Zhong Hua stretched out his hand, his fingertips tracing the fluorescent trail. The ashes didn't scatter; instead, they flowed along his gesture, gathering into a miniature "stardust" in his palm. The stardust reflected their afternoons watching the volcanic rocks on Weizhou Island, their late-night stargazing at Namtso Lake, and even the peonies on their mother's embroidery and the handwriting in their grandfather's account book. "So all encounters are reunions after a long separation," Ayu murmured. She remembered the unfinished sentences on the letter raft; perhaps when the light swept across the prayer flags of Bird Island, what she remembered wasn't a particular person, but a moment where all of time overlapped.

The lights in the waiting room suddenly returned to normal, as if the flashing light and the letters had been nothing more than a shared illusion. But the lingering camphor scent on Ayu's palms, the faint ink fragrance between Zhonghua's fingers, and the small clump of shimmering ash on the ground all testified that what had just happened was real. They smiled at each other, not questioning the source of the light, nor investigating the owner of the letters, because they suddenly understood that those unmailed letters, those unspoken words, had already woven into a trajectory through their lives within the light of time, like the winding path around Yubeng Village, seemingly meandering but ultimately returning to the origin of their hearts.

As she stepped out of the waiting room, the city's neon lights began to illuminate the night sky. Ayu looked up and saw a shooting star streak across the night, its trajectory strikingly similar to the path of the ashes that had formed the mountain. She gripped Zhong Hua's hand, feeling the warmth of the "stardust" in his palm—a gift from time, the final destination of all unmailed letters, and an inextinguishable glow in their story.