility was hidden beneath its wooden floorboards.
“Please lie down, Ms. Durand,” Kagashi said, his voice a soothing balm.
The middle-aged woman met his gaze, finding only peace and boundless kindness in his eyes. Still, her bewildered expression did not fade, and she instinctively looked toward the young girl standing beside her for guidance.
“Mother, Mr. Kagashi is the doctor who will treat you. Do not worry, you will remember everything soon,” Clarice said softly, squeezing her mother’s hand.
“Oh, alright…” Ms. Durand murmured, complying as she slowly lay back on the clinical bed.
After conducting a series of careful examinations, Kagashi noted that the diagnosis showed slight, troubling deviations from her previous visits. He carefully placed the neural treatment device over Ms. Durand’s head and pressed a sequence of buttons on the console, sealing the medical pod and initiating the long procedure.
“This treatment session will last seventeen hours. Please wait outside,” Kagashi instructed quietly.
“…It is suddenly three hours longer, this…” Clarice stammered, her small face twisting with deep anxiety and unease.
“Do not worry. Judging by your pale complexion, you likely have not eaten yet. Have something first,” Kagashi said, reaching out to gently pat Clarice’s light purple hair.
The girl’s full name was Clarice Durand, a resident of a distant Neighboring Star World. She had spent many grueling years seeking medical salvation for her mother’s deteriorating amnesia, eventually tracking down Mr. Kagashi—a brilliant recluse hiding in the mountains far from the hustle and bustle of her home planet—through a trail of obscure rumors.
Ms. Durand had been receiving treatment from Kagashi for five years now, but her condition was steadily worsening. What had initially been a single visit once a year had degraded into emergency sessions less than two months apart. The time required for each treatment cycle had also steadily lengthened, a grim indicator of the fading mind within.
In the quiet living room, Clarice sat at the wooden table. The delicate pastries that used to taste incredibly delicious to her now felt like ash on her tongue. She could not bring herself to enjoy them, her thoughts entirely consumed by her mother’s fading memories. At this accelerating rate, she feared the day would soon come when her mother would completely forget everyone, including her own daughter, and never recover those lost fragments of her soul.
Witnessing the dull, hollow despair settling over the young girl’s expression, Kagashi sighed inwardly. He retrieved a small ceramic jug and poured her a shallow cup of Plum Blossom Wine.
It was a mild vintage, aged for less than two years. Not to mention a young woman like Clarice, even Kagashi in his youth could not have managed to get drunk from such a gentle brew. The clear, slightly yellowish liquid emitted a fresh, fragrant aroma that instantly warmed the cold room.
Just catching a sniff of the sweet scent, Clarice unconsciously lifted the cup and sipped half of the wine. A faint, healthy blush rose to her pretty face as the elegant plum blossom fragrance filled her mouth, the gentle warmth slightly easing the heavy sorrow crushing her heart.
“Thank you, Mr. Kagashi…”
“Cough, cough, cough—”
Before Clarice could finish her sentence, Kagashi suddenly doubled over, coughing violently. He immediately turned his back to her, raising a hand to cover his mouth as he desperately suppressed the agonizing discomfort tearing through his chest.
“Mr. Kagashi, are you alright?!” Clarice asked, her voice spiking with sudden tension and genuine concern.
Glancing down at the stark crimson blood pooling in his palm, Kagashi subtly closed his fist, hiding the grim evidence. He shook his head, forcing his tone to remain perfectly calm and normal.
“…It is nothing. Winter is approaching; I likely caught a chill last night.”